I'm very into AU's recently. Winglock AU.

Warning: the crime scene dead body is a bit gruesome

Sherlock was hunched over his microscope, his large, black wings folded upwards behind him. John smiled as he walked into the kitchen, then frowned.

"Sherlock, how long has it been since you last slept?" he asks worriedly.

"5 days." Sherlock mumbles. John sighs and pulls out his chair.

"Come on, you're going to sleep." He orders. Sherlock reluctantly stands up and shuffles into his bedroom. John follows him to make sure he's actually going to sleep.

"John, it's creepy having you watch me while I go to sleep, so either you go to sleep too, or leave please." Sherlock, now a lump of blankets with wings, says. John rolls his eyes and moves over to flop down on the bed next to Sherlock. He has absolutely no intention of sleeping, it being the middle of the day and all, but his blinks get slower and slower, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and eventually, he's asleep.

John wakes up to black feathers. He looks around, confused, until he finds Sherlock with his head buried in his shoulder. He begins to notice the feeling of arms around his waist as well and realizes the feathers must be Sherlock's wings that he wrapped around them while he was asleep. John tries to shift out of Sherlock's grasp, but only results in waking him up.

"Sorry." John says, blushing.

"It's fine." Sherlock mumbles, his face still buried in John's shoulder.

"You can go back to sleep if you want, but I need to get up. I have a date." John says, trying to push Sherlock off of him. Sherlock's arms tighten around him.

"No you don't. You missed it. It was at 8:00 I assume?" Sherlock says, his voice still muffled.

"Yeah." John replies, sighing.

"It's 9:00 in the morning." Sherlock says, then retracts his wings from around them. Morning light is coming through the window. John laughs.

"Then we really need to get up. Come on Sherlock." John rolls out of bed, Sherlock's arms finally loosening, and then pulls Sherlock up too. Sherlock immediately checks his phone, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

"We have a case John, grab your coat!" He exclaims, jumping to his feet and sprinting to the door. John quickly follows, laughing.

.oOo.

Sherlock is bouncing around the crime scene like a child on Christmas Day. The body on the ground is barely recognizable as human. All the limbs have all been hacked off and are hanging from the ceiling, the head has been bashed in, and the entire front has been cut open and the organs splayed about around it. Most of the officers had to leave the room and now only Sherlock, John, and Lestrade are left. Lestrade's plain and normal brown wings are half enclosed around him, as if to block the sight from him.

"Sherlock, are you almost done?" he asks, trying to sound annoyed. Sherlock straightens up from his crouch near the body.

"Yes. You are looking for Sherry Morgans, age 24." Sherlock says, holding up a driver's license.

"Never carry an ID to a murder." he says, smiling. John shakes his head slightly, signaling for him to stop smiling. He does almost immediately.

.oOo.

John is hurt. Sherry put up a fight when they cornered her, and John got hurt. She stabbed him. Sherlock is holding him close, his large wings wrapped around them and trying to keep John awake until the ambulance arrives.

"John, you're going to be alright, the ambulance is almost here, Lestrade said so, I just need you to stay awake." Sherlock pleads. When the ambulance does arrive, Sherlock climbs in after John. When John does lose consciousness, Sherlock almost loses it.

"It's been forever, when do I get to go see John." Sherlock demands, pacing the waiting room, his wings close to knocking multiple things over because they're almost spread out to their full length. Mycroft sighs, his own red wings sagging with his shoulders.

"Do have some patience brother." he says. Sherlock shoots him a glare.

"Why are you even here?" he growls.

"To make sure you don't terrorize the doctors." Mycroft replies. In truth, he was there to make sure Sherlock wasn't having a breakdown.

.oOo.

The moment the doctors let him, Sherlock dashes into the room John's in. John is awake, and when he sees Sherlock he smiles weakly.

"Hey." he says quietly.

"Don't ever do that again or so help me God I will personally throw you in the Thames." Sherlock threatens, but John only laughs.

"I won't. Promise." he says, smiling. Sherlock finally allows himself to feel relief.

"You're not dead. I thought you were going to die. She hurt you bad." he rambles, going to stand next to the hospital bed. John reaches out and takes Sherlock's hand.

"I didn't though." he reassures Sherlock, and then kisses his knuckles. Sherlock smiles slightly.

"I know."

.oOo.

It's been about a month since John got back from the hospital, but they still haven't gotten any cases, which to be honest, is probably a good thing. Sherlock and John are sitting on the couch on this particular night, just talking. John is leaning back against Sherlock and Sherlock is running his fingers through John's feathers.

"Sherlock?" John says, breaking the silence they had fallen into.

"Yes?"

"I love you, you know that right?"

"I know." John nods, as if to say 'good'.

"John?" Sherlock says a few minutes later.

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

.oOo.

Author's Note: Sorry, I feel like this one was a bit out of character. I may or may not have used it to defuse my anger (I did) because this guy was being stupid.