Johnlock oneshots

Wings

(want to know what I realised? I have never wrote, properly, my favourite au? like ever? why? I will admit, id be lying if I said this was anything but an excuse for me to wax sap but Ill do my best to make it bearable. also, thank you so much for 4.5k omg. I might just burst into song)

The strap of the rugby bag cut into the side of John's neck as he hoisted it further onto his shoulder, cursing his new shoes. He could barely walk five steps without hissing. His steps were accompanied by the squeak of wet shoes on the ugly yellow linoleum floor and it did nothing to ease John's headache. Usually he hated walking alone by himself after hours, too much time alone with his thoughts, but now he treasured the solitude. The low lighting in the long, pastel green hallway made it seem never-ending, blue lockers seemingly being dragged towards the darkness at the end of the hall as if it was some sort of black hole. John swallowed.

Suddenly, the soft faint notes of classical music trickled through the hallway and John paused. The music department is here after hours? he thought, confused, before realising that the soothing melody was coming from the old dance studio. Headache forgotten, John tiptoed towards the dance room, quietly pushing the doors open and slipping inside with as much stealth as he could muster.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the sight he was met with. A boy stood in the middle of the brightly lit room, reflected in the mirrors surrounding the hexagon shaped room, spinning and turning in a manner that was impossibly beautiful. His hair was a halo of dark ebony curls and his pale skin was almost translucent. He wore a white leotard and black tights; his shoes were a pure jet black, the ribbon curled over his strong yet delicate calves and at an almost exact 90 degree angle. His long arms were spread outwards like wings, down to his very fingertips, and it gave the impression as if he was reaching out to grab a hold of something invisible to John. Something lost. The melancholy notes of the musical piece suited the beautiful boy with startling perfection. They were sharp and yet beautiful, much like him himself. Every inch of him was defined, seeming to be cut from marble rather than flesh. His beauty was out worldly. The obvious strength in his limbs was enough to match each member of the rugby team if not beat it, John guessed. Each turn he made sent light ricocheting across the room, bouncing off the panelled mirror and into the corners, filling the room with his presence. His legs were eagle spread in a definite line, coming in to his thigh each time he made a turn. Every so often, John caught a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror. They were made of the galaxies themselves, nebulas in their own right. They shone with the light only the secrets of the universe held. His face was angular and sharp, his high cheekbones his most prominent feature. He was tall and lanky but he moved with the agility of running water, his limbs never languid. An impossible contradiction. Spinning on his foot, he looked how a whirlpool moved. His arms and legs flowed from his body with the peace and strength of a running river, and they no doubt held the strength of the rapids. His torso was carved and muscular, with a waist so delicate John was afraid he would snap in half if he bent down. Impossible of course. The dancer's muscle toning showed through the tight material of his leotard, and was visible from John's place in the doorway.

The tone of the music changed abruptly, as did the dancers air of woe. The piece transformed, resent colouring every note. His movements became more rugged and cutting, though not any less beautiful. He gave a grand stag leap and spun in the air, presumably un-held by the laws of gravity, slicing through the air like a bird soaring free in the wind. He landed it with expert precision and gave three short barrel turns. Sharp, quick, angry. John found himself leaning forward. The piece spoke of a tale. The tale of a sad, beautiful boy who had suffered great torment and John was absolutely captivated. He watched entranced as the boy flew across the floor, a whirlwind of beauty and motion. His hair bounced with every move he made and the light reflecting in his eyes gave him a dangerous beauty that only an angel could possibly own. John decided in that moment that this dancer was far more than just a boy. This beautiful...creature was far more than mortal. He was heaven and hell and everything in-between. He was starlight and freedom, Danger and fire, sadness and beauty. An enigma in every sense of the word for nothing else could be this inconceivable. This unreachable. This untouchable. John realised his jaw had dropped and he couldn't bring himself to care. The pain in his head and feet were long forgotten at this point, as was everything else he was supposedly preoccupied with. He was far too awestruck by the impossible creature in front of him to care about such mindless things as getting home and packing away his kit. why bother with dreary normality when I can stay here an witness this? John thought lazily, eyes following the dancer as he leapt once more into the air, leg curling round to meet the back of his head at yet another 90 degree angle. His precision, John guessed, could only come from years of practise and dedication so why hadn't he seen him before? He had had to stay behind almost every week due to rugby practise (the big game was coming up in two weeks, and it was his responsibility to get the team ready. no easy task) and he had never even so much as got a inkling that someone else was inside the school, not even mentioning someone performing something so tragically beautiful inside the school before.

John realised with horror that the music piece had stopped, and the dancer was looking right at him. well shi-

'I...er...hi uh, I...that was amazing' John stuttered.

Under the scrutiny of the beautiful boy, John felt embarrassingly plain. What was he next to the beautiful dancer? He was dressed in simple blue jeans, his favourite shirt (a plain black and white shirt that read in a boyish script 'get in losers, we're going demon hunting' with a Chevy Impala underneath), black converse and his red and white team hoodie (with his number and his name in big bold letters on the back). He was also painfully aware that his hair was incredibly dishevelled and he had dirt glittering his cheeks.

the boy blushed, he spoke shyly 'you think so?'

John took a moment to recover from the shock of his voice and nodded vigorously 'yeah! of course! it was...yeah...quite incredible. yeah'

the boy looked at John for a moment, deciding if he was being sincere or not, and then smiled softly 'thank you....im sorry but, who are you'

'oh my god yeah, hi im John, John Watson' John waved minutely and grinned

'The rugby captain?' the dark haired boy exclaimed in shock, mouth forming into a small little 'o'

John felt oddly proud 'so you've heard of me'

'oh course I've heard of you! oh god, the school's favourite athlete watched me dance'

John stepped forward, desperate to erase the note of panic in the boy's voice, soothingly he said 'and thought it was brilliant' he smiled at his widened eyes 'are you practising for a show, er..?'

'Sherlock-' he supplied '-and yes, sort of. We have to choreograph and compose our own music and dance routine. if i do it, i'll get a full time place in the academy of dance'

John liked how Sherlock's eyes lit up when he was exited 'well you'll definitely get in with that. you composed the music yourself then?'

'yeah'

'jesus' John muttered, impressed

Sherlock beamed 'ive still got a few things to sort out. The show is this Saturday'

'can I watch?' John said quickly, desperate to see Sherlock dance again. He watched with a smile as Sherlock's eyes flitted back and forth across his face again

'...I guess, if you want to' he said after a while

John nodded and smiled wider 'id love to-' he paused 'so why have I never seen you in here before? and I thought it was supposed to be locked after hours?'

'well-' Sherlock smiled '-technically I broke in'