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Description
The entire world was spinning so fast in John Watson’s mind. People were clamoring around him to shake his hand, and Detective Inspector Lestrade was congratulating him on the case he had just solved. After a few minutes of pushing past the crowds, John was back at his flat on Baker Street.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson," he said as he walked in, shutting out the noise of the outside world.

"Welcome home, dear. Congratulations on that case- you never told me you were an ace detective as well as a doctor." Mrs. Hudson chattered away happily, producing a cup of hot tea from what seemed to be thin air. “Oh," she started. “This was left for you before you got here. Addressed to “Little Johnny.""

John blushed and took the black box that Mrs. Hudson had handed him. The card read, “A broken watch. The park bench. Little Johnny." Inside was an expensive looking pocket watch. It even seemed oddly familiar. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hudson. I think I’m going to relax a little after everything."

John’s new-found celebrity status had come about after helping D.I. Lestrade catch a serial killer trying to replicate the work of Jack the Ripper. To those who did not observe and deduce, the case seemed impossibly complicated, but John had been trained in the science of deduction recently. The world was so much bigger, and much simpler. He could see everything, and in that, nothing. Nothing was out of reach, so where was he to go? John sighed as he sank down into his favorite chair with these thoughts.

"John Watson, where is your pocket watch?" a voice asked from behind John.

"When did you- excuse me?"

"Don’t tell me you lost it? After all the trouble I took to fetch it for you when you dropped it in the stream? You cried and cried until I returned it," the woman said with a nostalgic smile. She was beautiful. Fair hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, and a charming smile.

"Mary Morstan? It’s been what? Thirty years?" John asked, taking Mary’s hands in his own.

"Twenty nine and two months. It’s so good to see you, John. I’ve meant to contact you since I came back to London, and then suddenly your name was everywhere. It was like a sign. Now come, we must have dinner," she insisted, kissing John’s cheek.

"I’d love to, really, but I have an appointment tonight. This… Man, I work with him to solve cases. I’d be nothing without him." John looked down nervously, clenching his fists.

"You’re meeting him tonight? Your landlady told me you were taking the night off."

"He’s like… An angel, Mary. Since I came home from the war, I hear him. As a medical doctor, I shouldn’t think like this, but it’s as though he watches over me, and helps me. I wouldn’t be a consulting detective if not for my angel." John’s eyes were both fearful and earnest. His heart raced just imagining that dulcet voice that explained the world to him.

"Well then, your angel can allow you dinner, John. Come now, I’ll give you ten minutes to wash up, and I’ll go gossip with your landlady. Mrs. Hudson, wasn’t it?" Mary laughed, and left the room.

"So typical of those with lesser minds. Doesn’t it just repel you, John? John…"

"Sherlock…" John gasps, his eyes widening.

"You know better, John. Look to the mirror."

John could do nothing to resist the orders of his mysterious angel. The reflection showed John Watson. A 37 year-old man. Quite ordinary, but behind him- or was it in front of him? There was a figure clad in black. The only color was a dark blue scarf.

"Come to me, John."

"The phantom of Baker Street; my angel…" John whispered, reaching out to the figure beyond the mirror. As he touched the glass, it slid open, and revealed staircase. In his hurry to follow the receding figure, John knocked over a vase of flowers that crashed to the floor. Nothing mattered, though. The mirror slid shut with a click, and the doctor followed the angel down a candlelit stairway.
After a few minutes of stairs and short hallways, John found himself in a large room full of candles. It seemed to be a large bomb shelter, deep under the ground. The light bounced off the walls and created a terrifying and beautiful effect.

"So you’ve finally come, John," the angel said eagerly.

"I couldn’t-"

"Shh. Follow me," the angel whispered. Although now the angel seemed more like a man. He was 184 centimeters tall, 79 kilograms, dark, curly brown hair, high cheekbones, surprisingly well groomed for living in this box. A mask covered half of his face. Usually he could tell so much about a person’s life, but this man was a mystery.

"Why did you bring me here?" John queried, following along.

"Do you not trust me, John?" he asked, piercing blue eyes meeting John’s own.

"Of course, Sherlock."

"You said my name." There was a smirk on Sherlock’s face. The kind you might see on a tiger before it devours its prey. John met the gaze without fear, but curiosity. “You don’t seem afraid."

"What is there to-" before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock captured John’s lips with his own. John’s felt his heart stop, but let himself kiss the other man back. Sherlock’s lips were soft and warm, his breathing slow and movements loving. At that moment, John had an idea. His hands came up to cup the angel’s face, and then the mask was removed.

John gasped, and Sherlock cried out in a terrible way.

"Is THIS what you wanted?! The face of a freak! The face of the devil! Look at what you’ve done!" The screaming continued as John backed away in fear.

"This repulsive face… It is not me… Please, John, don’t leave me. We kissed, and you weren’t afraid. Wasn’t I your angel? John, you could love me. You can…" Sherlock whispered, huddled on the floor. John looked sadly at the man he so admired. A brilliant mind trapped in a body that could not touch the light.

A moment of silence passed, and John approached Sherlock, kneeling next to him. John gently replaced the mask on the trembling man and kissed his forehead. Sherlock smiled tearfully.

"Come, we must return. Mrs. Hudson will wonder where you’ve been, and Lestrade has another case for you."

Description
The entire world was spinning so fast in John Watson’s mind. People were clamoring around him to shake his hand, and Detective Inspector Lestrade was congratulating him on the case he had just solved. After a few minutes of pushing past the crowds, John was back at his flat on Baker Street.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson," he said as he walked in, shutting out the noise of the outside world.

"Welcome home, dear. Congratulations on that case- you never told me you were an ace detective as well as a doctor." Mrs. Hudson chattered away happily, producing a cup of hot tea from what seemed to be thin air. “Oh," she started. “This was left for you before you got here. Addressed to “Little Johnny.""

John blushed and took the black box that Mrs. Hudson had handed him. The card read, “A broken watch. The park bench. Little Johnny." Inside was an expensive looking pocket watch. It even seemed oddly familiar. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hudson. I think I’m going to relax a little after everything."

John’s new-found celebrity status had come about after helping D.I. Lestrade catch a serial killer trying to replicate the work of Jack the Ripper. To those who did not observe and deduce, the case seemed impossibly complicated, but John had been trained in the science of deduction recently. The world was so much bigger, and much simpler. He could see everything, and in that, nothing. Nothing was out of reach, so where was he to go? John sighed as he sank down into his favorite chair with these thoughts.

"John Watson, where is your pocket watch?" a voice asked from behind John.

"When did you- excuse me?"

"Don’t tell me you lost it? After all the trouble I took to fetch it for you when you dropped it in the stream? You cried and cried until I returned it," the woman said with a nostalgic smile. She was beautiful. Fair hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, and a charming smile.

"Mary Morstan? It’s been what? Thirty years?" John asked, taking Mary’s hands in his own.

"Twenty nine and two months. It’s so good to see you, John. I’ve meant to contact you since I came back to London, and then suddenly your name was everywhere. It was like a sign. Now come, we must have dinner," she insisted, kissing John’s cheek.

"I’d love to, really, but I have an appointment tonight. This… Man, I work with him to solve cases. I’d be nothing without him." John looked down nervously, clenching his fists.

"You’re meeting him tonight? Your landlady told me you were taking the night off."

"He’s like… An angel, Mary. Since I came home from the war, I hear him. As a medical doctor, I shouldn’t think like this, but it’s as though he watches over me, and helps me. I wouldn’t be a consulting detective if not for my angel." John’s eyes were both fearful and earnest. His heart raced just imagining that dulcet voice that explained the world to him.

"Well then, your angel can allow you dinner, John. Come now, I’ll give you ten minutes to wash up, and I’ll go gossip with your landlady. Mrs. Hudson, wasn’t it?" Mary laughed, and left the room.

"So typical of those with lesser minds. Doesn’t it just repel you, John? John…"

"Sherlock…" John gasps, his eyes widening.

"You know better, John. Look to the mirror."

John could do nothing to resist the orders of his mysterious angel. The reflection showed John Watson. A 37 year-old man. Quite ordinary, but behind him- or was it in front of him? There was a figure clad in black. The only color was a dark blue scarf.

"Come to me, John."

"The phantom of Baker Street; my angel…" John whispered, reaching out to the figure beyond the mirror. As he touched the glass, it slid open, and revealed staircase. In his hurry to follow the receding figure, John knocked over a vase of flowers that crashed to the floor. Nothing mattered, though. The mirror slid shut with a click, and the doctor followed the angel down a candlelit stairway.
After a few minutes of stairs and short hallways, John found himself in a large room full of candles. It seemed to be a large bomb shelter, deep under the ground. The light bounced off the walls and created a terrifying and beautiful effect.

"So you’ve finally come, John," the angel said eagerly.

"I couldn’t-"

"Shh. Follow me," the angel whispered. Although now the angel seemed more like a man. He was 184 centimeters tall, 79 kilograms, dark, curly brown hair, high cheekbones, surprisingly well groomed for living in this box. A mask covered half of his face. Usually he could tell so much about a person’s life, but this man was a mystery.

"Why did you bring me here?" John queried, following along.

"Do you not trust me, John?" he asked, piercing blue eyes meeting John’s own.

"Of course, Sherlock."

"You said my name." There was a smirk on Sherlock’s face. The kind you might see on a tiger before it devours its prey. John met the gaze without fear, but curiosity. “You don’t seem afraid."

"What is there to-" before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock captured John’s lips with his own. John’s felt his heart stop, but let himself kiss the other man back. Sherlock’s lips were soft and warm, his breathing slow and movements loving. At that moment, John had an idea. His hands came up to cup the angel’s face, and then the mask was removed.

John gasped, and Sherlock cried out in a terrible way.

"Is THIS what you wanted?! The face of a freak! The face of the devil! Look at what you’ve done!" The screaming continued as John backed away in fear.

"This repulsive face… It is not me… Please, John, don’t leave me. We kissed, and you weren’t afraid. Wasn’t I your angel? John, you could love me. You can…" Sherlock whispered, huddled on the floor. John looked sadly at the man he so admired. A brilliant mind trapped in a body that could not touch the light.

A moment of silence passed, and John approached Sherlock, kneeling next to him. John gently replaced the mask on the trembling man and kissed his forehead. Sherlock smiled tearfully.

"Come, we must return. Mrs. Hudson will wonder where you’ve been, and Lestrade has another case for you."