yet another winglock fic
Sherlock was one of the very few people in the world who had been born with wings. He had only ever met one other person with wings, and they had been a murderer. Until the age of 9 he had been proud of his wings. He had loved soaring through the sky and hitting Mycroft in the head when he was being an idiot (which was often). But then he went to public school for the first time. He had been homeschooled his entire life, but then his mother realized that his social skills were severely lacking, and decided that it was bad for him. All through school kids avoided him. They called him names like 'freak' and 'weirdo' and 'bird brain'. Sherlock began to hate his wings, despise them even. He never flew anymore, and he even went so far as to attempt to cut them off (though it too bad to even make a scratch). When he graduated and became a consulting detective, things got a little better. Anderson and Donovan still made fun of him about his wings, but Lestrade was there to scold them for it. Sherlock flew again, though only when he needed to to catch a criminal. Life went on this way for quite a while. And then he met John Watson.
Sherlock hears 2 people walk into the lab, one of them Mike Stanford and the other an unknown individual. Sherlock turns and sees the new person staring at him incredulously.
"Your wings..." he stares at them with wonder. Sherlock hunches his shoulders and shifts uncomfortably.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to stare." the man shakes his head and smiles apologetically. Sherlock nods back, blushing slightly.
"My name's John Watson." he holds out his hand for Sherlock to shake, which he does.
"Sherlock Holmes." he studies him for a moment.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asks. John looks taken aback for a moment before answering.
"Afghanistan. How did you-?"
"I'll explain some other time." Sherlock waves him away.
"Wait a second, some other time?" John is obviously confused. Usually Sherlock would be highly frustrated at this point, but for some reason he feels like he should be nice to John.
"Well, Mike obviously brought you here to introduce you to me, which means he thinks you would be a good flatmate for me and I you." Sherlock explains.
"So we barely know each other and we're getting a flat together?" John raises an eyebrow. Sherlock smiles.
"The address is 221B Baker Street. Meet me there at 2:00 tomorrow?" he says. John smiles and shakes his head.
"I guess?" Sherlock smiles again and glides out the door.
.oOo.
"For God's sake Sherlock, if you are going to lay all over the couch could you at least move your wings a bit so that they don't take up the entire bloody living room?" John says exasperatedly, shoving Sherlock's large black wing over a little bit.
"John that hurt." Sherlock whimpers.
"Sorry." John quickly apologizes, remembering how sensitive Sherlock's wings are.
"It's alright." Sherlock folds in his wings as he sits up. John goes and sits next to him, in the gap between his right wing and his shoulder (it's a fairly large gap). Sherlock looks at him and smiles.
"John, why do you put up with me? We have lived and worked together for about a year now and not once have you threatened to leave me or called me a freak, despite my wings and above average intelligence." Sherlock asks, cocking his head to the side in confusion.
"Because you're my best friend Sherlock." John replies, putting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's eyes grow wider and his mouth opens and closes but no words come out. He resembles a goldfish for a short moment before sputtering out a few words.
"I'm y-your best...friend?" he asks.
"Of course Sherlock. Why wouldn't you be?" John is the confused one now.
"Because...well because I'm me. I leave body parts in the refrigerator and throughout the flat, I refuse to eat and sleep when you tell me to, I am a complete dick when I'm bored, and treat you like shit even when all you do is be kind and patient with me." Sherlock says. John smiles.
"Well, while all of those are true, you're still my best friend. You want to know why? Because of all the things you do when you aren't doing those things. When you thank me for your tea, when your eyes light up when you've hit your eureka moment, when you pass out in my bed or on the couch." John says, smiling gently at Sherlock.
"John...would you get mad at me if I told you that I'm in love with you?" Sherlock says softly. John's smile widens.
"Not in the slightest."
Author's Note: I honestly meant for this to be a fic about how Sherlock hates his wings and how John shows him that they don't make him a freak, that they make him special, but as you can see, that did not happen. I will probably still write that though, sometime in the hopefully near future.
