Sherlock stared at the empty air where John had been standing only seconds before, he might of kept staring forever if Moriarty hadn't given a short bark of laughter as he got to his feet. He felt as if everything had been drained out of his, leaving only completely uncontrollable rage in it's wake.

"Well, this should make for a good game!" Moriarty smiled gleefully, "See you next time!"

He grew a pair of translucent bat like wings and promptly leapt off the edge of the building, flying off into the night while Sherlock simply watched, unable to convince his body to move.

-oOo-

The hard concrete was racing to meet him as he plummeted downwards head first, he wanted to scrunch his eyes closed and wait for the inevitable but his body was working against him. The human instinct to survive was kicking in and his back was filled with a strange tingling feelings, he knew that feelings...

He kicked his legs out underneath him and found to his astonishment that he almost came to a halt. Shakily he half flew half glided onto the single story roof of a supermarket, crashing into the concrete and sliding across the roof. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in pain as grit embedded itself into the burn on his shoulder. He glanced at it, but was instantly distracted with the appendages coming from his back.

They were fainter than they used to be but they were unmistakably his wings, though now instead of brown they were a bright white. How was that possible? Sherlock's words from months ago came back to him.

"...host body will then be able to take control of certain aspects of the bots including replication and repair. That's an Omega..."

Replication.

Of course!

During the procedure obviously they had missed a nanobot or two, not enough for him to form his wings but just a small amount. But his body had kicked in and replicated the wing nanobot so he could fly without him having to think about it, in the same way a body releases adrenaline. Judging by how pale the wings were his body had managed to replicate just enough to keep his airborne, that explained his shaky flying and subsequently hard landing.

He gave a weak laugh of relief, he was alive! His shoulder hurt terrible from the burn and his side ached from the rough landing but he was alive! Ignoring the painful burn he focused on his back, the wings became a little larger and more seeable. He smiled and swiftly jumped down onto the ground, his wings slowing him to a graceful stop on the floor of the alley. He glanced around, nobody to see him and no cameras, excellent. After discreetly folding his wings away he walked out onto the street where several police cars were gathering.

"Lestrade!" John exclaimed, so happy to see a familiar face.

"John! What's going on?" Lestrade asked discreetly, "I'll bet you and Sherlock had something to do with this. What on earth happened to your shoulder?"

"Yeah we-"

John never did finish that sentence because an ungodly yell interrupted them as it echoed down from the roof. Simultaneously an explosion of sorts took place. Brilliant blue lightning shot upwards into the sky and to the sides, bolts flying in all directions in a constant and deadly stream. The phenomena continued even after the scream had died.

"Bloody hell!" Lestrade exclaimed, "That'll bring the whole building down if it keeps going!"

"Worse than that," John gaped, "There's a bomb sitting up there! If one of those bolts hits it..."

"Christ."

Lestrade might of said more but John was already running, weaving through the crowds of people spewing forth from the hospital doors, he was running faster than a normal man. Lestrade couldn't keep up but John's keen hearing told him the detective was following him up the stairwells.

He opened the door and as expected the lightning was fizzy and cracking like blue whips into the ground and sky. Sherlock stood in the middle of it, pale hands gripping his white hair. John went to take a step forward but was forced back when the lightning struck out randomly near his feet.

"Christ is that Sherlock causing all this?" Lestrade yelled over the din of the bolts, "He's out of control!"

"Sherlock!" John yelled, "Sherlock, you have to calm down!"

He didn't even react.

"I don't think he can hear us." Lestrade bit his lip, "We have to do something before he blows up the entire block!"

"Or he burns himself out," John cried, "If he keeps this up his brain will fry!"

John watched as Sherlock's fingers tightened their grip on his hair, his teeth were grinding together.

"Sherlock!" John tried again, tentatively stepping out closer to the detective.

Sherlock turned to face him quickly, his eyes were burning white, wild and wide, John had a feeling Sherlock wasn't really seeing him.

"Sherlock calm down, let go!" John implored, "It's me! It's John!"

The lightning began to calm, it was still sparking dangerously but the bolts were shorter and closer to Sherlock's body.

"That's it." John soothed, slowly coming closer, approaching his friend like you would a wounded tiger, "Relax."

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, John wondered how long he'd been holding it, and the lightning faded away. Sherlock's hair and eyes returned to their natural colour and he promptly pitched forward, the doctor just managing to catch him before he slammed into the roof.

"Is that a body!" Lestrade exclaimed pointing to the charred remains of Kell, John felt no sympathy for her.

"Lestrade there is a bomb over there," He said hurriedly, "Get your squad over here to dismantle it, quickly!"

Lestrade quickly nodded and began talking into his radio, telling his men the situation was under control and the hospital was safe again. John meanwhile gently turned Sherlock on his back with his face to the side just in case, his breath was weak and shallow. Despite his own injuries he conjured his healing rings and placed them at his temples. The damage was extensive, a few more minutes and...he wasn't going to think about it. He set to work with his hands buried in Sherlock's dark hair, his rings hidden from the site of the officers currently making there way onto the scene.

John repaired as much as he could without exhausting himself, Sherlock would be okay now. He hoped. He'd done all he could, now he just wanted to sleep.

From the beginning I've been planning for John to regrow his wings after a fall of St. Barts, finally I got to write it!

Coming Soon: Just how long will it take for Sherlock to wake up?