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He sat on the floor, lazily picking up one crystal-white feather after another, then tossed them to another part of the room. He glanced again and again between his hands and his wings. They used to be so lovely, so majestic, but now there were clear gaping holes where there used to be feathers. He told himself it was his own fault. He was just so bored all the time and could find no other way to keep his mind occupied than to dishevel his wings. He fluttered, and like snow, brand new casualties floated gracefully to the floor.
He laid on the floor and heaved a big sigh. His mind was racing at a mile a minute. This wasn’t anything new. This was his life. He closed his eyes and let everything wash over him. Because that’s all he could do. Be alone with his thoughts. Alone was what he had, alone protected him. But how could alone protect him from the loneliness he felt?
He sobbed quietly, tears streaming down his cheeks and onto the littered floor below. As the droplets struck the feathers beneath his head, they became dotted with a soft blue color. He could not see this of course, for he had his eyes closed, but he was no stranger to this phenomenon.
Effortfully, he rooted around in his jacket pocket for his mobile phone. Once found, he proceeded to stare blankly at it for several minutes. He then conceded to his thoughts and hit 1 on his speed dial.
“Pick up. Pick up, pick up. Pickuppickuppickup.”
Voicemail.
He knew the message by heart. He listened to it anyway.
“Hello this is Mycroft, if this is important leave your name, number, and a brief synopsis of what you want after the tone. Don’t include stupid details. Otherwise please hang up and don’t bother me.”
So he hung up.
He tried to remember the last time he had eaten. Was it yesterday? Day before? He couldn’t remember. He remembered everything. All the time. But he was tired.
He sat up and stared at his hands for a moment. They trembled weakly as he let them hover parallel to the floor. They felt numb and tingly and cold. Perhaps it had been two days ago the last time he’d eaten. Time didn’t feel like it mattered. But he presumed he should probably eat something. So he ordered pizza, because that was the only thing that sounded half decent.
With wings outstretched he lay back down, hands over his eyes.
Several minutes passed, and there was a knock at the door. It took him a moment to muster the strength to make it to the door, but he did so. He was greeted by a grey-haired man who couldn’t be more than a few years older than himself. He had obviously been in a battle and had been sent home due to an injury. He was a doctor but no longer practiced. Why? He didn’t know, but he did know this job was obviously just a way to get by while he stayed with his brother, or possibly sister?
“Hello, are you Sherlock?” The man asked both confidently and unamused.
Sherlock realized he had been staring for longer than was normally socially acceptable. He also realized the pizza delivery man’s gaze had found the pile of feathers carelessly left on the floor. At least Sherlock had remembered to tuck his wings neatly away.
“Uh, yes… yes I am Sherlock.”
“None of my business but did you murder a flock of doves recently?” The pizza man said laughingly, still peering at the feathers.
Sherlock was in no mood to answer. He just wanted this transaction to be over and he knew how to make that happen. Slowly, he slipped off the jacket he had just thrown on, the pizza man watching in curiosity. He sighed as he let his wings free, fully expecting the pizza man to drop the box and run away in terror.
Instead he just smiled.
Sherlock looked at him confusedly.
“They’re beautiful,” the pizza man said, handing Sherlock the pizza box.
“Really? That’s not what people normally say.”
“What do people normally say?”
“It’s less of a word than a terrified scream,” Sherlock started with a sad half chuckle, looking at the floor. Which is where he had been looking since opening his wings.
Sherlock reached into his pocket and extended his hand forward to tip the pizza man. As he did so the pizza man was taking off his own jacket. As soon as it was off, a beautiful pair of jet black wings sprang out from behind the delivery guy.
Sherlock was in awe. He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m John,” the man shook Sherlock’s hand that was outstretched with the money, as he had not moved at all from his previous position, his vision was locked on John’s wings.
“I... I’m...”
“Sherlock, yes, we’ve covered that,” he laughed a laugh that made his eyes twinkle, then after an awkward silence he continued, “well, I’d best be off, my shift is done for the day, so…” he trailed off.
“Um… John, would you, er, like to eat this pizza with me?” Sherlock could hear the desperation in his own voice but couldn’t stop himself, “or have a cup of tea… or not. This is weird, I’ve done something wrong. I’m sorry to have caused awkwardness. Have a good rest of your day.”
“No no I’d actually be quite happy to join you. All that’s waiting for me at home is an earful of relationship drama with my sister and her wife that I would really rather not deal with at the moment.”
“Really?” Sherlock internally scolded himself for how needy he sounded, “I mean, er, lovely I’ll brew us some tea.
While the kettle boiled the two had a nice conversation, the awkwardness almost instantly melted away. Sherlock felt quite strange, he had never really felt this way around another person before, despite only having known this man for less than a half an hour. It took him several more minutes to pinpoint the feeling, but he determined it to be relaxed. What a strange sensation.
Hours passed without notice and suddenly it was dark outside.
“I should probably head home,” John sighed reluctantly.
“Alright,” Sherlock nodded, realizing how quickly the time had gone, “would you… would you like to do this again sometime.”
“I would love to,” John replied as Sherlock walked him to the door of his flat. Just as John was about to walk out, he spun around, locked eyes with Sherlock, and without thinking gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Sherlock smiled and didn’t take his eyes off John as he exited down the stairs, tucked in his wings, threw on his jacket, and disappeared from view.
~...~
Sherlock and John did indeed meet again, and again, and again. They met so many times that eventually John moved into Sherlock’s flat, which was far preferable to living with his sister. While it was not always easy, as life never is, the pair had more good days than bad, and on those bad days they were right by each other’s side. After a few years had passed, and several proposals from John had been, well proposed, the pair finally became engaged. They married surrounded by close friends and relatives, and became wonderful parents to a beautiful daughter named Rosie. A few years passed and they became parents once more to a son whom they named William, after Sherlock. And they were quite content. There was much love to be had at their family residence, and many adventures that were shared throughout the remainder of their lives.