Flight and Fall [ON HOLD]

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Five years. It had been five years since they had moved. Over five years since they, the four that Sherlock hated with all his heart and soul, had flown away. Left him. Abandoned him. He had counted down the days, the months, the years. Every day was another thing to dread. Filled with the same trials and torture as it always did. At the age of eleven he already wished to end his life. That he had never came into existence. He just... wanted to cease to be.

But there was no way for this to happen. So he had to continue. Survive. Just observe. Ever alert for the possibility to escape. Ignore the scar that covered his body, the pain that lulled him to sleep. He would get out. And if he could not, he would at least die trying. That would be better than this... Existence. If you could even call it that.

Some days he spent cooped up in the tiny cell that was his home (a pretty terrible one at that) with only his thoughts to keep him company. Sometimes he contemplated many things and remembered... Remembered the good days. He had not been free but he had been happy. In some way, at least. Other times he just wished he could switch his brain off. Even if it was just for a few minutes. It worked so much, was always so irritating. And those were the good days. Most days he was taken for some kind of testing. Sometimes it was a maze, which was changed every time and he had to run through. The floor was burning hot to encourage him to keep moving and if he stopped running he was electrocuted. Other times he had to do various puzzles, all complicated. Well, for most people. They were easy for him. They made him fight their guards, tested his flying and often examined him. They took blood samples and other painful things. It was all terrible. But he was always alert for a chance to get away and always listening. Listening to their verbal words and their mental thoughts. Often one thing cropped up. They all seemed to think about a person called Dr Holmes, whispered about them in corners were they thought Sherlock couldn't hear. But he could. He had sharp hearing.

It was always Dr Holmes, a person Sherlock assumed was in charge of this facility at the very least, or subject thirteen. The subject that had escaped. The prodigy subject. The one that escaped. Now they were using Sherlock instead, hoping he was just as brilliant. Which he was. He knew he was.  

But still every night he curled up in his cage with his jet black wings wrapped around him, body sore and with a bunch of new scars. And his mind was in no better a state. It was always at this time that he remembered and resented. If he ever saw his brother again... He would kill him. And if he didn't get to... Well, he didn't know. He just knew that he would never forgive him. Him or any of the others.

"Sherlock. Hey Sherlock." Sherlock's pale eyes opened suddenly and he automatically backed away, hand in front of him in fists. It only took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and then he could quite clearly see the person in front of him. It took him a while to put a name to the face. John. He was... Thirteen now, Sherlock guessed. He hadn't changed much. Grown a bit and had longer hair. His bat wings were unfolded behind him back, looking rather large and clunky. They must be hard to hide.

"John," Sherlock breathed, tilting his head. Relief flooded across his features but he pretty quickly covered it with an emotionless mask. Not that it really matter. John was an empath after all... If Sherlock remembered quickly. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been trying to find you since we got here... This is the first time I've managed to sneak away. I'm helping you escape." A light smile crossed the blond boy's lips.

"What? You can't just let me escape. Really bad things will happen to you."

John's frown disappeared, a serious light filling his deep blue eyes. He spoke after a few moments of silence. "I'm coming with you."

Sherlock tilted his head, contemplating it. Freedom... He would finally get out of here. But they would have to hide. John's wings would make it hard to do that. He would have to wear really baggy clothes. "Okay. Do you have..."

"I've got food and a change of clothes," John cut Sherlock off, turning around to show him the backpack he had. "I stole some clothes that I think might fit you."

"Right," Sherlock kept his voice as quite as possible. The lock is controlled by a single pad over there. As soon as you put in the pattern code we'll have about two minutes at most to get out of here. Just go over there and draw this." He slowly made the pattern in the air, repeating it a few times. John nodded. He hopped up and scurried over to the pad. He had to stand on his tiptoes to draw it, doing so carefully. Sherlock was glad he did it right first time... Otherwise the alarms would have been set off. This gave them time,

He cautiously pushed open the door of his cage, stepping out and stretching his wings. He gave out a sigh before looking at John. "Let's go."

And then they were running. Sherlock ended up grabbing John's hand as he went past, so he could yank him through the corridors. He knew exactly where he was going and ran as fast as he could. After a minute he heard shouts. They knew. They just had to get outside.

John was stumbling, struggling to keep up. He was shorter than Sherlock, much shorter, even though he was older. But there it was. The doors were just up ahead. Sherlock crashed into them with his shoulder so they would open. Leading to the open air.

"Come on, we need to fly away! Just follow me." Sherlock had already fully spread out his wings, running before he was in the air. He laughed as he felt the wind ruffle his dark curls. This was what it should feel like. He turned his head around to see John copying him, running and flapping his wings awkwardly. He got ten metres into the air, looking good and then... he was falling. Sherlock pulled in his wings and shot down, grabbing the other boy under his shoulders. He quickly spread out his wings before they hit the ground and once again rose into the air.

"Never flown before?" Sherlock mumbled with a frown. The eleven year old had expected John to have had practice flying. Obviously not.

"Yeah."

"I can carry us far enough away to sleep. A forest or something."

"We should go to London."

"Where?"

"It's a massive city."

"Why?"

"There will be loads of people."

"Surely that will be worse?"

"No. We can blend in and get food. Maybe even find help. Who knows? I think it will be a good place to go."

"Fine. You'll have to direct me. It may take a while to get there, though."

"Don't worry... It's not far. We'll get there."

Sherlock flapped his wings again before gliding. John didn't weigh much so he would be able to carry him for a while. He had escaped. He had survived. Finally he was free. Free and no longer alone.