Alright my friends, I have a new chapter for you. It's been a while since I got up something new. I really hope you like it. I think it's a good one. See ya.
Sherlock knocked on Mycroft's back door. He hasn't seen the man in years but he knew he would help him no matter what. He hoped that extended to people Sherlock happened to pick up. He turned around; he saw John cradling the unconscious shark-boy to his chest. His eyes were looking at Sherlock expectantly, filled with so much hope for his friend. Sherlock turned back around. He didn't understand how people could show emotion so easily. He couldn't let his emotions over take him, if he did he would get killed.
Emotions clouded judgment. He learned that when he almost got himself killed just because he thought his attacker was a friend. He stayed with a man named Victor Trevor. He didn't tell him that he was a deform; he needed to be safe and telling him did not involve in the staying safe plan. He made the mistake of getting to close and showed too much of himself to the man.
Sherlock was naïve and wasn't the best at controlling his emotions. He trained himself over the years to not show them on his face but now his eyes were literally the window to his soul. He slipped up and allowed himself to get angry. Victor noticed his eyes changing but didn't say anything.
Victor didn't do anything either, until one night when Sherlock was looking over the newspaper; reading all the stories of deforms being taken away and sent to jail; he sneaked in to Sherlock's room and asked Sherlock to take a ride with him. Sherlock trusted him too much. He should have seen the signs; Victor was acting jittery, he jumped every time Sherlock said something. But the genius got in to his friend's car and went for a ride with him.
At the end of that ride Sherlock ended up with a bullet in his side. He's ashamed that he allowed himself to trust Victor who turned out to be an RA. He was stupid enough to find a flat with a man who wanted him dead even if he didn't know he wanted him dead. That's when he met Mrs. Hudson. She saved his life that day; he couldn't remember what happened though.
The door opened; bringing Sherlock out of his old memories and back to the present. Lestrade was standing in the frame; his hair somehow got more silver over the last three years Sherlock has been away. The older man stared at him for a few seconds and then shifted his eyes behind him. He eyed John and the child in his arms before stepping sideways and gesturing with his head for them to enter. "Mycroft is at a meeting right now," he said hurriedly as he navigated them through the house.
"We need the bathtub," Sherlock told him.
Lestrade looked over his shoulder again; he nodded and turned down a hall. He opened a door to a large bathroom. He quickly started the water on the oversized bathtub. He stood up and looked over the guests again. John stepped forward with Brian and slowly lowered him in the rising water. "What's wrong with him?" Lestrade asked as he watched the blond.
"He needs water," John muttered.
They took longer than Sherlock expected to get to Mycroft's. Brian passed out a half an hour before they reached the home. "When will he be back?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade turned his head away from John and Brian. "I don't know," he admitted. "He doesn't tell me."
Sherlock had to wonder if Mycroft told anyone anything. He remembered that his brother would always get up and leave, only a few times would he warn someone who he was going or coming. He had a very erratic behavior at times. But he made it seem respectful and charming instead of rude. "I have a request," he said formally.
"What is it?" Lestrade asked; he leaned closer to Sherlock.
Sherlock shook his head. "Not here," he whispered and nodded towards John, "I don't want him to know." He didn't want John to know his intentions. He waited a moment before turning back to the tub and watched Brian come back to life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lestrade staring with his mouth open. "He's one of many who have 'special abilities'."
"How?" Lestrade asked taking a step forward. He bent down and reached his hand out; Brian let him touch his gills gently. Brian giggled when his fingers passed over them. "You're a fascinating little lad aren't you?"
"Can he stay here a while?" Sherlock asked. He knew there was no chance that the kid would survive out on the streets of London if he could only breathe air for a few hours. The best place for him to be would be at his brother's house. His brother would be able to protect him and Lestrade would be able to do Sherlock's favor. "Us too, just for a week though. I need to use your lab."
Lestrade shrugged. "You'll have to speak to Mycroft," he told him. "I have no say in this house. A dog would have more power."
"I wouldn't say that Gregory," Mycroft's posh voice sounded off behind them. "You like to enforce your power whenever you watch the television." Mycroft smiled and looked at Sherlock. "Ah, dear little brother, I'm surprised to see you alive."
"You don't have much faith in me then," Sherlock shot towards him. "I'm here for a favor, unfortunately.
"I'm guessing it has to do with your friends," Mycroft said, he held on to his ever polite smile. "A fish and a bird; thought I would never see the day where gene splicing has gone so far."
John looked panicked and Lestrade looked surprised. He turned to John and stared at him. "He's half bird?" he asked.
"If you weren't so distracted with the child there you would have seen the tip of one of his wings," Mycroft told him. "Don't worry, you jacket is just caught. No one would have noticed it unless they were looking for it."
Sherlock could tell that John was on edge still. His brother may have been polite and always socially correct, but he also had an air around him that screamed 'be afraid'. Sherlock always saw it as an advantage; it would always keep people away from him when he was younger. "This is John Watson," Sherlock introduced, "he's going to be joining me in the fight against you and your friends."
John stood with wide eyes. "Are you saying he's part of the government?" he asked.
"You know full well why I still work there," Mycroft told him. "If you weren't dead to the world I wouldn't even be alive anymore."
Sherlock sent a look to him; it wasn't a glare but it was definitely close to one. "Anyway," he huffed, "I need you to take care of Brian for a while. Keep him safe and out of the government's hands."
Mycroft looked over the boy swimming around in his oversized bathtub. He took in a deep breath and said, "I suppose." He walked up to the edge of the tub; Brian stopped swimming and shook slightly in the corner he ended up in. The older Holmes spun around and nodded to John. "Can I see your wings?"
John looked at Sherlock as if asking him for permission; Sherlock nodded and stood back to watch. John slugged out of his jacket and shook out his dark wings. Sherlock was amazed every time he saw them. They were gorgeous.
Mycroft reached out with his hand and ran his fingers over the soft feathers. Sherlock could see the discontent John was trying to hide on his face. "They are magnificent," Mycroft told him. He walked around so he was facing the back.
"Mycroft," Sherlock said in a sharp tone. "I need to have a word out in the hall with you." He held the door open for the older man and followed him out.
"Green eyes today brother," Mycroft quipped, "are you jealous?"
Sherlock took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "I need to stay here for about a week," he told him. "I would appreciate if you didn't personally molest my fellow comrades."
Mycroft lifted an eyebrow in question. "I was doing no such thing," he stated. "I was observing the structure of the man's wings. But I will keep my distance while you are here." Sherlock nodded and entered the bathroom once again. Mycroft walked in behind him. "You all must be hungry," he said. "Come Gregory you can help me cook."
Lestrade stood and wiped the water from his hands. "Alright," he let out. He peeked down at Brian who peered back up at him. "Let's go."
Sherlock waited for the door to shut before speaking up. "We won't be here long," he said. "I just need some time to work on my next move. Before we go back to the city, we need to get everything right up," he pointed to his head, "here before I lay it out to the others."
"What are you going to ask your brothers friend?" John asked; he didn't look up either.
Sherlock could tell that the man was smiling. He could tell by the way he spoke; he sounded so amused. "Oh, Lestrade," he played dumb, "I wasn't going to ask him anything."
John stood up this time and looked him straight in the eye. "I thought I asked you to always tell me the plan," he reminded him.
Sherlock set his jaw and tried to stare the man down. "Fine," he said in a sharp tone, "I was going to ask Lestrade to make Brian here something to use to breathe water on land. It will make his life a hundred times easier. Maybe get him to help us fight."
"See, that wasn't so hard," John told him. He gave his shoulder a good pat before turning around and struck up a conversation with Brian. "Why didn't you want me to know about that?"
"I didn't think you would like the idea," Sherlock told him.
"Well he is young," John admitted, "I understand what you mean. I don't like the idea but, he's like me you know. He has all this energy inside of him and he needs something to do. But he's young, like I said; I don't want him to fight, but that's not up to me. I'm not his father."
Sherlock licked his lips and slipped over to the toilet and sat down on the lid. He watched John talk to Brian; the smile on his face was huge. He found if funny that his wings twitched when he laughed. He scanned his back; his muscles were considerably bigger than any human being's. He wasn't that heavy; he was light considering his stature and that was when he was all dead weight.
He wanted to know what the process was like when he grew them. How long it took? Was it painful? Was there blood? Did your fingers hurt when the bones grew through them? All the questions he wanted to ask but he wasn't sure if he would get the answers. He would have to wait and see though. He had a whole week of free time to ask them.
X
Sherlock was in the lab nonstop the week they stayed at Mycroft's. He set up everything he needed down in the basement; Lestrade didn't seem to mind he was too distracted with Brian and John. The older man also accepted to make the breathing apparatuses for the shark-boy. Sherlock was happy. It would make everything easier for all of them if Brian could breathe on land without getting deprived of water.
Sherlock's original plan was to use the other people at the camp but most of them were killed in the attack. The survivors they did find barely had any life left in them and would take ages to get back to full health. But if they were anything like John, then that might be a different story.
John had been a trooper through the stay. He allowed Sherlock to ask him all the questions he needed to ask. He even allowed him to take some of his blood to test. Sherlock didn't grow bored all week. He had distractions galore. Between John and the mystery that he was, and occasionally getting specimens from Brian, he was able to strategize his next move against the government.
Over the last three years he has been on the streets fighting he was able to get allies to start an official war. It's been happening for years but now something was going to be done. He knew exactly where to hit to make some damage. He needed an army and he's finally got it.
He worked over maps of England with John; the two of them thought of the best route of attack. Sherlock had to give it to the blond; he knew what he was talking about. He was silently grateful that he had John to work with. He was willing to kill, he was smarter than most men he knew, and he was strong and quick. Sherlock hadn't seen him lift anything heavier than Brian but all the muscle in his upper body had to account for something. He was the perfect person to have as a wingman.
X
One night, while in the lab, Sherlock was disrupted by Lestrade. He sidled up next to the genius; Sherlock barely spared him a glance. "What do you want Lestrade?" he asked. He switched the slide and waited for the older man to give him an answer.
He could hear Lestrade's heartbeat rise slightly as he took an intake of breath. "How are you feeling Sherlock?" he asked. He tried to look casual but Sherlock could read his worry all over his face.
"I'm feeling fine," Sherlock answered dryly. He wanted the other man to go so he could have peace and quiet.
"You don't look it," Lestrade stated. "Let me take some blood, maybe a scan of your body to see if there is something wrong with you."
Sherlock rolled his eyes; he leaned back from the scope he was looking through and rolled up his sleeve. He stuck out his arm and went back to work. "Have a field day," he said blandly.
Lestrade looked please. He took out the sterilized needle he brought and slipped it in to Sherlock's skin. When he was done he bowed slightly in thanks and went over to his own working station. Sherlock hoped that the subject wouldn't be brought back up, because in truth he wasn't feeling well. He didn't want anyone to notice, he wasn't feeling that bad, just a bit more tired than usual, and maybe sick to his stomach when he ate. He was also getting headaches but that wasn't something to worry about; he led a stressful life, headaches came hand in hand with it. He shook his head and glanced over at Lestrade; he watched as he worked quickly with his blood.
X
When they were leaving at the end of the week Lestrade slipped something in to Sherlock's pocket. "Inject this, it will make you feel better," he whispered in the younger man's ear. "Right over your heart; it will kill what is attacking you inside your body."
"What is attacking me?" Sherlock asked in hushed tones. He didn't want the other's to know what was happening. He was not going to let himself be afraid though, if he was afraid then he was weak.
He didn't do a good job of hiding it. Lestrade took on a look that instantly resembled sympathy. "It's not fatal, I'm not sure what it is, but if it hasn't killed you yet than it won't take you down," he explained. "You should have enough in that package that I put in your pocket for seven months. Just ten milligrams every day."
Sherlock nodded and dropped his hand in his pocket. His fingers curled around the small bundle. "Thank you Lestrade, you've been a lot of help," he stated. "We should be getting on our way. We have a dead line to meet."
Lestrade smiled at him. Mycroft left John to stand by the scientist's side. "Be safe Sherlock," he warned his brother. "I don't want to have to resurrect you again."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed his hand on John's back. "Let's go," he drawled. John followed without a word. When they were sitting in the car John smiled and chuckled a bit. Sherlock looked over at him, he couldn't help but smiling himself. "What's so funny?" he asked.
"I don't trust your brother much," John laughed.
Sherlock let out a giggle. "That's good judgment on your part, but I don't understand why it's so funny," he said.
John shifted and wiped his eyes. "It's nothing," he said. "I trust you."
Sherlock nodded. "As you should," he stated with a goof of a smile. They both burst out laughing then.
X
Sherlock slowed down as the long line of cars in front of him stopped. He lifted his head, trying to see what the holdup was. He looked at John who was leaning his head against the window lazily. Sherlock tried to think of what was wrong. He glanced at the clock then to the sky. "What day is it?" he asked.
John jumped. They haven't said anything in the last half hour they've been in the car. "Um," he hummed, "I think it's Saturday."
"Yes," Sherlock said irritably, "but what date is it?" He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. If it was the fifteenth then he knew what was stopping them from entering the city.
John was silent for a few seconds. He had a calculating look on his face. "I think the paper said it was November 15th," he said. "Yeah, it definitely said that."
Sherlock groaned. He reached in to his back pocket and got his wallet. "Get your ID out," he ordered. John bobbed his head and obeyed. Sherlock was not planning on having to go through parade security. They were over protected, had way too many precautions for a man who wasn't even their leader. They had to get their ID's out and if the RA thought there was anything suspicious about the way you acted they had the right to take you out and search over your body and your car.
It was even worse when you lived in the city. You weren't allowed to leave your home without have it searched first. After it was checked over you were allowed to leave and praise the leader that would save them from any other form that wasn't perfect.
The leader was paranoid. Sherlock knew for a fact that he hasn't left his office in the years that he has taken over. He had decoys doing his business. No one was sure what he looked like. The genius would call him a coward right before he took him hostage and let the people's life he has destroyed come up with his punishment.
"Don't say anything when we get up there," Sherlock demanded.
"I know," John huffed.
Sherlock leaned his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. He calculated how long they would be in the line. There were at least seventeen suspicious cars out of the forty six that he could see. It would take at an average of twenty minutes to search the cars. None of them were up to anything bad so they would be set free. The man in front of him was yelling at his children who begged him to take them to the parade but now they were whining about how long the ride was. He would take up about ten minutes of threatening his children to hand him their ID cards and then snapping at the RA before apologizing and telling him the whole story. Five grueling hours it would take to get in to the city. It would be tedious no less but he would have to endure.
"We should have left earlier," Sherlock mumbled. He could already feel the boredom crawling closer. "We would have gotten through hours ago."
"So," John said, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket.
Sherlock sighed. He knew John was eventually going to ask him the question. "What do you want to know about?" he prompted.
John got even more nervous after Sherlock said something. "What your brother said earlier," he started.
"About resurrecting me again," Sherlock helped. John nodded. "I died three years ago; Mycroft was nice enough to get me a new heart and some eyes on the side." He watched John process the information. Sherlock figured the man shouldn't be surprised by anything; he grew wings for god's sake. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so flabbergasted, you of all people should know the leaps the world has taken in the last few years."
John barked with laughter. "Last few years? Let's try the two decades," he told him. "Jensen had the ability to change humans in to creatures like me years before I was even born."
Sherlock noted that John looked like he was in pain. As if the idea of more people like him was hurting him. Over the week at his brother's, Sherlock was able to find out a lot about John just from the way he acted and talked. He would do anything to stop Jensen's work getting out to the world. He has gone through the changing process and he would never wish that pain on anyone. He wanted to protect; deep inside was the code that made him want to protect anyone that needed protecting. He wanted to crush the government and restore balance to the nation, back to what it was before they were born. He also felt too much guilt. He felt guilty over his friend's death even if he wasn't the one who cause it. He told Sherlock, if he could go back in time and stop himself from being shipped to the camp then he would have done it in a heartbeat; even if it meant giving up his wings.
Sherlock didn't know what to think of him though. He had such an enormous sense of guilt then why did he kill a man who wasn't trying to threaten them. He was going to help them; not that Sherlock minded, it was one less RA in the world, but it was wrong. In hindsight he could see that it didn't fit in with the category that he placed John in.
John slipped his fingers through his hair. "So, I had a rough childhood; I'm guessing you didn't have such an easy ride either," he stated; an easy smile on his face.
"Well it was pretty easy," Sherlock told him. "My family had a lot of money; I'm not sure about right now though. The only problem was I couldn't see. Until the new government came into power, I was perfectly fine. When things got messy Mycroft did us a favor and erased my existence and I hid until they found me."
"The RAs right?" John inquired.
"Correct," Sherlock agreed. "A RA found me, took me to jail; I died there and my brother discovered my whereabouts me and brought me back to life. The story of my life, in a nut shell."
"That sounds fun, my parent's sent me to the camp because they didn't have enough money to support Harry and me," John explained. "That's how Jensen got his grubby little hands on me."
Sherlock hummed. He was distracted by a man being pulled out of a car four cars ahead of them. They were almost to the front and an unaccounted for suspicious car had to make things harder for them. He wasn't sure how he missed the car; maybe the RAs are cracking down more than usual. He didn't want to be pulled out of the car. He turned his head and looked at John. "Close up your jacket more, we can't take any chances," he dictated.
"You don't think they'll accept people with wings as better people?" John asked sarcastically. He tugged his jacket closer to his chest and around his knees. "I think they'll praise me."
"Or kill you," Sherlock muttered. "Either way it's not really going to change anything."
John stifled a laugh. "You'll miss me," he grinned.
"I've only known you for about two weeks," Sherlock told him seriously. "And one of those weeks we didn't see each other."
"You'll miss me," John whispered.
Sherlock huffed and started bouncing his knee. "Stupid parade day," he muttered. "I don't know why they have these things."
"So the people who like the man can come out and worship at his feet," John suggested.
"Ever heard of a rhetorical question before?" Sherlock shook his head and pulled forward; it was finally their turn.
"You didn't ask a question," John laughed.
Sherlock covered a yawn, and his growing smile, with his hand as the RA knocked on the window. He rolled down it down and took on a lazy look. "Identification," the RA said, "both of you."
Sherlock could tell that the man didn't like his job. When he joined the RA's he was hoping that he would get a cool job. He was silent as the man looked over John and his ID. The RA handed them back their cards and peered inside one last time. "Is there a problem?" Sherlock asked.
"No," the RA stated, "you may go."
Sherlock heard John let out a breath of air as he rolled forward. "They're really bad at their job," John mumbled.
Sherlock chuckled softly. "We have to find Angelo quickly, he will spread the word to everyone to meet us at the old Saints Bart's hospital," he explained. "It's been abandoned for years, the RA's given up on looking in there."
"Angelo's the big Italian right?" John asked.
Sherlock nodded. He parked the car in the makeshift parking lot the RA's had set up. "We'll most likely be able to find him at his restaurant," he expressed, "but the problem is getting there."
They hopped out of the car and started towards the crowded streets. "Do me a favor," Sherlock yelled over the roar of thousands of people, "don't look to paranoid."
John turned on him and gave him an irritated look. "I'm not paranoid," John hollered back, "I'm just surprised that there are this many people. All of them just to see one guy."
Sherlock smiled and guided John through the mass of people. "It's amazing how things work like that," he said. "People worship all kind of things, gods, actors, dictators, and they would do anything to show that they are followers. They buy shirts, necklaces, books, it's useless. No one really cares; they just don't want to die."
"Who wants to die," John stated.
Sherlock shrugged and said, "Loads of people."
X
The two decided it would be quicker to move through the alleyways. Sherlock was able to get them to the restaurant that Angelo owned in twenty minutes. They just happened to get to the street when the float carrying the "leader" passed. Sherlock held John back and waited in the shadows for everyone to pass.
The float barely passed him when something was thrown at the people on the float. Sherlock knew what it was right away and tugged John further in to the alley. "Come on," he hissed.
Screams came from the crowd and the sound of guns going off. Sherlock glanced back as saw the float going up in flames. "You were right," he said to John. "They are really bad at their jobs."
"Why are we running?" John asked. "We should go back and help fight."
"With what" Sherlock snapped, "our fists? If you didn't know they have guns." He stopped suddenly at a wall and crouched down. He pushed away a few of the bricks and crawled through the hole. Once he was in he walked over to a container and lifted the lid.
"What are we doing in here?" John asked after he struggled to get through the hole.
Sherlock glanced around. The place was supposed to be a place for a garden for the two flats on the left and right. It had two brick walls to block it off from the alleyway. The only way in was supposed to be the fire escapes on the flats. "I have weapons stashed here," he told him. "I collect them when I take down a RA. The ammunition too; now this isn't how I was hoping to start this but it looks like people got to antsy." He dug through the dirt until he reached a metal tin. "It's convenient for times like this."
"What are we going to do?" John asked.
Sherlock tried to keep himself calm and took a few deep breaths. He turned to John and handed him a gun. "Do try and keep up John," he said, "we're going to help."
John's face lit up. "Let's get going then," said he.
Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going further. "I know you're desperate to help but we have to do this right," he told him. "We'll attack from the roof."
John nodded and stripped off his jacket. "One express trip to the top," he replied. He wrapped his free hand around Sherlock's waist. "Hold on," he warned and started beating his wings.
Sherlock grabbed on tight to John's arm and smiled. They were on the roof to quickly for the geniuses likens. There was two RA's on there, distracted by the people revolting down below. Sherlock motioned towards the RA on the far side of the roof. John nodded and walked lightly across the roof.
Sherlock started towards the one closest to him. He had his gun raised for quick fire. He was a hairs length away when the other RA spotted him and got a shot off. Sherlock acted quick and hit the man in front with the butt of his gun. He fell forwards and off the roof. John took care of the other one swiftly and set up to fire. "Save your bullets," Sherlock exclaimed. John didn't say anything but started firing down below.
Sherlock looked down and readied himself. He was about to start shooting when he saw another RA on the roof across the street from him. He lifted his aim and shot off one bullet. The enemy flew backwards and that was the last Sherlock saw of him. He reloaded his rifle and started on the RA's on the street.
The revolutionaries had homemade weapons; some had guns they had over the years. He was surprised by how much they were advancing on a military force. His eyes scanned the street. There wasn't something right. They didn't have the power to do what they were doing. They were making the RA's retreat. Sherlock growled and aimed towards the backs of the men running away. He got a few more shots off before they disappeared around the corner.
"John!" he sneered.
John was quickly by his side. "They're retreating," he said happily. His face fell when Sherlock wasn't joining in the celebration. "What's wrong?"
"We had at least fifteen guns out there and a few whisky bombs," Sherlock stormed, "we shouldn't have been able to fight them to a point of retreat." He looked down the road the army just went down. He shook his head and thought for a minute. "They're getting reinforcements to obliterate us!"
John's eyes went wide. "I knew it was too good to be true," he cursed. The cheers of the rebels were getting louder. "How long do you think we have before they bring in more guys?"
Sherlock scanned the street once more. "Not long," he told him. "I need a ride down."
John bobbed his head and grabbed Sherlock. He quickly brought them to ground level. The people scattered in fright. The moment Sherlock's feet hit the ground he started walking towards the few that were left. "You need to get out of here," he ordered. "They're coming back with more fire power; you won't survive to see tomorrow if you stay here. Gather all that you can and make your way to Saint Bart's, you can help better if you stay there." None of them moved from their spots they were all frozen in awe at John.
"Go!" John cried, spreading his wings to their full length. The effect was supposed to intimidate the other's on the streets, it worked.
Sherlock smirked when everyone ran away from them. "I might miss you," he said as he started to walk amongst the dead. He stopped at a few bodies that he knew would have things that he needed, money, ammunition, food, anything, he would fill his pockets with the stolen things. John followed behind him but he didn't take anything; he just checked to see if they were dead. Everyone was.
Sherlock was bent over a dead rebel and his head snapped up suddenly. He heard the faint sound of a tank. They were bringing in a tank to take care of a small group of about twenty. He stood and was about to run in the opposite direction when the wind was knocked out of him. John had heard the tank also and jumped in to action.
Sherlock took a moment to gather his senses and when he was finally able to open his eyes he saw London moving quickly underneath him. His heart was going wild in his chest. He tried to look up at John but his head was against his chest and he couldn't lift it. "John!" he shouted. A shot was fired from somewhere but John rolled out of the way. Sherlock held on tight as the birdman did so. "John!" he repeated.
"What?" John asked; his voice sounded strained.
"Get us down to the ground," Sherlock ordered.
"Not yet," John told him. "They'll see where we land."
Sherlock shook his head and tried his best to look behind them. He could see the RA's working to get closer to them. He understood what John was worried about but if they needed to land before they got to Bart's so they could lose them in the alleys and make sure they weren't followed in to the building. "Do you know where Bart's is?" he asked.
"Never been to London in my life," John told him.
"It's over in that direction," Sherlock told him as he pointed in the direction of the hospital. "We'll land and split up. You have to stay in the shadows and keep quiet."
"Roger that," John said before doing a dive head first towards the cement.
A smile spread over Sherlock's face as adrenalin ran through his veins. He knew he would definitely want to fly again. They hit the ground hard and Sherlock rolled across the ground. He sat up as fast as he could and pushed John in the opposite direction. "Hurry," he called.
Sherlock started running through the grungy side streets. He had to jump over a few people sleeping on the ground. He wrapped his coat closer to his body and hid part of his face in his scarf. He had a few things jiggling around in his pockets but if the streets were as loud as they usually was no one would notice.
On his way to Bart's he was able to work out what his new plan was. Sherlock was angry that his first one was ruined by idiots who didn't know how to wait. He would yell at them a bit before calling Angelo; if he wasn't there already, and lay out what was going to happen.
X
Sherlock leaned across the table where most of the rebels were sitting. He already laid it on them; told them not to start a riot unless they had the right weapons for it, no more homemade stuff, they would get their weapons from RA's. He told them about his stash of guns. They didn't have to worry about getting caught because the two flats on either side of the small square garden were supporters of the deforms. They wouldn't rat on them.
"What are we doing here?" one girl yelled out.
That got the whole crowd going. Everyone was complaining about not being out there and fighting. They had the necessary arms; they couldn't see why they had to wait. They also weren't happy that Sherlock yelled at them.
Sherlock was growing more irritated by the second. Then some guy shouted out, "Yeah, and where is that bird fella?"
"John will be here soon," Sherlock told them sternly. "Right now, we're waiting on him and Angelo. He's bringing about twelve more people. You'll know then." He pushed himself away from the table and started pacing the floor. He heard a door open down the hall. He stuck his head out of the door. "John."
"Is there somewhere I can wash up?" John quivered. He didn't move from the shadows.
Sherlock quickly blinked twice to put on his night vision. He couldn't see anything wrong with him. "There's a bathroom," he told him, "right over here." He touched the blonds arm to escort the jumpy man to the toilet. Once in there Sherlock could see what was wrong with him. He had blood covering his upper body. His hands were shaking as he turned on the water and tried to scrub away the blood. "What happened?" Sherlock asked. He didn't know why he was asking; he already figured out what happened.
John shook his head frantically and just kept scrubbing at his arms. "Leave," he muttered. "I'll be there in a minute."
Sherlock was hesitant but he turned and left the room anyway. He wanted to know why John was so shaken up, he was a trained killer. He got back to the room and saw Angelo waiting for him to begin. The genius nodded and unfolded the map that he had in his pocket. He laid it out on the old rickety table. He pointed to spot out in the country. "Alright everyone," he started, "this is where one of the many jails they're holding deforms. It's the biggest they have, if we get in there and take it over we'll have hundreds of more people to help fight and we'll have a stock of arms."
"We could also use it as a main base," Angelo cut in.
Sherlock nodded with a smile. "Yes, that's also another reason I want to take it," he stated. "If we take it then it shows Luther that we will not be put down. Think of him as a table, if you knock down one leg then it will start to wobble. If we can take out the jails he won't know what to do."
"He won't know what hit him," someone hollered out. "Down with Luther!" Everyone joined in the chant.
Sherlock clenched his head in his hands. He couldn't deal with a group of morons. "Shut up!" he cried out. "Just everyone shut up! You're right; he won't know what hit him. Except for some people got ahead of me. He's suspicious now. He'll up security on everything. You won't be able to enter a supermarket without getting a full body search."
"Sherlock's right," Angelo said. "Whoever started the riot could have possibly ruined the whole operation. But we can work around that. Right?"
Sherlock shut his eyes and placed his hands beneath his chin. All of his ideas drifted though his mind as he brought them up one by one. He had to take everything in to account. More fire power, longer night patrols, search lights on non-stop; he knew with all those he wouldn't get enough rebels in there to make a dent. But maybe if they hit during the day. It would be a bit of a surprise, they would still have guards all over the place but they wouldn't be expecting them to show up. "I have a plan that might work," he announced after a long bout of silence. "I can't guarantee anything though."
Angelo laughed and clapped his hands. "See," he exclaimed, "I knew he would be able to do it. Now, what's the plan?"
Sherlock leaned forward and started explaining their new strategy. He had to reel back and explain things to a few of them but everything went over smooth. He didn't like the taste of the new plan though; it sat in his stomach as wrong. The raid wouldn't be until a few weeks from now when things have died down slightly; he would go over it multiple times before it got the right feel to it.
The door opened, making everyone, except Sherlock since he heard it coming, and John walked in. All eyes were on him but Sherlock could tell that he wanted all the attention to be averted back to the genius. "That's all," Sherlock stated as he stood. "We'll all meet back here in three weeks. Angelo will bring the supplies we need and I'll get us the truck to transport us. Does everyone understand?"
Everyone nodded and a few called out 'yes sir'. Sherlock scowled and stomped out of the room, John was right behind him.
X
Sherlock set up a small fire later that night. He watched John closely over the dancing flames. The birdman was acting strange ever since they met up again. Sherlock didn't know why; since he didn't know he was going to poke and prod until he did know. "You shouldn't be acting like this," Sherlock said right off the bat. "John, are you listening to me?"
John buried his head deeper in to his arms. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You've killed people earlier today," Sherlock stated, "I saw you do it. You were fine after wards. This kill should have been no different." He would never admit it but maybe he missed something. He wasn't sure how John should have acted; he was trained to kill.
John's head snapped up; his eyes looked tired and there was a frown set in place. "You really don't understand why I can be upset over what happened earlier," he said, "when I showed up in another human being's blood."
"Why would you be?" Sherlock questioned.
John dropped his head in his hands and let out a sigh. "It's different Sherlock," he explained. "Different from the dummies I practiced on. Different from the animals that I have captured within my claws. I knew I could do what I did but I didn't believe I could. I can't believe I did."
"That makes no sense John," Sherlock told him. He watched John's face go from anger to pity. He hid his head back in his arms and went silent. There was no reason what so ever for John to be acting like a little boy killing his first deer. Why would it hurt so much? Sherlock has killed many people before with his bare hands; he didn't feel bad about it. He didn't act like John. Sherlock shook his head and leaned against the wall behind him. "John." He didn't get a response. He tried the name again but nothing.
Sherlock slowly let out a breath of air; he reached in to his pocket and grabbed the syringe Lestrade gave him. He pulled it out and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. He hovered the needle over where his heart was on his chest and pushed it in. He pushed the black liquid in to his body 'til it was gone. He pulled the syringe out and sat back. He could feel whatever what in the liquid make its way around his body. He leaned his head back against the cold brick; he was already feeling better.
Bomb threat.
Ignore the bomb threat line. My friend wrote it and I don't have the heart to erase it. Okay, let's recap Luther is the evil man who took over and has a thing against deforms. Now you know his name. Alright, if you guys want to know something just ask me. If you think I should do a chapter in the P.O.V. of an RA then tell me; I would love to see how that goes. So if you want me to continue, or if you want me do stop writing please review. BYE!
