Volo Libero

Untitled Part 1

Sherlock loved his wings. Every part of them. The way they ruffle when he's annoyed, the way they feel, the way they fold against him when he's cold or needs protection. What he loved most is the color. The beautiful midnight blue color that they are. He and Mycroft would go out every Saturday and Sunday and stretch their wings. The thing Sherlock would love to do the most is soar high then drop; let himself fall until the very last second before he'd pull up. He named it free falling. Going out and flying had been a ritual they did without fail for years. It was a special time between brothers so they could be themselves. Not who the world wanted them or expected them to be. While Sherlock had midnight blue wings Mycroft has more of a auburn color with flecks of hazel. Mycroft and Sherlock both had demanding jobs but both had made it clear that they were to have Saturday and Sunday off. No exceptions. So every Friday night Mycroft would drive Sherlock and himself to the Dartmoor countryside and would have all of Saturday and most of Sunday to fly. They'd drive back Sunday night and the week would start over. It lasted about 13 years before one of them had to cancel. Mycroft got called in to handle an emergency and told Sherlock to go on without him and that he'd make it up to him. Sherlock did just that. He went up without Mycroft but it wasn't the same. He missed Mycroft. It was his only time with him and it got taken away. Sherlock decided to do some free falling. He soared high up, just past the trees then folded his wings in as he dived down toward the ground. He unfolded his wings at the last second and soared back into the sky. He loved the feeling it gave him. The feeling of danger and freedom. He steadied himself in the air and looked down. That was the first time he noticed the man there. Who was he and what did he want?