Johnlock Oneshots (Requests are closed)

Wings

This was requested by the darling lilith5yolo. Thank you for the lovely comments and votes. You are a wonderful human being and I hope I did this right. Now, ANGST!!!!! With no happy ending so sorry...

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"Sherlock Holmes." He said, holding out his hand.

"John Watson." The other said shaking his hand.

There were a loud ripping and a flurry of feathers. "Shit!" John exclaimed and let go of Sherlock's hand.  John stepped back and covered his face. "You can't. We can't."

"Apologies." a low voice said from below him.

John looked down to see the detective on the ground. He must have fallen backwards. He couldn't see his wings as the detective was hastily pulling a coat over them. "It's fine. I'm just." John paused. "I'm not gay."

Sherlock's face betrayed nothing. "I understand."

Sherlock pushed past him and walked out the door. John put his face back in his hands. "What happened?" Mike asked. Mike had stepped out to get coffee and chat up Molly. "Nothing," John said, trying to hide his wings. "Who was it?"

"Nobody," John growled.

"It was Sherlock wasn't it?" Mike gushed.

"No. Drop it."

Mike held up his hands. "Fine fine."

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"John why is the couch covered in feathers!" Sherlock cried.

John rolled his eyes. "I don't know, maybe it's because I sit on the couch."

Sherlock groaned and collapsed on the couch. He didn't say it but he secretly loved John's feathers. They looked like falcons. Most people lived for the day they met their soulmate. It happened the moment they touched and the wings grew from their backs. John had fabricated the story that his soulmate had died in a car crash the day after they met. Sherlock never told anyone that he was, in fact, the poor woman who had died. Well in a sense anyway. It was a surprise when they moved in together. Sherlock had thought that John would hate him forever. Ruining his chance at true love. Even though Sherlock did love him. Truly. He never told me. John never asked what happened to his wings. He had never seen them. Sherlock knew he wanted to ask. The lingering stares at Sherlock's back were enough. They lived life peacefully enough. Sherlock never mentioned them and John never will ask.

Sherlock fell for the first time. For love.

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"Where are your wings pretty bird? You can't expect to fly without them." Moriarty crooned.

John looked at Sherlock. Expecting an answer. Well expecting the answer that he got rid of them. "Where's your soulmate?" Sherlock shot back.

Something turned sour in James' expression. "Dead."

"By your own hand."

Sherlock had obviously hit a weak point. "By a fool."

John wanted to ask. What did happen to Sherlock's wings?

He didn't.

He should have.

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"I can't fly."

"I know you, idiot!" John shouted. "Come down."

"I'm sorry."