It was now officially two months after Sherlock had first learned about John's wings and things were going fairly well.

Sherlock had begun to take on more cases, and while at first he had avoided the ones likely to end in dramatic chases, he and John were now taking on the majority of the cases that they normally would.

Even Donovan was better, preferring to glare at Sherlock from a distance.

Unfortunately, the influxes of cases lead to a side effect Sherlock hadn't foreseen.

He discovered it when he and John were returning from a grueling three day case that had barely let them sit down for three seconds tied together.

It was night when they'd returned and he and John both sighed with relief upon entering the flat. Flicking on the lights, John shrugged off his coat, wincing slightly before heading to the loo.
Sherlock groaned as he collapsed onto the couch in the living room, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

"You can't sleep here Sherlock."
Jerking with surprise Sherlock opened his eyes to see John standing over him.
"You'll sleep better in your bed." John insisted, his hand reaching forward to help Sherlock off the couch.

Sherlock huffed out a whine, but accepted the proffered hand, he knew from experience that John wouldn't let up until he got what he wanted.

Rolling his eyes affectionately, John made to pull Sherlock off the couch, but winced at the strain, his face twitching slightly.

Instantly Sherlock was upright and alert.
"John? Are you alright, were you hurt?" He asked, scanning his flatmate and running the night's events back through his brain. When had he gotten hurt?

"Sherlock no. I'm fine." John protested, dropping Sherlock's hand and stepping away.
"You are not." Sherlock countered giving John an I'm-not-going-to-let-this-go look. "What's wrong?"

John sighed exasperated. "It's just my shoulder Sher-" His well-rehearsed explanation cut off and he froze as Sherlock's eyes widened, previous cases flashing before the consulting detective's eyes.

This wasn't their first long case, and now that Sherlock thought about it, John had often finished cases like these looking uncomfortable, claiming his shoulder wound was acting up.
Except, John didn't have a shoulder wound, that was something Sherlock had come up with by himself, and John had gone along with it because instead of a shoulder wound he had...

"It's your wings isn't it?" Sherlock realised. "What happened to them?"

"Nothing!" John protested, raising his hands as if to placate his concerned flatmate. "They're just a little sore."

Sore. Of course they were sore, they probably hadn't been let out for the whole length of the case. "It's because you wore your brace for so long isn't it?" Sherlock questioned, his hands twitching, wanting to check his friend over but holding back. "Are they okay?"

John hesitated, visibly upset, before dropping his hands in defeat. "I...there's a sore I can't reach." He admitted grudgingly. "I have cream that helps but..."

Sherlock perked up. "Can I- I could..." He faltered, he wanted help his friend, especially since it was partly his fault John had kept his brace on for so long, but his didn't want to accidentally overstep some sort of taboo. "I could, help you reach." He finished awkwardly.

John looked conflicted and they sat in silence for a few moments. Sherlock ran his hands along his trousers in a nervous gesture, fighting to remain patient.
"Okay." John finally agreed. "I'll... just go get it."
John left for the loo again, not quite fleeing, but close.

Right. Okay. This was fine.

Sherlock remained on the couch until John returned, his jumper and shirt removed and holding a round white container.

"Here." John held out the container and Sherlock took it with a curious look. It was an antibiotic ointment.

John stepped away and nervously undid the three straps of his brace before easing it off and setting it on the coffee table. Unfolding his wings, he turned around and Sherlock winced at the disheveled look of his plumage.

"It's near the junction of the left one." John explained, looking straight ahead, his arms firmly by his side.

Standing up Sherlock moved around the coffee table and unscrewed the lid of John's ointment.
A quick glance revealed a small red mark near where the wing fused into John's back, mostly likely due to friction and pressure. Dipping his finger into the container, Sherlock scooped up a good amount of the mixture and moved to apply it.
John twitched on contact and his wings fluttered but he didn't say anything.

Meanwhile Sherlock was having a harder time than he expected. The angle was awkward and he ended up having to lean in quite close.

John's wings were still and Sherlock found himself focused on them.

Honestly it's amazing John can even hide them under his brace... although their size helps with that. Sherlock thought, wondering why they were so small in the first place. Folded, they barely hung past John's waist.
He couldn't possibly fly with them. Sherlock reasoned. They're too small. The most he could use them for would be extra lift and and maybe gliding.

John's wings dipped and Sherlock snapped back to himself, pulling away quickly. How long had he been analyzing John's wings? Berating himself, Sherlock screwed the lid back onto John's ointment and looked around for something to wipe his hands on.

"It's okay."

Startled Sherlock looked back at John who had yet to move. His wings still hanging open.

"It's fine." John said again, still standing at attention but giving Sherlock an awkward thumbs up. "You can look, I'm sure you're curious."

Setting the jar down, Sherlock forgot about his oily fingers, immediately transfixed by the puzzle of John's wings in front of him.

How does the bone structure fit? What kind of muscle did he grow because of it? Theories flew andSherlock was about to reach forward to feel around the humerus of John's wings when something clicked and he froze.
Something was wrong.

Sherlock ran back through his memories. John said it was fine. What's wrong? He said it was- Since when did John give thumbs up?
He didn't you idiot, that's the sign for 'fine' in sign language.

Except, John had been signing less and less. He barely signed at all so why...

He'll stop signing once he's more comfortable.

Which meant that John was uncomfortable if he was falling back to signing, however briefly. Uncomfortable because Sherlock was going to examine him.
Sherlock dropped his hands.

Why did he say it was okay?

You can look, I'm sure you're curious.

He thought Sherlock wanted to look at his wings, so he let him. Sherlock remained frozen as he thought, his eyes drifted over the various scars his friend sported.

Don't hit his wings! Don't hit his wings!

They would come and measure him... run tests or whatever.

...not because they cared about John... they were upset about all the wasted resources.

...exactly how long had John spent being told his only worth came from his wings?

I'm sure you're curious.

He was. He really was. But not like this. Not when John didn't want it, not really.
Not when he thought he had to do it.

Swallowing, Sherlock stepped back. "I'm good." He croaked out. "We should get some sleep. It's late."

John turned, looking confused and Sherlock snatched up the ointment, offering it to him.
"Let me know if you wing still bothers you." He managed.

John nodded, clutching the ointment to his chest and watched silently as Sherlock picked his way across the living room.

"Sherlock?" He asked, stopping the taller man in his tracks.
John looked lost "Why? I don't..."

Turning back to the living room Sherlock tugged on his suit jacket, his fingers smearing on the hem, he wasn't sure how to explain himself without embarrassing his flatmate, he just hoped that John didn't think that he was disgusted with his wings.
"John," he tried. "I think your wings are... fascinating," Sherlock paused, glancing at the now folded appendages. "...but they're not the most important thing."

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across John's face, but he didn't look sad and he didn't look angry, making Sherlock feel more confident.
"I do think you health is important though." He pressed on. "So next time you need a break during a case... well we should probably be taking one anyways."

John looked surprised before he gave Sherlock a soft smile. "Okay." He agreed.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction, internally deciding to put an alarm on his phone for every 8 hours. Just in case.
Glancing at the clock Sherlock winced at the time. "We should sleep."

"That's rich coming from you." John teased, grabbing his brace and heading for the stairs before pausing briefly in the doorway. "See you tomorrow."

Sherlock smiled lightly. "See you tomorrow." He replied before making his way down the hall.

Alone in his room, Sherlock stretched out on his bed, not bothering to undress. Above him, he could hear John's footsteps as his flatmate prepared to turn in for the night.
Turning over Sherlock allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction with the night's events.

He knew he was still out of his depths at times, and he was sure that John still had things he needed to work through... but he felt that despite everything, he and John could and would continue to work through those difficulties.

After all, he would be lost without his blogger.

AN: I did it!

Of course I am nowhere near done with this universe! So let me know if there's anything you want to see or if you have any questions.

Thank you!

(Sorry if you got any confusing notifications, I had some trouble uploading this chapter)