Fallen Angel

In The Dimming Daylight (Part 1 of Reveal)

Chapter Sixteen

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"Donovan," Sherlock said seemingly pleasantly, a wretched smile twisting his face into that of a madman, "I still find it incredible, after all this time, how abysmal your intellect is.

"How you could come to the assumption that Kayla is mine is unfathomable to me, but I will take it upon myself to teach you something. Now, as you very well know, and take it upon yourself, much as I do now, to spread it, I am a virgin," Sherlock said shamelessly. Donovan was shocked, to say the very least, and my grin widened at the barely-contained disgust. Anderson was smiling with a savage glee, obviously happy at the announcement and his ability to now spread more rumours.

"This means, as I hope that you would be aware of, I have not reproduced," Sherlock continued, "and further proves that Kayla is, in fact, not mine. I would like to think that you will have become smarter, but this is nigh on impossible.

"However, Donovan, as I have decided to be of use to you yet again, here are some words of advice," Sherlock said, his expression changing from borderline-insane to dangerous and foreboding in the blink of an eye. His wings pulled tight against him and I relaxed from the position I had taken in order to avoid the black (dark navy, but never mind) feathers. John still hadn't turned around.

"First of all, you have nothing to fear of me," he said, and both Donovan and Anderson scoffed in disbelief before he silenced them with a hand, "Nothing at all. In fact, the only person here you should be afraid of is John," aforementioned doctor gave a short start at his name but otherwise remained still. Sherlock continued talking after that, I'm sure, but I blocked it out.

John was staring at the building on the other side of the street. It was a nigh-on dilapidated building made of stone and there was green ivy growing on the side, climbing up the concrete and reaching through the faded red roof. The windows were boarded up and what little could be seen of the inside of the building was dark against, well, the darkness.

"Why is there an empty plot there?" John asked me softly, and I started. The area John was looking at was empty?! But it was here, right in front... of... me... oh. I saw it now. Now, I knew.

The sibling hadn't killed the man lying on the pavement a few metres away. I'd known that. He'd gotten someone else to do it. But, whoever they were, they were in the building that only I could see. The body hadn't been moved. Not an inch, to use the phrase. And neither had the sniper. It wouldn't be a job well done if the killer, or in this case, the one that caused the killing was found, would it? Who would pay him if they were dead? No-one could know. But we did.

My body tightened in shock and I grasped John's hand in a death grip. I've always wondered how that phrase could apply to a grip, and now I knew. It was the grip one used when they were staring death in the face.

"What's wrong?" John asked, his voice quiet and commanding.

At this time, he was not the hedgehog or the doctor. He was a soldier trained for battle and could defend himself just as well unarmed as he could with a gun. But not against this. Not against this invisible foe, this monster only I could see in the hideout invisible to mortals.

"You have to believe me, John," I whispered, my voice tinged with fear and my hands freezing compared to his, "You have to believe me when I say that we are in extreme danger and if you don't listen to me, we will all die."

John didn't give any sign of our conversation beside a squeeze of my hand. That was an okay, then. That was him being willing to sacrifice his life for a child he'd met the day before. I would have laughed at the absurdity of it if I weren't so scared.

I strained my eyes, trying to get a glimpse of the murderer through the darkness that shrouded the stone fortress. It may as well have been – it was impenetrable. Even light couldn't touch it, not for anyone else. I blinked in shock as I saw a dark, scaly wing through the topmost boarded-up window on the right. My suspicions were correct. It was one of Us. I took a deep breath and released it all at once, trying not to scream. Or do something even more stupid, like cry.

"When I say, 'piss off' I want to to grab Sherlock and turn him around so that he's facing away from the empty plot. I shall assume that you have a sort of hand signal for Lestrade and the others that notifies them of the danger. They should get behind the car as quickly as possible," I told him quickly, trying not to move my mouth. John nodded quickly and looked at me with a frown.

"I will follow you," I lied, trying to appease him. He nodded again.

Damn right I wasn't following them. My wings were what could be described as indestructible - they would move any inanimate attacking force, such as a bullet, into their plain of existence, meaning that neither they nor any human could be harmed by the object - and certainly large enough to do this to any stray bullets. Sherlock would be safe – the shock of someone touching him would cause his wings to wrap around him as protection, also blocking John. The car wouldn't be enough, but the... Demon, or so to say, would aim for us first. Us being Sherlock, myself and John. No matter what, we were in danger of injury. I could only hope that the lack of room to manoeuvre and boarded windows would hinder the marksman and twist his aim. My eyes flitted back to the window I had seen the wing in. The sniper's gun was clearly visible. I had not time to waste or we were goners.

While I had been assessing the situation repeatedly, John had surreptitiously signalled the team of police. Thank gods they were intelligent enough to cautiously move back. Sherlock was aware that something was wrong but turned away from his face as I was I couldn't see his reaction. I had to act quickly.

"Piss off!" I yelled to the marksman, whose gun jerked and thudded against the wood.

John ran to Sherlock and spun him. He reacted just as I had planned. John was safe. The Yard had moved behind the vehicle and were also out of the way. I tucked my previously slightly-flared wings in close and spun rapidly before spreading them out, providing an extra layer of cover for Sherlock and John in case Sherlock wasn't able to provide the survival instinct or control the wings required to manipulate the bullets.

I felt a slight tug as two of the bullets hit the left wing and passed through. Sherlock and John down. I heard metal hitting metal as three more bullets hit the car. Five down. There was a slight pause, then a searing pain erupted in my shoulder. I'd been hit – the impact of the two bullets must have caused my wing to fall slightly, exposing my shoulder. Six bullets down.

How many bullets did that type of gun have? I swayed slightly and changed the position of my wing to keep balanced. Shaking my head, I forced my sluggish brain to move. How many bullets?! I blinked slowly as my vision darkened. I swayed again and wrapped my wings around me, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder. How many bullets?! I stumbled over, my vision distorted as the world flowed like a river around me. Cold hands grabbed my shoulders and I cried out in pain. A pale face came into my line of vision, surrounded by a shock of raven-black curls. The light was too dim to make out his face. Dim? I thought it was daytime...

The world went black.

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