John had not been expecting someone to be waiting for him when he walked past his favourite bench on a rare sunny afternoon. He was lost in thought, despondent after his many failed attempts at talking to a certain angel, when a voice broke through his musings.

"Hello, John Watson."

At first glance, it was easy to assume the man was human. He was handsome, of course, but not necessarily otherworldly. His hair was grey, striking on a man as young as he appeared to be.

John had learned real quick not to judge based on first glance.

"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the man who was lounging on the bench.

"You can call me Greg." The man said, smiling in a friendly manner.

"Nice to meet you, Greg." John said slowly, watching his visitor warily. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I thought we needed to have a little chat." Greg said, sighing softly. "It's to do with a mutual friend."

"Sherlock." John said, his mind reeling quickly. It was more of a statement than anything else. The smile Greg shot him made him feel strangely proud.

"Quite right." Greg said. "Sherlock is like my brother, and I do not want to see him hurt."

"Hurt?" John frowned. "Why would he be hurt?"

"What you're doing…it's not healthy." Greg replied. "He's become very attached to you. It might be hard for you to comprehend; after all, he's known you for longer than you've known him."

"Are you kidding?" John laughed humourlessly. "He hates me. Won't stay longer than a minute."

"You are so very wrong."

"You're like him, aren't you?" John blurted out. "An angel."

"Perceptive." Greg smiled. "I can see why he likes you so. Yes, I am. I was known as the angel Gabriel, but as the years have passed, I have changed my name."

"Gabriel?" John frowned. "Like, the arch-angel?"

"The very same."

"Right." John sitting gracelessly. "I'm talking to an arch-angel."

"You've had the angel of death in your bedsit several times, had him chat with you for varying moments of time." Greg chuckled. "I should think an arch-angel would be old business."

"Angel of death." John repeats. "Sherlock…I've been terrible, haven't I?"

"You have been keeping him busy." Greg snorts. "He's been complaining to me this entire week about you."

"Complaining? Shite, I've really messed it up, haven't I?"

"Messed it up?" Greg asked, looking confused.

"I just…I wanted to see him." John confessed, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. "I…when I saw him in Afghanistan, it was like…starting new. Like, my previous life was over, and I had a whole new future to look forward to."

"You only wished to see him?"

"Yes. Tell him…tell him I won't be bothering him anymore." John said. "Let him know he'll never have to deal with me again."

"No?"

"No. Well, I suppose one final time." John sighs. "But until then, I shall be on my best behaviour."

Greg clapped him on his good shoulder, giving a short chuckle. "I don't think that's going to happen, mate. Sherlock won't leave you be, any more than you want to be left alone."

"Really?"

"No. Just tell him what you told me." Greg smiled, looking over John's shoulder at something. John followed his gaze, his breath stuttering at the sight of Sherlock, standing there, looking incredibly annoyed.

"He's be hurt before." Greg said. "Let him know that it won't happen again."

"I…yeah, okay." John said, turning back to look at Greg, but he was gone. An empty bench greeted him instead, no sign that the angel was ever there. John shook his head before turning back, glad that Sherlock had stayed in place.

"Here goes nothing." John sucked in a breath, and he stood up, making his way over to Sherlock slowly. This time, he would set things right.