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."
John watched as Sherlock fell.
He cried when he hit the ground. He fell for a second time.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to see. He didn't. He stared at the gravestone. He wondered if he would ever find out what happened to them. Sherlock's wings. It was always a constant nagging on John's part. He had to have removed them. John hadn't seen Sherlock without his shirt so it wasn't confirmed. He had always felt guilty that he showed his wings off while Sherlock must have thought he was compelled to keep them hidden. He touched the headstone. He would never find out now.
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Then there was Mary with her pretty dove wings. She had put him back together. And he was going to marry her. That's when Sherlock had come back. John had punched him. Sherlock had limped away that night. John thought he saw a flash of emotion in those eyes. But it was too quick.
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Sherlock hated Mary with her pretty white wings, so unlike his own. He shook his head. John was happy. Isn't that what he wanted? He sighed. He wanted them to be happy, together. Sherlock closed his eyes. He would settle for John's happiness.
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The days continued mostly the same. The day of the wedding came and John looked happy. That night as he danced he failed to notice Sherlock disappear.
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Sherlock folded the note. He couldn't do it anymore. John had already mourned once it would be less on his heart this time. He had already moved on anyways. He hasn't replied to any texts Sherlock had sent in the past two months. Sherlock had given up after a month. He hasn't even come to see him. Sherlock sighed. The world was cruel to him. Even his brother had found someone. With his large barn owl wings. Lestrand had married him before the fall. Large eagle wings sprouted from his back. Sherlock picked up the gun. The same one John had used to shoot the cabby. He held it up to his temple and took a deep breath. A cowards escape. A tear escaped his eye. He was a coward. He pulled the trigger and fell one last time.
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"Good morning Mrs Hudson," John said smiling. "How's he?"
"Oh, I haven't seen him much. Though he was shooting something last night. Scared me." She said smiling at him. "As far as I know he's up there. Haven't heard anything all day."
That was strange, normally Sherlock broke at least one thing when he was bored. John walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. Silence. John rolled his eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have ignored Sherlock. Sherlock was legendary at holding grudges. He looked around the flat. It was still silent to silent. John made his way over to Sherlock's room. He listened at the door. Still nothing. He was going to smack him if he thought this was funny. He opened the door slightly. Sherlock was on the floor, blood pooling around his head. His curls were matted down by it. John raised his hand to his mouth, biting back a sob. He fumbled for his phone, calling an ambulance. Who could have done this? John walked to his friend, tears already falling down his face. That's when he saw the gun. It was his gun. And it was in Sherlock's hand.
He couldn't have.
He, he did.
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John was a mess when the ambulance arrived Mary came and picked him up while the paramedics took Sherlock's body. Lestrand found the note. He called John a day later to say goodbye. Sherlock didn't want a funeral. He said as much. He just wanted to be cremated and spread somewhere he liked. He left John to decide where that was. Molly greeted him when he walked in. It was obvious she had been crying. Her chickadee wings trembled behind her. "He's in this room." She said. "Did you know he had wings?"
That question made John freeze. "Wings?"
"Did you know?"
John shook his head and gestured at the door. Molly nodded and opened it. The first thing John noticed was the wings. He briskly walked over. At first glance, anyone would have thought they were ravens wings. But at second glance they were duller. A crow. They were beautiful. Or they must have been. Both bent at odd angles and a bone could be seen poking out of the left one. Feathers had been ripped out. What had happened. "He binded them." a timed voice interrupted John's thoughts.
"What?"
Molly shuffled her feet. "He binded them. It's like a corset for wings. He didn't take it off. It's incredibly unhealthy, not enough oxygen, the risk of breaking your wings increases too."
"Why would he do that?"
"Who was his soulmate John," Molly said, looking John dead in the eye.
"I don't," he started.
"It was you wasn't it?"
"Yes." John hung his head in shame.
"Then that's why."
"What?"
She smiled sadly. "You're not the only one who picked things up from him. You didn't want him. He didn't want to embarrass you. He hid them for you."
"Then why keep them? Why not just chop them off."
"I don't know."
John looked at the body. "He ripped out feathers. He was depressed, I should have realized."
Molly placed her hand on his shoulder. "None of us knew. I doubt even Mycroft knew."
John felt tears prick at his eyes. Molly held out a disk. "This is for you. From Sherlock."
John nodded and took the disk.
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"Do you want me to be there?" Mary asked.
"No, I think I need to do this alone."
Mary nodded and left the room. John grabbed his computer. The disk was already in. He started the video. He nearly broke down again when Sherlock's face appeared on the screen. "Hi John." he smiled. Then his face turned bitter. "Or Mycroft. Get your fat nose out of my business." Sherlock growled. John laughed. "So I probably just ruined the moment." a sigh. "Sorry. I have a lot of things to be sorry about. Mostly about leaving you. But you have Mary. And," he paused. A wave of sadness crossed his face. "You love each other." his voice cracked on the word loved. "So you found out about the wings. They're ugly, aren't they? A crow. Never could compare to a dove." a deep breath. "I kept them because they reminded me of you." another deep breath. "I love you." John let loose a sob. "Now you're gonna slam the laptop and never look at this again."
"You git." John whispered, smiling through the tears.
"The reason why I did it." Sherlock paused. Suddenly he burst into tears. John had never seen his friend so vulnerable. "I'm not happy. I tried to find someone else. No one cared. I even got a therapist. She kicked me out because I made another woman cry. I only cause pain." John covered his mouth. "I just wanted you. You don't want me," he said that in the present tense. "I am truly sorry for all the pain I have and will cause you."
John had begun tracing Sherlock's face on the screen. "I love you," John whispered.
Sherlock wiped tears away. "You are amazing and I never deserved you." Sherlock raised his eyes to the camera, finally looking John in the eye. "I love you."
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John spread his wings. He had fallen in love many times. He chuckled to himself. This was the first time he really fell for a person. He looked at the sunset, smiled sadly and tipped off the roof.
The wings did little to slow his fall.
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Sherlock's ashes were spread in a bee farm in Sussex. Where he often talked about retiring. Though the next day John's ashes joined them.