Author: cute-will-kill PM
Sherlock had decided people were stupid. Just like Icarus. John had decided he loved the story of Icarus; he was just like him, always falling out the sky. It reminded him he was normal too. This story follows John and Sherlock as they grow up, meet and deal with their lives. Wing!Fic.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Fantasy - John W. & Sherlock H. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 3,065 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 27 - Updated: 04-09-13 - Published: 09-22-12 - id: 8546516
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"Never regret thy fall,
O Icarus of the fearless flight
For the greatest tragedy of them all
Is never to feel the burning light."
'Daedalus had been imprisoned by King Minos of Crete within the walls of his own invention, the Labyrinth for his role in the conception of the minotaur. But the great craftsman's genius would not suffer captivity. He made two pairs of wings by adhering feathers to a wooden frame with wax. Giving one pair to his son, he cautioned him that flying too near the sun would cause the wax to melt. But Icarus became ecstatic with the ability to fly and forgot his father's warning. The feathers came loose and Icarus plunged to his death in the sea.'
Sherlock sneered at the book in his hands. The boy was a true idiot. His father, a genius in Sherlock's eyes, had made him wings and the boy had thrown it back in his face. Icarus and Daedalus, the first recorded humans ever to fly.
Sherlock did not even consider how it felt to fly in his criticising of Icarus. He loved to fly over the fields surrounding his house, despite not being able to go too high or too far, loved the feeling of the wind between his feathers. Stretching out his (little) wings so that the primary flight feathers were the furthest they could stretch out; trying to make them seem bigger or just working the sleep out of his muscles.
Mycroft made fun of his (little) wings. Not seriously, not really. But he'd tell Sherlock to stretch out his wings when they were at full extent or he'd make a comment about the colours.
Mycroft had lovely tawny wings with deep chocolate brown primary feathers progressing to lighter browns in his secondaries whilst his dorsal majors were greys and whites. They caught the eye; people fell in love with them.
Sherlock's were more unusual; the dorsal majors down to the primaries faded from a lavender grey to pitch black at the very tips. People often commented that they were 'unusual' or that he'd 'grow out of those colours'. Most peoples' wings were a variation of brown or white. People had a tendency to mistrust things that were different.
Sherlock decided people were stupid. Just like Icarus.
"Your hands protect the flames
From the wild winds around you"
-Icarus by Bastille
'"Remember all the trouble I had getting these feathers to stick?" he said for the sixth or seventh time. "The binding agent I resorted to is unstable," he pointed out as Icarus fidgeted impatiently. "I had to heat it to make it work. If it gets heated again - by the sun, say - it'll give way and the feathers will come loose. Do you understand, boy?"
To judge by Icarus's expression, he felt his father was belabouring the point. As it turned out, he might have given his old dad more credit for a caution worth repeating. For as soon as they had leapt from the windowsill and caught an updraft which bore them high into the sky about Mount Juktas, Icarus became giddy with exhilaration. Now he knew what a falcon felt like, dipping and soaring at will.
Perhaps he was overcome with the joy of flight for he started flapping with a vengeance. And as he climbed into the thinner air, the sun's proximity began to work as Daedalus had anticipated. The feathers came loose, and Icarus plunged headlong into the sea, which bore his name.'
John read the short passage by the light of his torch. He sat cross-legged on his bed, the sheet over his head and the torch held in one hand. He always read this story, every night. The story of Daedalus and Icarus. The pages were worn, crinkled and torn but he still re-read the story. Surprisingly the bit where Icarus fell was always his favourite part. It reminded him that he was normal. That he wasn't 'unnatural' just because he could never get very high. He could skim across the ground. But if he got too high he fell.
Just like Icarus.
It was because his primaries were too short or something. John hadn't paid close attention to the doctor. He was still caught up in the 'probably never able to fly higher than twenty meters off the ground.' He didn't really care about the 'why' after that. Plus the fact that he was only eleven when they told him that.
John had got over it. He was like Icarus. He promised himself that he'd go down in history too, though maybe for something better than falling.
Okay so just an introduction to this fic. Another chapter will be up soon and the same applies for Growing Up Beside You and Coming Down.
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From M and C.