July 31 - First Flight (Arkada part 3)

[pompey_01]

Title: First Flight (Arkada Part 3)
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Warnings: Wing!lock, AU
Word count: 1293
Summary: John takes his first flight as a Homo avies.
Prompt: July 31 – endings
Background: John has undergone a long, dangerous process called Arkada, in which his Sapien body is transformed into an Avian (human body with wings and some bird traits) to be like the Holmeses.

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John peered over the edge of the platform, took a deep breath, and forced himself to extend his new, fully fledged wings. They were not as large as Sherlock’s but they still stretched out a good five and a half feet in either direction, coming to sharp points at the ends. The undersides were heavily barred with cream and medium brown while the backs of them were solid grey tinged with slate blue.

“Merlin wings,” Sherlock had said with satisfaction. “I told you that you were a raptor.”

Merlins, John had since discovered, were small falcons best known for their aggressive defense of their territory, agility on the wing, and fearless attacks on almost anything that could remotely be considered prey. On the other hand, merlins were known prey of corvids. Given that Sherlock and Mycroft had raven traits and had yet to try to literally eat him, he decided to take the wing-personality link theory with a pinch of salt (1).

In fact, Mycroft had been surprisingly helpful during John’s transformation from Sapien to Avian, most recently obtaining him membership to a highly exclusive Avian sports and recreation center to safely learn how to use his new wings. John had spent plenty of time in the weight-lifting room, building up his new flight muscles, but he had never set foot in the flight room before. It looked like a cross between an Olympic gymnasium and a nursery school. Apparently, the only people who did use the flight room were fledgling Avians learning to fly and physiotherapy patients relearning skills. Having a full-grown male Avian – and the first Arkadan they had ever heard of – who had never flown before had thrown the staff into a tailspin on how to proceed.

John had been assigned two physiotherapists, Carol and Bert, who had decided that the best approach was a quick lecture on proper flight technique and then literally get him into the air. Which was how John found himself standing on a platform three meters off the ground, looking down at the expanse of blue mat below him. Bert stood on the ground with Sherlock while Carol stood on the platform with John.

“All right, John, whenever you’re ready,” Carol told him cheerfully. He took another deep breath and stretched his wings out a bit more. And then he froze.

John felt his heartbeat speed up and his palms go clammy. He couldn’t quite catch his breath. It was only a distance of ten feet, less than twice his own height, he tried to tell himself. This was the moment he had been waiting for since he had decided he would undergo Arkada. This was the dream of so many people: actual flight. This was the goal he had risked his life to achieve. So why couldn’t he do it?

“Carol?” Bert called up to them. “He might need a little help.”

John heard a rustle as Carol moved behind him and realized she meant to push him off. He immediately turned around, wings at full extension and feathers puffing up in an involuntary attempt to intimidate. “No!”

Carol stepped back in alarm and her snowy wings puffed out in defense. Swans could be fierce in their own right but an angry, unpredictable falcon was a legitimate threat.

“John?” Sherlock called up. Then he added, presumably to Bert, “No, stay here.” There was a soft rustling and Sherlock’s voice was suddenly directly behind him. “John?”

John finally realized through his haze of rage that it was in his best interest to stand down before they threw him out and banned him for life. He forced his wings down but couldn’t quite manage to flatten out his feathers. “Sorry,” he said to Carol with as apologetic a smile he could summon. “Sorry. I just – I need to do this myself or not at all.”

“You should go,” Sherlock said coldly.

Sherlock had lost faith in him. That de-puffed his feathers as nothing else could. “Right,” John muttered and started to walk around Carol to the ladder.

A long-fingered hand grabbed his shoulder. “Not you, John,” said Sherlock, amusement and exasperation mingling in his voice. Carol nodded tightly and launched herself from the platform. John did not watch her graceful glide to the floor.

The hand on his shoulder tightened. “John? What’s wrong?”

His throat tightened until he could barely force out the words. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Sherlock spun him around but John couldn’t look him in the face. “John, why? This is what you wanted. This is what you’ve worked so hard for.  . . . . you’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

John shook his head.

Sherlock hesitated, then extended his own wings to hide them from the physiotherapists on the ground. “Then why, John? What are you afraid of?”

John swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I spent years trying to be a good brother and I failed. I spent years to become a surgeon and it was for nothing. I risked my life in a warzone to be a soldier and look how that turned out. Nothing I’ve worked at in my life has ever turned out well. Why should this be any different?”

Sherlock looked poleaxed. He inhaled like he was about to speak but John beat him to it, still not meeting his eyes.

“You remember when I asked you to swear I wouldn’t have kiwi wings? I had a nightmare – I’ve been having nightmares – that my wings fail. That I try to fly and I just plummet. That’s all I can think of right now.”

John had closed his eyes in humiliation and self-reproach, but they flew open as Sherlock suddenly embraced him. They stood there in silence for a time.

“John,” Sherlock whispered into his ear, “follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me.” Sherlock turned away and positioned himself on the edge of the platform with his iridescent black wings outstretched. He glanced over his shoulder at John, flashed him that characteristic smirk, and jumped.

John did not let himself stop to think. He only focused on Sherlock flying away from him. He broke into a run, thrusting out his wings as he felt gravity seize him. Desperately he tried to remember the flying rhythm advised for him: flap, flap, glide. He wasn’t gaining any height but he wasn’t falling either.

Ahead of him, Sherlock had made it to the one meter high platform on the opposite side of the room and was waiting for him. John brought himself upright to let his feet touch the platform but his timing was off. The weight of his wings pulled him backwards and without solid footing, he toppled backwards. Sherlock lunged for his hand but missed. John managed to twist midair and belly-flopped onto the squashy blue mat beneath.

He heard three different voices call his name but Sherlock was closest and fluttered to his side immediately. “John?” he asked again.

John sat up with an arm across his sore abdomen and sucked in a breath. “I’m all right. Just winded. Didn’t quite stick the landing.”

“John, that was an excellent first flight!” Carol exclaimed as she approached, but she hung back slightly behind Bert, remembering his threat display.

John gave her his best “reassuring physician” smile. “Thank you.”

Bert, too, kept a somewhat larger distance than he otherwise might have. “Are you game for another go?”

“Oh God, yes.” He accepted Sherlock’s hand to help him up and exchanged a knowing smile with the detective

“Go ahead and giggle; it’s not a crime scene,” Sherlock whispered almost inaudibly and John almost did just that. He hadn’t felt this alive and happy and relieved since their first case together.  John the Sapien was dead. Long live John the Avian. 

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A/N: 1) Back in part 1, I made Sherlock and Mycroft ravens because of the intelligence factor. I had to make John a merlin because tiny, adorable, super-aggro falcon is so perfectly John in a nutshell. I didn’t know ravens will prey on merlins if they have the opportunity until this was already half written and I’m not changing it now.