Anote: I appear to be obsessed with AU's recently. Here is a dabble into the Winglock universe which I find fascinating! My world is normal except for the fact that some people have wings. This is a friendship story. I stole the image off the internet. Let me know if it is yours.

Chapter 1-Mutation

As a child, John never thought much about his appearance.

People cooed over him and stared in wonder, and asked him to unfurl his wings, but he never thought much about it really. Then he went to high school, where looking different was guaranteed to get you bullied and pushed around. University was better. Everyone was much too terrified of failing exams to be too picky about what study group they were in, and everyone wanted to be his group, because he was at the top of the class.

Now as a grown man, John was not self conscious when people stared at his wings as he walked down the street.

It was just a way of life.

Sometimes his unique mutation even came in handy in his chosen profession, because a patient fighting and struggling in pain, would just stop and gawk in amazement when the doctor gently opened his wings over them. Not once had this maneuver failed because, as his mother had put it, when John extended his wings like that he looked like an angel.

The reason for such a dramatic and somewhat poetic statement was because John's wings were pure white, caused by a rare mutation that appeared in one in every five million people. John didn't even think that there was anyone else in England with the trait. Most everyone who had wings either had black, or brown or cream or some mix in between, according to their hair colour.

It was during his tour in Afghanistan, however when John had found a new use for his unusually colored wings.

A little girl was dying in his arms, and she had pointed at his back and begged for them. His superiors had told him under no circumstances was he to do so, as their brilliant color could make him an instant target in the red sand desert, as sure as a bulls-eye on his back.

But how could he refuse?

He opened his wings and wrapped it around the girl who was little more than a toddler, and held her close until she passed. Tears had rolled down his dust covered cheeks, as he used his hand to close her eyes that seemed at peace, now that her spirit was in a place where there was no more pain.

He had found himself doing this a lot during this time, both for his own men as well as the 'enemy'.

There were so many dead.

When he returned to England, he didn't open his wings anymore because he wasn't sure he could.

An enemy bullet had fractured one of the small but vital bones, and the doctors didn't have much hope that he would ever fly again. Sometimes, he tried to at least open them when he was alone in his dark little room in the men's hostel, but it was too painful and he would fall face down on the bed exhausted, and cry himself to sleep. It was true what people said; you never really value something until it wasn't there any longer.

So one day John Watson, ex-army captain and army doctor was walking around aimlessly; worrying about his rent money, when several shadows in the sky caught his eye.

The winged didn't really fly in the city because the danger of collision was very real.

There were designated areas for them of course, usually in the same areas where other people jogged, but this wasn't one of those areas. In fact, this was one of those areas where there were so much electrical wire and narrow alleys, that it would almost be considered as suicide.

Curious now he peeked down the closest alley. It took him a moment to realize that the black smudge on the ground was actually a person.

'Hey!' he shouted as he ran forward bravely, 'you alright?'

The black smudge didn't move.

John groaned in sympathy to see the mess of the stranger's face, as he brushed away the long, dark curls that had fallen over the man's eyes.

'Someone call an ambulance!' John shouted to some curious on-lookers who had crept closer. 'This fellow has been attacked, I think by those people flying off there!'

As he took off his coat and lay it gently over the man's battered body, John immediately started doctoring with what little he had in his pockets. He also grabbed up a long blue scarf that lay on the ground nearby and wadded it up, preparing to use it as a bandage if needed.

'Don't worry, you are safe,' he murmured, as he had ran his hands expertly down the man's sides, straining his eyes looking for blood. 'Hang on, don't move.'

As John worked, a pair of grey blue eyes slowly opened to look up at him, but the doctor was so occupied that he didn't notice. In the gloomy alley it was hard to see anything, which would explain why he didn't notice the injured man also had wings, and that these wings were quietly unfurling into an attack posture. Higher and higher, the midnight blue black appendages loomed over and around John, like a cage of darkness.

The faint threatening rustle was the only warning John got.

The two men both sucked in a deep breath of shock, as John's wings instinctively shot out to protect him, causing their wings to sift together.

This was generally considered to be an incredibly intimate gesture, partly because it involved a great deal of trust as they could both be injured if one of them moved to quickly now. But John couldn't worry about the social awkwardness of their position just at the moment, because as his wings had snapped open, an explosion of blinding pain ran through his body, almost causing him to throw up.

As such, the poor doctor's eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and in the next moment he knew nothing more.