Michelangela walked into the crime scene, a roost for doves. She almost screamed at the sight in front of her, dead, wingless doves littering the wooden floor boards. She was followed by Sherlock. John had had work that he couldn't get out of. Sherlock saw her reaction, and then saw the scene. He wordlessly and gently pushed her outside. She went without protest to get herself together. Cam's worry came through their psychic connection. She sent reassurance to him and went back in. The sight burned her. She took everything in with a blank face. Sherlock watched her out of the corner of his eye as her face turned white and she ran over to him, out of breath. "John." She said, sounding scared for the first time in the time Sherlock had known her. "I need your phone, now!" Sherlock handed it over and she called John. Someone picked up, and her face went even whiter, if the was even possible. "No," she whispered, looking petrified. "No." She sounded surer. "You will have three Angels on your tail if you don't let him go right now! The doves were innocent. Why did you kill them? And their owner?" She just got angrier. Sherlock took her arm and pulled her from the room so she wouldn't clue Lestrade into the fact that his three best detectives were Angels. She stayed on the phone until the person she was talking too apparently hung up and she growled and flung the phone at Sherlock. "He's this way. Cam, here, now." She growled, Cam showing up quickly. The trio took flight and followed Michelangela's lead to the warehouse where John was being held. Mik muttered under breath and the men behind her heard only a few snatches. "Idiot…. Doves…. Wings…. Mori-freakin-arty…. Wings gone…. John…. Dad…. Sherlock…." After saying Sherlock's name she laughed bitterly and said. "That will be the day." Finally, she called, "Down here. He's down here." As she swooped down to just outside a warehouse. Wings tucked away, Mik holding a gun in front of her like a CIA agent. Cam shifted uncomfortably behind her, not happy with her acceptance of guns an Angel shouldn't have. As they approached the first interior door, she stopped. When Cam asked her how she knows how to act so perfectly, she whispers, "Before I died I was a child agent for a government agency, I loved it." She sounded wistful. Cam fidgeted, he had known she wasn't born an Angel, but he hadn't known her background.
"Of course," she said bitterly, "I had an Angel guarding me, but he freakin' failed, he was so busy trying to convince me that we were soul mates that he missed the sniper in the eaves. I got to shoot an Angel before I died." She sounded happy. Then she became serious again and dropped into a crouch, "Okay, I'm going in, don't either of you dare follow me in." She fixed both of the men with a glare. They nodded, having no other choice.
Mik sneaked in to the next room and saw John, but no captor. She cautiously approached him. "John? John, can you hear me?" She heard a murmured, "Mik." She let out a relieved sigh. "Okay, am I correct about who has you here? Is it…?" John nodded weakly. "Okay," She heaved a sigh, "Let's go." She helped him walk to Sherlock and Cam, "Sherlock, are you strong enough to fly with both yourself and John?" Sherlock nodded, and they left.
Once back at 221B, Mik tried to coax John's wings out, but finally, when he tried, she was overwhelmed by his pain, emotional and physical. "Stop! John, stop!" She cried. His wings were gone. Both John and Mik were crying, Mik was sobbing and John was just crying. Both Cam and Sherlock were out, but they came home to see both John and Mik crying on the floor. Cam came home first and scooped up Mik, shushing her and trying to calm her down enough to get coherent words from her. Sherlock followed soon after, awkwardly trying to calm John. The men were confused as both of the crying Angels kept saying, "Wingless, doves, pain, evil, where? Help!" The last cry came from Mik, who proceeded to start to babble. "His wings! His wings are gone, ripped away like the doves'. Gone, gone, gone, gone. They aren't there anymore. Evil demon tears them off. That's what the doves meant. Doves were innocent and lost their wings. He was innocent and lost his wings." Sherlock understood. His face turned paler than anyone thought was possible. "John. Whoever had John took his wings." Sherlock cradled the sleeping ex-army doctor and denied the fact vehemently in his mind, even though his analytical mind laid all of the facts out for him so he couldn't argue with them. Mik calmed down and Sherlock demanded, "Who did this? Who did you talk to?" Mik looked at him like he was crazy. "Who do you think? Moriarty."
