July 22 - Arkada 2 (Wish for Wings That Work)

Title: A Wish for Wings That Work (Arkada part 2)
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: Wing!lock, AU
Word count: 450
Summary: John has survived the initial process of Arkada and is well on his way to becoming fully Avian. If only his new wings would cooperate.
Prompt: July 22 – inner beast
A/N: inspired by a comment from gardnerhill
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John returned from his two month check-up with Dr. Vinjay with her reassurances floating about in his head. Good progress, steady growth, keep up the calcium and protein supplements. He did not feel reassured. Two months since undergoing the process of Arkada, he had developed the sharp toe claws and meat-cravings as expected, but the longed-for wings were slower to develop.

They had started as little buds growing along his scapulas, itching as they formed. Slowly they lengthened down his back until they reached not quite half a meter in length. And then . . . they stopped. Well, not entirely stopped. Dr. Vinjay had reported, and x-rays confirmed, that new bone growth had slowed to allow the soft tissues to catch up. This was perfectly normal, she told John. Full transformation after Arkada takes months. His wings were coming, just in their own time.

John knew it would take time to develop two entirely new limbs, to say nothing of the musculature needed to control them. But the ability to fly was the whole reason he had undergone the admittedly dangerous transformation in the first place. And honestly, he felt downright freakish with unfeathered, half-formed appendages sticking out of his back.

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At two a.m. Sherlock was working on memorizing the differences between two new tobacco blends when he heard a muffled yell from the vicinity of John’s room. Nothing new; John was still prone to occasional nightmares. Best to ignore it, as John was historically touchy about them.

This time, however, there were sounds of rather loud footsteps across the bedroom floor, down the steps, and into the sitting room. Sherlock looked up as John – grim-faced, tousle-haired, robeless, and barefoot – stomped over to him.

“Sherlock,” he said without preamble, “do you swear to me I will have flight wings?”

The detective only blinked at him, startled into silence.

“Because I swear to you, if I end up with useless, stumpy kiwi wings I will rip your wings off with my bare hands, marinade them, deep fry them, and shove them down your throat!”

Sherlock choked back laughter. “I swear, John, you will not have useless, stumpy kiwi wings.” He paused, then added, “Fruit doesn’t even have wings; you know that.”

John snarled at him and stomped back to bed.

Meanwhile, Sherlock smiled widely. John didn’t know it yet, but his eyes flashed yellow when he was truly angry. And that snarl – raise the pitch an octave or two and it would sound similar to an eagle’s call. Sherlock had suspected it even before John had undergone Arkada but there was no doubt now: the former army doctor was a raptor at heart. Flight was certainly in his future.

July 23 - Coulda Been A Contender

 Title: Coulda Been a Contender 
Author: Pompey 
Universe: BBC 
Rating: PG 
Warnings: reference to murder and grief hallucinations 
Word count: 300
Summary: John watches the 2012 Olympics by himself, but Sherlock's ghost won't leave him alone. 
Prompt: July 23 – Olympic style sport

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It took some channel flipping but John finally found coverage of the pistol shooting. He tried to enjoy it but found himself overanalyzing everything.

"You could have qualified," Sherlock's voice told him.

John closed his eyes momentarily and tried to focus on the telly. He'd had occasional grief hallucinations in the past months but not for a while and he hoped he'd finally seen – and heard – the last of them. Apparently not.

"The only reason we have countrymen shooting at all is because we're hosting the Olympics this year," Sherlock's voice persisted. "You should be competing. 50 meter pistol. You're the equal of any of them. For God's sake, South Korea is leading!"

When John made no response, Sherlock persisted. "That night you shot the cabdriver to save me. Perfect kill shot from how many meters away, through a window, with an illegal handgun. Imagine what kind of shooting you could do with a proper weapon and proper equipment. John, you could've been an Olympian."

"Oh, come off it," John muttered before he remembered that speaking to hallucinations was Not Done.

"You come off it," Sherlock's voice retorted. "You're an Olympic-caliber shooter and you know it. And you know that you know it, because I'm your hallucination. I'm not saying anything you don't already know."

Shut up, John thought viciously.

"You could have tried out for a position but you didn't. This is why nothing ever happens to you. It's because you no longer allow any opportunity for anything to happen. That's why we were good together. Things happened when I was – "

"Shut up!" John shouted. Suddenly the only sound in the room was the quiet commentary from the telly. Silently he hunched into himself, stared at the screen, and tried to convince himself that this was all fine.