"Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."

― Leonardo da Vinci

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Sherlock stalked onto the crime scene in a foul mood. Mycroft was too busy to preen with him and he had no one else; his last useless roommate had left the week previous and even if he had been here he wouldn't have let that useless bugger touch him. So now he'd tried his best but the feathers in the centre of his back stuck up at odd angles painfully, they weren't smooth and kept poking him or brushing his back distractingly. It was annoying him and putting him off.

As Donovan approached him, most likely to reproach him, his wings spread out a little and the feathers all puffed him; making him look bigger and scarier. She thought better of it, wisely, and backed off quickly. Her smaller wings folding back in submission because, unlike her occasional nest mate Anderson, she knew when she'd lost.

When Sherlock got to the two bodies he looked over them slowly, trying to hold his wings away from his back as much as possible.

"Lestrade?"

"Sherlock." Lestrade appeared behind him.

Sherlock began examining the bodies. "These are identical twins, about seven years old. They have a parent who beats them."

Lestrade nodded. "I thought as much, the bruises are consistent with abuse but they're fading so I'd guess they ran away...?"

Sherlock smiled slightly, Lestrade wasn't a complete idiot. "Yes, they have about a weeks worth of grime too. The one lying on the left has a tan line where a bracelet or watch was. The other has a mark where a ring was. I'd assume that they were given expensive jewellery despite a parents cruelty. It was probably to mark their wings coming through."

Lestrade frowned down at the bodies. "So why were they killed?"

"Most likely for their jewellery, probably kept it for sentiment and wouldn't give it up, even if they did run away from home." Sherlock sighed. This was a boring case but all he was getting for now. "If that's all, Inspector...?"

"Yes, yes fine thank you."

Sherlock nodded and began to stride away before Lestrade called out to him. "Sherlock? Wait!"

He turned on his heel to face the other man. "Yes?"

"Do you..." Lestrade faltered for a moment. "Do you have anyone to preen with? Your wings don't look very-"

"I'm fine thank you, Lestrade." Sherlock cut him off. "Was that all?"

Lestrade sighed knowing when not to push the other man. "Yes, sorry."

Sherlock nodded and turned, walking away.

: :

"And falling's just another way to fly."

― Emilie Autumn

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John was bent over a small child- dead he saw- when he heard the shout of a fellow soldier. "Captain! Captain, look! Over there." The man pointed, unable to do much else from his place holding a cloth to a wound in his leg on the floor. The others had gone to secure the small dusty village. "There's a man over there! He looks hurt."

John turned and saw the man. "Thanks, corporal." He began jogging over to the man. When he reached down the man sat up, so fast John stumbled back.

There was a bang and then blinding pain the pushed him to his knees and then the earth. Ringing ears and white vision left him reeling. As his hearing returned slowly he could feel his shoulder growing damp and a ripping pain through his whole body. Shouts of anger and then running feet and scrambling. Two more shots and then silence.

He could see the sky, the burning sun that beat down on him. Was the heat through his body due to the sun's warmth or the pain? He couldn't tell.

Oh God, he thought, I'm going to die.

Oh God, please, let me live.

: :

Oh wow, this took forever! We're ssooo sorry (M has pointed out it is actually not her fault...) oh wow.

But please tell us what you think of our story! We'd love to know what you think!

From M and C.