Archive of Our Own

The siren carried him to me

First of them true lovers

Singing on the shoulders of an Angel

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address 221B."

That had been the sealing point. The beginning of the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Of course their first meeting had been set up. Sherlock needed to watch over John but he didn't want his sudden appearance the ex-soldier's life to be... Creepy, you could say. Mike had been willing enough. Sherlock had already got to know John's habits a few days before they met. It was his job.

Sherlock may never have expected to be chosen as a Guardian Angel but he was going to damn well try and be a good one. Then again, John wasn't really helping.

It started when John shot a cabbie, a criminal, to save Sherlock's life. Of course Sherlock had never been in any danger. He wasn't stupid. He was an angel after all. He wasn't going to risk his life. Angel's may be immortal, but they were not invincible. They could be killed just like humans.

From that point their relationship took new heights. They quickly moved from acquaintances to friends. And from there it only continue.

Sherlock remembered the day when he began to break the rules for John quite clearly. You could call it his first fall. And he did not regret it.

My fall will be for you

"You. Bloody. Idiot." John's eyes were sharp with both tears and anger, his fists lightly hitting against Sherlock's chest. "You had me worried. You were shot, for God's sake!" Well in a way he was shot for God's sake but Sherlock doubted that that was what he was meant to get from this conversation.

"I'm fine," he replied smoothly. Of course he was. He'd only taken a bullet to his chest. Wait, those two sentences didn't really fit. It was fine. He had Angel healing voodoo on his side.

"Don't you ever do that again. Don't you dare. I was worried. I thought you were dead."

"It was me or you." And if John had died, Sherlock wouldn't exactly come out of it in a good state. Failing as a Guardian? That was not something one wished to do.

"Don't sacrifice yourself for me."

Sherlock raised a delicate eyebrow, the smallest of smiles curving his lips. "I'm afraid that isn't possible."

"Please, Sher. I couldn't survive without you." All the anger had left John's deep blue eyes, staring up at Sherlock. They were so close. When had that happened?

"The same goes for you." Sherlock's voice was softer. He didn't even realise what was happening as John's hands came to rest on his hips. Sherlock's arms automatically wrapped around the shorter man's neck. Their faces moved gradually closer until their lips met.

Sherlock felt a spark in the pit of his stomach, something he had never felt before. It was painful, but it was so good. He decided to ignore it. And only think of John's lips on his own. The way John's tongue swiped Sherlock's lips, asking for entrance. Which Sherlock gladly gave.

When they pulled away both were breathless, faces flushed. They just stood there in silence for a few moments before they continued.

Some part of Sherlock screamed for him to stop. To remove the feelings being invoked in his mind. To pull away from John. To turn down the request to come to bed with him. But he didn't.

He knew that he was breaking so many rules. Do not get involved with the humans. Do not grow attached to the one you are protecting. Do not fall in love.

But for now, just for now he didn't care. He doubted he ever would. Because John was perfect. He both cherished and rued the day that he was given this assignment. Because it had brought him to John. But he knew that in the end it would not end well.

The first warning came a few days later.

"Tea?"

"Please," Sherlock smiled as he collapsed into his chair. He hadn't even remembered falling asleep. He didn't sleep often, he didn't really need it. John must have let him lie in though.

"Here you go." John kissed him lightly on the forehead. "But don't expect this every morning."

"I won't," Sherlock smirked over his mug as John sat opposite him. There would never be a time when John didn't make him tea. John's tea would be the best.

John arched an eyebrow. They sit there in silence, just revelling in each other's presence. It was these moments Sherlock loved. The calm points in their chaotic lives. The times when they almost fell into a domestic bliss.

"Sherlock! There's a letter for you."

Sherlock shot up at Mrs Hudson's call, unceremoniously dumping his mug on the floor in his hurry to get down the stairs. He practically tore the cream envelope from her hands, opening it quickly. He paled at the sight of the elegant script, written in ink. Just as he'd expected.

He read it quickly before scrunching it up and dumping it in a bin. Then he shot back upstairs, schooling his features.

"What was that then?" John looked up from his newspaper as Sherlock reappeared.

"Just a letter from my parents, trying to contact me." Sherlock made a face. It was close enough to the truth. Okay, not really.

"And?"

"I threw it away."

John rolled his eyes but didn't ask any more questions.

The second warning came a few days letter. This time in the form of an email. Of course, they had all his contact details. This one had been more threatening. The last had merely informed him that he was breaking the rules and that if he didn't rectify his mistakes he would be taken of his assignment and brought back to heaven. This one was more threatening.

The third was a series of texts. He was to go back to heaven that instance. Someone else was to take over.

Sherlock knew he should obey. It was not something he had ever liked, but every sensible bone in his body told him to. But he didn't. He couldn't. Not when John was still here. John, the human he loved so much. John, for whom he had broken these rules.

Who deserved to know what was going on.

My love will be in you

"Let me get this straight," John looked so confused, uncertain. Suspicious. He was now certain that Sherlock was mad. "You are an Angel. Like the classical Christian Angel."

"More or less."

"And you were meant to be my guardian."

"Unfortunately," Sherlock added drily, trying to add what was not really humour to a pretty tense situation. John shot him a glare.

"And that falling in love with me is breaking some stupid heavenly rule. Acting upon it is even worse."

"Indeed."

"And you have been summoned back up to heaven to do what?"

"Be judged."

"Yeah, right, great." John had one hand his forehead and was walking about in a worried manner. "What do we do?"

"You do not need to do anything. I will not bring the Angels any cause to judge you also. And what I will do... I will run."

"Not fight?"

"I am powerful, I have abilities many do not, but not those kinds of abilities." Sherlock shook his head ruefully. "Mine are more along the lines of healing and protection."

"Ironic considering your personality."

"Indeed," Sherlock chuckled. He moved forward, kissing John lightly on the forehead. "I guess this is goodbye."

"I don't think so. I'm coming with you."

"No, John."

"I'm sorry, but you I am an independent man who can make my own decisions. And I was in the army."

"I don't want to drag you into this."

"You made me fall in love with you I'm already bloody well involved in this."

A soft sigh left Sherlock's lips. This was not what he wanted. But John seemed to be insisting. "Fine. But promise me this. If anything happens, anything, you will do whatever you have to to come out of it unscathed. Even if it means losing me."

John paused. "I promised." John frowned slightly. "If you're an Angel." He obviously still didn't quite believe it. "You'll have wings right?"

"Of course." The faintest of smiles framed Sherlock's lips. A ghost of a smile. "Want to see them."

"Yes."

Sherlock took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as his face screwed up in concentration. A moment later a pair of large, white feathered wings appeared protruding from his back as if he wasn't even wearing clothes. It was odd yet magical at the same time. John cautiously stroked one, hand running along the surprisingly soft feathers. They were beautiful. As soon as John removed his hand Sherlock used whatever magical voodoo he had to make them disappear.

"Where are we going?"

Sherlock shrugged. "The streets. Anywhere that we can hide." John nodded. He could sense Sherlock's worry, the nervousness in his gait.

"Let's go then."

As soon as they left Baker Street Sherlock knew time would be against them. The Angels were watching, always watching, and they had given him a day to return before they came to get him. When him and John didn't return that night they would get suspicious.

Sherlock quickly got into contact with his homeless network and found them a place to stay for the night. Among the masses they should be hidden. For now.

It went on for a week. The constantly moved, never staying in one place. Someone high up had contacted the police with evidence that Sherlock was a murderer. That cut out any chance of contacting Lestrade for some help. Sherlock was wanting and John was now his accomplice. They avoided everyone aside from the homeless network. Those days were fraught with danger. Yet John did not regret going with Sherlock one bit. He loved the man and could not bear to lose him.

They were found when asleep. One minute John had been a surprisingly peaceful dream, Sherlock's arms wrapped around him, and the next he was woken by a blinding light and a coldness. He was stood upright and felt what seemed to be a whoosh of air around him. He didn't dare open his eyes.

Not until he got a sudden sense of whiteness. The lids blinked open and he winced. There were in what looked like a modern courthouse, just all white. Where were they? He glanced at Sherlock seeing him held by two rather burly looking Angels, whose wings were more gold than white. His own had made a reappearance and he looked... Resigned. Heaven, then. That must be where they were.

"Well, brother, you have done it now." John bristled at the drawling voice, deep blue eyes seeking out Sherlock's brother. Of course he was an angel too. He wasn't the only one standing opposite him. There were seven Angels. John vaguely recalled something about seven Archangels. That must be who they are.

"Yes, I fell in love, isn't it terrible," Sherlock practically spat.

"You could have waited, you know." Mycroft's smug look only made John want to punch him even more.

"Waited?" Now Sherlock looked confused.

"Why do you think we assigned you as a guardian, Sherlock? You're powerful but you're a wildcard. We had to see how John reacted."

Something clicked in Sherlock's brain. "You were watching him while making the decision as to whether to make him an Angel or not."

"Indeed."

"Well looks like a wrench was thrown in your plans," John smirked slightly, glancing at Sherlock. Attempting to be reassuring. Sherlock just gave him a slight shake of the head. John ignored it.

"Not quite, Doctor Watson." Mycroft's icy gaze had turned to him now. "You will still become an Angel. In fact we will bring forward that very event. To today, I think." He glanced at the other Archangels who all nodded. "You are forgiven for helping Sherlock. You did not know what you were doing." John gulped. He didn't like this. Not one bit. "Bring John over here."

John would have struggled if he hadn't known better. This wasn't good. He didn't want this. He was placed in front of Mycroft and suddenly the Archangels were a ring around him. He felt seven hands on him. He had to force himself not to shudder as he closed his eyes against the bright light. A warmth filled him, spreading until he felt like he was about to burst. He felt so light, so good, so pure. When he opened his eyes again the Archangels had moved back to his former position. He craned his head, a light gasp escaping his lips. His wings were massive, the plumage white trimmed gold. They were really quite beautiful. The slight grin fell from his lips as he caught view of Sherlock's hardened face. Bringing him back to the present. The harsh reality.

"Sherlock." Mycroft was speaking again, an almost cruel smile twisting his lips. John disliked Angel Mycroft even more than he did the human Mycroft. Then again they were the same person. "You have broken at least three of the sacred rules. You fell in love with a human, acted upon that love and told a human of our existence." Now that was not bloody fair. Technically he was an Angel now. Not that he wanted to be. Stupid Angels. "You may have been forgiven for just one. But three, that is a large crime. It has not happened in a long time." Yeah because the Archangels appeared to be bloody dictators with their stupid ass rules. "For your crimes you are sentenced to be banished. You're wings will be cut off and you will be cast down to the human realm. John."

"What?" John tried not to look too horrified. He had only got his wings and he couldn't imagine losing them. For all he knew Sherlock could have had them for all his life.

"You will do the banishment."

No no no no no no no. No. "No."

"You do not have a choice in the matter." They had procured some kind of fancy knife. Oh brilliant. They expected him to just cut of Sherlock's wings. Sherlock, the man (well Angel) that he loved. This must be some kind of sick joke.

"I will not do it."

"Again, you have no choice."

John glanced at Sherlock, pleading him to say something. Not that it would really help.

"Do it, John." Sherlock's face was a mask and there was a coldness in his many coloured eyes. John bit his lip, shaking his head. "Do it."

Take a deep, shaky breath John took the knife. It may look fancy, but one look told him the blade was sharp and well used. How regularly where Angels banished. Slowly he approached Sherlock, who was released by those holding him. Sherlock turned around, removing his shirt and kneeling to give John a better access to where his wings connected to his back.

"I can't do it," John whispered, tears forming in his eyes. No, he would not cry. He was a fully grown man for God's sake.

"You have do, John." Sherlock's voice was quiet, so only John could hear it, but hard. "You do not and you get the same treatment. Remember your promise."

"But..."

"I knew I was breaking the rules, John. I deserve it. You can see that, can't you?" He could. "Do it now." John knew that Sherlock's words were true. But it didn't hurt any less when an ear piercing scream was wrenched from Sherlock's lips as the blade first connected with flesh.

If you be the one to cut me I'll bleed forever

Sherlock remembered little from the days right after he fell. There had been the fall itself, the pain upon collision to the ground only adding to what he felt. He managed to drag himself to one of the many areas the homeless seemed to like to stay and practically collapsed there. He was thankful that some of his network recognised him and pretty much stopped him from dying. The wounds scarred pretty quickly but it would take a long time to get used to the lack of wings and general powers. He was mortal now. What an ironic twist of fate. He and John had swapped places. Changed stations in the world.

At first Sherlock had to depend on his homeless network to get him back up on his feet (literally and figuratively). One thing was for sure he couldn't go back to what he had been before, when he was John's guardian. No. Anyway, he had no wish to help the humans. Not in that way. Not anymore.

He started by selling himself out for various odd jobs. Soon the news of the great Sherlock Holmes joining what you could call the dark side spread through the many self declared criminal leaders. Though they were wary at first they soon realised that this was not the man he had once been. He was as emotionless as before but no longer driven to solve crimes. No, he committed them. It started with assassinations. They gave him a certain sense of justice. Like he was getting revenge by killing the humans that the Angels protected. He was brilliant at his job. Silent on his feet, raw muscles and an incredible kill at killing he was well sought out. He got job after job, earning him more than enough to live in luxury. But he kept killing.

And all the while the emotions he had once felt, though he had never wanted to feel them, began to disappear. His heart hardened and darkened. His soul was as dark as possible. His hatred grew and grew and grew. A hatred towards the Angels, a hatred towards mankind... A hatred toward John. He buried the love he had once held deep down. Locked it in a room and threw away the key. It was still there but it would never surface again.

He stopped caring. He never forgave and he never forgot. He just hated, killed and helped criminal's out of tight spots. It was his way of life now. Like the murderers he had once chased and jailed. That was what he was now. A murderer.

Without care for love n' loss

"I love you."

"Love you too," John pressed a light kiss to the lips of his wife. In the five years he had been an Angel things had changed. Although that was to be expected. He wasn't sure if it was for the better or for the worse. He still remembered the brilliant times with Sherlock, their short relationship. He saw how he had done wrong, though, but couldn't bring himself to think badly of the fallen angel. He would never see him again so he might as well hold him in high esteem. Secretly, of course.

Everything was perfect. He had found a beautiful Angel, Mary, and had fallen in love again. Not against the rules, this time. It was that perfect kind of love. All fairy dust and moonlight serenades. Nothing like what he had with Sherlock. Something that it would be best to forget. As an Angel John was part of a select through that, well, took out those who were evil. Whether they were humans, fallen angels or demons. He dealt with all of them.

"Stay safe," Mary's smile was soft.

"Don't I always?" Kissing her once more, John left with a wave. He quickly made it to what you could call their headquarters. They were rarely there, though. Only when called in for a new assignment. Which was exactly what he was getting. He had been expected one for days.

"Hello, John," Gabriel greeted him with a warm smile as John entered the main office. "Take a seat." John sat opposite the seat, taking the file offered to him. He frowned lightly. Fallen angel. Right, this wouldn't be too hard.

A light gasp emerged from his lips at the first picture.

"Recognise him."

"Of course." John felt like he was choking. Those black curls, finely chiselled face, beautiful eyes. He would recognise them anywhere. Yet there was something different. This was not the Sherlock he knew. There was a harshness to those eyes, a cruel smile on those lips. The years, it seemed, had not treated him as well as they had John.

"Since his fall Sherlock has been building up what we believe to be a criminal empire. He began as an assassin and went on to help criminals get out of trouble."

"Ah." John frowned. Definitely not the Sherlock he knew. "What do you want me to do?"

"For now? Just watch him and report back."

"As you wish." Holding the file John stood up and left. This was not going to be easy.

It took him at least a week to find Sherlock, even with the help with Angels who could use their powers to track people. The man was careful about where he went and covered his tracks, often only exiting the backstreets in the worst part of town at night. But John found him, eventually. Found him and trailed him. Watched him as he murdered an innocent man who just happened to have gotten on the wrong side of him in some manner John couldn't work out. He saw him help criminals get away with horrible crimes. Saw the coldness in his eyes, the ice that had undoubtedly covered his heart. But he saw pain there, also. And John believed he wasn't without redemption.

He would have to try at least. And hope that Sherlock didn't just disregard him. Or worse.

Bring me home or leave me

Sherlock snorted as he ducked into a back alley, moving quickly as he shifted from street to street. He knew this place like the back of his hand and could get around easily. He would lose the Angel that was trailing him.

He wasn't stupid like they seemed to think he was. He knew when someone was following him. He may not have his powers, but he still had his intelligence. And his homeless network. When one of the street brats had first told Sherlock that someone was following he had put it down to nothing. When he was told that the man was still following his suspicions grew. It was obvious that it was an Angel. The tales of his misdeeds must have reached the heavens.

So he had given the Angel a show. His pleasure in the killing had been increased knowing someone was watching. He didn't know what Angel it was. He didn't want to know and he didn't care. But now that they had seen what they needed to see he needed to get rid of them.

And he knew exactly how to do that.

He made sure that he had lost the Angel before he began. The street he chose was empty and he ordered some of his network to keep it that way. He produced a knife, slitting his wrist and letting the blood drip down his pale arm. It did not even hurt. He placed the palm of his opposite hand against the bleeding wound and began to mutter in some foreign language. A tongue that would not be recognised by any that were human.

"Well, I would say that this is a surprise... But it really isn't. I have heard of you, Sherlock Holmes. One who so great and has fallen so far. A shame. Who am I kidding. It really isn't."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, cautiously watching the man who had many names. He looked like any ordinary human at the moment. Rather short, dark brown hair, brown eyes, slightly Irish hint in his accent. Sherlock didn't let the fool him. "I did not expect you to be the one to appear... Lucifer."

"Ah, that is my name, isn't it?" The man, the devil, tilted his head with a thin smile. "And you expected it to just be some common demon? No, I have taken particular interest in your case. What is it that you want?"

"I think you know," Sherlock replied coolly.

"Ah, yes. That Angel that is following you." The devil almost seemed to leer at Sherlock. "Interesting fellow, that Angel. You would be interested to hear who it is."

"I'm really not."

"As you wish. I will hide you from the Angels."

"The price."

"You join the dark side, you could say. Truly embrace your evil nature."

Sherlock snorted. Like he hadn't done that already. "It's a deal."

The devil walked over, placing one hand on Sherlock's head. A sharp pain shot through the fallen Angel's body. It spread to every part. An agonising pain. Emotional and physical.

Sherlock didn't remember exactly what happened. He was pretty sure that he blacked out. When he woke he was on the ground in the same alley. The devil was gone. He slowly stood, giving himself a once over. The cut on his arm was gone. And what was that sensation on his back? He craned his head, a smirk filtering across his lips. He once again had a pair of bird wings spread outwards. These ones were quite unlike the Angel's. They were jet black and ragged with missing feathers and some that seemed dipped in blood. He had forgotten what it was like to have wings.

Why had he not done this earlier?

My love in the dark heart of the night

John was searching for Sherlock, who seemed to have completely disappeared, when he got the call.

"John." A scowl passed across the blond Angel's lips. Mycroft may be an Archangel, above John, but that didn't make him like the man any better.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mycroft."

"I am sure you are aware that Sherlock has disappeared."

"I am. I cannot find him, and I marked him as soon as soon as I started following him. It is like he has completely disappeared." And he couldn't be dead. John would know where his body is.

"He has, as you say, disappeared. It is what we feared would happen."

Sherlock disappearing? Now what a minute... No. It couldn't be. "He made a deal with the devil?"

"It would seem so. He is more dangerous than ever. A true fallen Angel. I am surprised he did not do so earlier."

"What do I need to do?"

"Find him again and bring him in. If you cannot do that, kill him."

John gulped. He couldn't face doing that. Banishment had been bad enough. He may not have seen the once beautiful detective, well Angel, in years but that had not changed the pain and guilt he felt for cutting off his wings. "As you wish." He quickly hung up. This wasn't going to be at all difficult. No. Easy as pie.

In the end John did not find Sherlock. Instead he found one that he knew was part of his... What had he called it? Homeless network. It was quite easy to corner the young man.

"What do you want? I don't have any money." The young man, Billy, was watching him warily. John glanced down at himself, grimacing. He had discarded is comfortable, but nice, clothes in favour of something that would help him blend in. He looked a bit like a tramp. Which is what he had aimed for.

"I don't want your money."

"What do you want, then?"

"Do you know of a man called Sherlock Holmes."

"Might do. Who wants to know?"

"And you are?"

"And old friend."

"Right." The young man glared at John. "I'm afraid Mr Holmes isn't interested in people knowing his whereabouts."

"So you do know him."

The young man cursed. John arched an eyebrow.

"I would like to meet with him."

"Why?"

"That is for him to know."

The young man scowled, turning away and pulling out a phone. He vigorously texted. Eventually he turned back. "Mr Holmes will see you."

"When?"

"Now."

I have lost the path before me

"Well, isn't this nice?" A smirk was held across Sherlock's pale lips, though his eyes were like ice. He had not been shocked when one of his network had texted him about someone wanting to see him. The words old friend had given him a clue as to who it was. Not someone he necessarily wanted to see... But it would happen sooner or later. "Please, take a seat... John."

John frowned, cautiously sitting opposite Sherlock. He had been quite shocked when had been led here. It was like he had travelled into the past. Returning from a crime scene, drinking tea, just talking... It all came back. Sitting in these very chairs as they questioned clients. It was almost too much for him. "I assume you know why I am here."

Sherlock stretched out his dark wings, regarding John with a raised eyebrow. "Of course I do. You want me to come up quietly with you to heaven." He laughed, a cold and hollow sound. "I do not think so."

"If you come peacefully there is still a chance for redemption, Sherlock. Everyone has good in them and everyone can change."

"You are just as naive as when we first met."

"No, I am merely an optimist. I like to see the best in people."

Sherlock laughed again. "The same thing. And believe me, Doctor Watson, there is not good in me. I will not come with you to heaven."

"Please, Sherlock..."

"Do you think that talking to me will change anything?" Sherlock spat, his demeanour suddenly changing from calm to rage. "Do you think you can change me with your words and charm? No, John. Do you not remember what happened all those years ago? I have no wish to go back. And I know that there will be no fair trial." Not that he deserved one. "I do not want to listen to you. I do not want to hear another voice out of your mouth. If you try and convince me that there is good in all of us I will prove otherwise. I promise."

John narrowed his eyes, glancing over Sherlock. No, this was not the brilliant man he had once known. He had been broken years ago and in his vulnerability let evil take hold of his soul. "Think over what I have said." Then John left.

Sherlock knew John would come back, to take him to heaven, and that time he would not be so friendly. He couldn't bring himself to care.

Take me

Though he wouldn't admit it meeting John had shaken Sherlock. He did not fear his imminent death. He did not regret giving out his current location to John. No, he felt not fear. He had only felt emptiness since his fall.

But now, for the first time, he felt a slight nagging sensation. It took him a while to recognise it. To recognise that it was an emotion. One that seeped through the betrayal and hatred he felt. It was a long lost feeling. One he never though he would sense again.

Love.

He still loved John Watson. Deep down he knew it. It was not something he had expected. Hate? Yes. Love? No. He did not understand why. He did not pretend that he had ever understood it. But he knew it was a feeling that could never be acted upon. Never again. Because he would do anything to pretend John. He didn't care about anything else, anyone else. He had blocked them out. Hardened his heart against them. He didn't care if the world ended as long as John Watson was safe.

That was why he had to keep up the act. Well, it wasn't really an act. He truly had fallen far. It was just so hard to act cold around John. He really did bring out the best in people, however small it was. But he knew that John had to bring in Sherlock. Or at least try. John couldn't leave him or defend him. Because then he would also get in trouble.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

So for John's sake he would continue as it was.

Cure me

"I knew you would return."

Sherlock's voice was unnerving, piercing the silence in the dark flat. John was surprised that he had not moved since they had met. "Then you know why I am here."

"Of course."

"There's still a chance, Sherlock. I know there is good in you. Repent for what you have done and maybe you can continue your life."

Sherlock snorted. "We both know that that isn't true. They do not care. I am a dead man, Doctor Watson. You might as well kill me now."

Kill me

John struggled to get Sherlock up to heaven. The fallen Angel didn't exactly make it easy. He fought back, viscously. John didn't remember having to bring in someone so strong in a long time. He found it hard to deal with the cruelty in Sherlock's eyes... So bloodthirsty. Prepared to kill John if it was necessary.

Yet he still felt guilty when he succeeded in bringing Sherlock to heaven.

Bring me home

"Welcome back, brother."

"Oh yes, I'm sure you're delighted," Sherlock spat, eyes narrowed as they glared at Mycroft. "Finally get to put an end to the threat that I am."

"Do not rush to conclusions."

Sherlock laughed coldly. "I am not rushing. It does not matter what I say, the outcome will be the same. Just get it over with."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "As you wish. Sherlock Holmes, former Angel, you are sentenced to death for heinous crimes that are too numerous to count. Your execution will take place tomorrow by the hand of John Watson."

Sherlock wrapped his ragged wings around himself, almost as if blocking everyone out. He felt nothing. He had no life worth living. They had taken that away when he had fallen. He did not care if he would spend all of eternity in hell. Anything would be better than this existence.

No, he did not fear his death. And no one would mourn him.

No one except, perhaps, John.

Just another loop in the hangman's noose

Sherlock looked up as the door of his cell opened, arching an eyebrow as John entered. "Is it time?"

"Not yet."

"Then why are you here? To gloat?" Sherlock sneered, eyes fixed on John.

"Drop the act."

"I do not know what you mean."

"Drop the act, Sherlock." John had moved over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. That one touch caused something to shudder through Sherlock, his eyes widening and the cold barriers he had built up melting.

"John..." he murmured quietly, looking up at the short Angel. "I am so sorry."

John sighed. "We could still try and convince them to change the sentence."

"No, John. You do not seem to understand. No matter what this would have ended in my death. The Archangels do not just forgive and forget. They do not believe in repentance from one who has fallen so far." He placed a finger on John's lips to prevent him from interrupting. "You cannot deny it, I am what you would call evil. I cannot bring myself to care. But again you are the exception. You are always the exception."

"You do not know for certain, Sherlock."

"I do. Believe me, John, I do. And if you had try to claim I had changed or get me out of it then... Then things would have gone badly for you. I do not care for life anymore, John. I am ready to die. But I need to know that you will live in. Because this is for you."

John bit his lip, deep blue eyes solemn. "I am not sure I to live on without you."

"You will have to."

"I cannot bear to lose you."

"John, you lost me five years ago when I fell."

John shook his head, blinking back the tears. He would not cry. He was stronger than that. He placed a hand on the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him forward so their lips met in a short, but sweet kiss. Sherlock smile. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I love you, John Watson. And that is why I must die."

Time to never hold our love

John felt numb as he was handed the sword he was to use to 'execute' Sherlock. He wondered why it had been him that was chose both times to carry out the sentence. It was some cruel joke of the Archangels, undoubtedly. A way of removing what feelings he had for Sherlock.

The fallen Angel stood in the centre of the judgement hall, pale face a mask of ice and beautiful lips twisted into a sneer. He was watching them all with disdain. Hate burned in the depths of his many coloured eyes. John knew this hate was genuine. Towards everyone but him.

He slowly approached Sherlock, sword held out in front of him. He took a deep breath, bringing it back. Their eyes met. Unsaid words flew through their gazes as everything seemed to freeze for just a moment. John was already beginning to feel empty as guilt seized his soul. Then it happened, the sword swinging forward. John did not even think about it. He could not think. He kept his gaze on the man he had loved, the man who had sacrificed everything, as a whisper left his lips.

"I'm sorry."

My fall will be for you

My love will be in you

If you be the one to cut me

I'll bleed forever