Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I'm angel-feather-keeper, and I've been planning to write a Sherlock/John fanfiction for a long while now. Something you'll notice if you look at my fanfiction collection is that I'm fond of Wings! Angels, demons, or simply the fictional phenomenon of growing these appendages. Also, I'm fond of homosexual relationships. (In other words I'm a perverted fangirl with a weird fetish :P) I can only hope that I share this obsession with some of you, and some of you might review this story :) Well, I've held you here long enough!

Warnings: Gay sex, a homosexual relationship, Sherlock/John lovin', Winged!John, and spoilers for Series 3 Episode 3 :)



John Watson had a lot of secrets. Of all of those secrets, there was only one that Sherlock Holmes didn't know. John had wings; huge, white feathered wings, and they spread to seven feet each. John hadn't always had them. It happened when he was at war, and the area he was stationed at was bombed. He woke up, surrounded my dead comrades, with huge, bloody wings lying behind him.

"John?" Sherlock's voice came from the other side of his door. John pulled his wings against his back, and put on a jumper, covering them as he has been all this time. The door opened, and the consulting detective stepped in, and he was holding a huge, white feather that was about two feet long, much to John's alarm.

"Do you know why I found this in the bathroom? I can't imagine a bird this big. . ." He trailed off, looking at John questioningly. "And there's another behind you. . ." John froze, looking behind him. Just as the other had stated, there was another feather, this one slightly smaller, resting behind the winged man. John laughed worriedly.

"I'm not sure. . . Maybe someone's playing a prank on us?" He tried Sherlock shrugged, though John was sure that this wasn't the end of this.

"Perhaps. . ." And the man was out of the room, door shut silently behind him. John let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and slumped in relief.


John looked up from his place on the ground.

Sherlock looked down on his place on top of the hospital building. He told John that they were all telling the truth. That he was a fake.

John didn't believe him for a moment.

Sherlock's body fell from the top of that bloody building, and John made a decision.

The sound of a ripping jumper made it's way into the air, and John took off, speeding towards Sherlock with determination. Just before the man made contact with the ground, he was caught by what Sherlock though was a giant bird, and John headed towards their flat as fast as his wings could take him.

Sherlock felt tears fall onto his face from the great bird.


"John, just let me see them." He tried for what could be the hundredth time since he was saved from the fall, which was nearly a month before.

"I don't know what you're talking about Sherlock." He stated, sipping at his tea as he typed on his laptop.

"John. I know you have them. The feathers, the fall, it couldn't be anything else."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said again. Sherlock sighed, and rose to his feet. He walked over to John, who turned around and looked at him in confusion.

Sherlock grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and John blushed, and pushed his hands away.

"That isn't appropriate." He whispered. Sherlock raised a brow.

"John. Please. . ." He said. John looked up at him, seeming to think about it. Finally, he sighed, and walked to his bedroom. Sherlock followed, and smiled when John didn't object.

John looked at the other with a very serious expression.

"You can NOT tell anyone about you're about to see. Do you understand, Sherlock?" He asked, looking into the detective's eyes. Sherlock nodded, grinning like a child on Christmas Morning.

John grabbed the bottom of his jumper and shirt together, and pulled them over his head. At first, Sherlock thought that there wasn't anything to see, until John turned around, and wings pulled from their place against his back. Sherlock stared with wonder as the other showed him his biggest secret with trust.

Sherlock reached and touched the smooth feathered at the base of John's wings.

John froze, and Sherlock could see a blush rise to the other man's ears.

"D. . . Don't touch there, please. . ." He whispered, and Sherlock nodded, taking in the sight before him.

"You're beautiful. . ." He said, and John blushed again, saying a thanks. He turned back around to look at Sherlock, and the other grabbed his chin gently, and kissed John Watson on the lips. John's eyes widened, and he froze. He eventually sighed, leaning into the contact that was Sherlock Holmes.

"Thank you." Sherlock said. "Thank you for saving me." He pulled away, and John looked into his eyes.

"Thank you for being something I couldn't bear to lose." John answered. Sherlock smiled, and pulled the angel-like man to his chest in a hug.


John was having another nightmare.

Sherlock stood worried outside the door.

He opened the barrier between them, and walked into the winged man's room. He saw only tufts of short, blond hair and white feathers peaking out from beneath the blankets. He jumped when he heard a yell come from the sleeping man, and he hurried forward. He shook John's shoulder, and told him over and over to, "Wake up!" But it didn't work. John only struggled and whimpered against the sheets.

Sherlock pulled him up by his arms, and brought him into a hug. John whimpered again as he slept before clinging to Sherlock, wings wrapping around the both of them. Sherlock gasped, looking around the two of them at the white canopy of feathers. He looked at John's slowly relaxing face, and he decided then that there was nothing as beautiful as the man he held in his arms.


John woke up reluctantly, wondering why he was so comfortable. He opened his eyes, and gasped at what he saw.

"Sherlock!" He yelled, trying to back away, but couldn't because of a strong pair of arms that wrapped around him.

"John, it's fine. Calm down already." John looked into the now-open blue eyes that he loved so much. He smiled, flexing his wings behind him. They both lay on their sides, facing each other, legs intertwined. John breathed in, smelling nothing but Sherlock all around him.

He was almost completely relaxed, when he felt a hand against the base of his wings. He froze, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Are these sensitive?" He asked, running his fingers through the short feathers. John gasped, letting out a low moan. He felt waves of pleasure make their way to his lower regions, and Sherlock grinned.

He stroked at the wings faster, and John shut his eyes, and, much to his embarrassment, started rutting against Sherlock's leg. Sherlock brought his other hand into the mix, and John whimpered, the feeling of both sensitive limbs being pleasured almost too much.

"Sher. . . Sherlock. . ." He gasped. "Oh, god. . . Ah!" He felt the other's mouth and teeth against his neck, and he couldn't take it. He gasped as he released himself into his boxers, and he went slack. Hands slowly removed themselves from his back, and ran through his short hair as his eyes slowly closed. John Watson slipped into oblivion wrapped up against Sherlock Holmes.


They had gotten together over a month ago, and they still hadn't gone all the way.

John was ready, Sherlock was scared. He always talked about has he was scared that he might hurt John.

John wasn't worried. He had been to war, he could deal with the simple pain that sex would bring. Sherlock still didn't give in.

He began to get annoyed. John wanted- no. He needed Sherlock, and everything he had to offer.

After weeks of asking, Sherlock finally gave in.

That was how they ended up on the bed, John on Sherlock's lap as a finger made it's way into him. He whimpered, holding Sherlock close to him and burying his face into his neck.

"Keep going. . . Oh god. . ." He said, and Sherlock nodded, adding another finger. He watched John's white wings tremble with what he hoped was pleasure. The hard member he felt against his chest when John gave an involuntary trust confirmed that for him, and so he added another finger.

He felt around with the three appendages, searching for that place that would make John Watson his forever. He felt something inside of the other, and John screamed, clinging to Sherlock and bucking against his chest. His wings wrapped around them, just as they had the night of his nightmare.

"I'm ready. . . Please. . . I need you so much. . ." He said, and Sherlock nodded, pulling out his fingers and spreading lube over his member. He pressed into the angelic man, and John's back arched as he moaned. Sherlock pulled his hips down as far as they could go. He was about three inched away from being completely engulfed in the man that was John Watson.

"Oh god, you're so bloody BIG." He said, trying to get comfortable, though he was sure that was impossible. "I feel so full. . ." He bit his lip, and looked down at Sherlock, who looked like he was trying his best to hold back.

John pulled up, gasping at the sudden emptiness, before he slammed down, his wings twitching, and Sherlock let out a low groan as another inch was added into his lover. John seemed to notice this, and he whimpered. A few drops of blood leaked from his entrance, and Sherlock stared in horror.

"John. . ."

"Y. . . yes?"

"You're bleeding. . ."


"Are you okay?" Sherlock looked worried, and John smiled, kissing the other's forehead lovingly.

"I'm fine love." He pulled up again, and Sherlock thought that he might be stopping, before he slammed back down as hard as he could, the last two inched disappearing into him.

"Oh, FUCK." He groaned. His wings pushed back against his back, shaking harshly. Sherlock looked at him in shock.

"Are you okay?" He asked again, looking into John's eyes as they watered. John nodded frantically, and ground onto Sherlock with a whimper.

"Th. . . THERE!" He exclaimed, and pulled himself up again, and slammed back down, and his back arched, and wings stretched to their full length. Sherlock smiled, realizing what he must have hit. He pulled out, and John whimpered. He didn't protest as Sherlock put him onto his knees. His wings laid out flat against him and his back.

Sherlock pushed back in, and he watched the feathered limbs push against the sheets and John's hands gripped the pillow below him. A low moan pulled from his throat.

Another thrust, and John screamed, signaling that Sherlock has once again found that place inside his lover that he loved so much. He started a fast pace, watching John and his wings spasm as he abused the other's prostate.

"Oh god. . . AH!. AHH! OH!" The sounds coming from John's mouth didn't seem human, and Sherlock loved every one of them.

"Please. . . Please. . . Oh GOD! Yes! OH!. . . SHERLOCK!" John screamed as he released himself onto the bed below him, and his entrance clenched, making Sherlock release himself into the man below him. John trembled, feeling what he presumed to be blood and cum dripping from his ass. Sherlock pulled out slowly, and they collapsed onto the bed below them.

"I love you . . ." Came John's hoarse voice. They lay on their sides, facing each other yet again. One wing lay behind him and the other draped over himself and Sherlock.

"I love you too. . ." Said Sherlock. "More than you, and even I, will ever know. . ."

They faded into oblivion wrapped in each other.


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