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Description
Inspired by a post on Tumblr.
Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one moment that I am one of them.

John sat on his chair, facing the empty one across from him, remembering Sherlock lounging in it as he deduced. Using this gun to blow holes in the wall... he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. After a moment, he gently placed the note on the table in front of him. He hated to do this to Mrs. Hudson, but he couldn't do this anywhere else. It would be wrong beyond belief. This was the decision he had made - he'd stick to it until the end. There was no option. He traced his hand over the cold metal and leant back into the chair; then tucked the gun into his mouth.

He waited, just a few seconds, almost hoping that somebody would come in, a reason to stop this, his heart pounding and tears running down his face. He pulled it away, leaning on his knees, putting his right up to his head as he took a moment to get his bearing, the gun hanging loose in his left. A deep breath, and he tugged it up again, angling it into his mouth and pulling the trigger before he could stop himself.

His hand had fallen onto his lap, the gun laying against his knee, as he stood looking at himself, blood dripping from the back of his head. He covered his mouth, as he stared, then closed his eyes and swallowed, not knowing what to do. The note fluttered in a slight breeze, and he glanced towards it, his own handwriting in the neatest possible way... "You didn't come back, so I'm coming to you. - John.

He turned and looked at the window, then turned around slowly to look at himself, before jumping violently at what he saw.
He looked as handsome as he had been, high cheek bones, curly hair, he even had his coat and scarf on... but all John could see were his eyes. They had no pupil, instead gleaming inside with a soft gold light. His friend smiled, faintly, taking a step forward and resting his hands on the back of John's chair, beautiful white and silver wings moving around, the gold-dusted tips brushing the body...

"I don't have friends, John." He whispered, the same deep baritone. "I just have one."
John almost ran towards him; he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, finding him warm, the fabric of the coat scratchy against his cheek, the feather wings moving the envelop him. "I missed you, Sherlock." Sherlock just smiled and turned, a sweep of his wing revealing a door in the wall.
"Ready to see more?" his voice was barely audible, but he was smiling still.
"Oh god, yes."

... okay.
Original prompt was by Emilyshadenoughnow.tumblr.com who accidentally gave it to me xD
Also, YES I know Sherlock isn't dead but I can't stop myself from breaking some hearts now can I. Roughly two hours work, used a couple Google references... hit download for the full size.
You get half a background because I say so.

Description
Inspired by a post on Tumblr.
Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one moment that I am one of them.

John sat on his chair, facing the empty one across from him, remembering Sherlock lounging in it as he deduced. Using this gun to blow holes in the wall... he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. After a moment, he gently placed the note on the table in front of him. He hated to do this to Mrs. Hudson, but he couldn't do this anywhere else. It would be wrong beyond belief. This was the decision he had made - he'd stick to it until the end. There was no option. He traced his hand over the cold metal and leant back into the chair; then tucked the gun into his mouth.

He waited, just a few seconds, almost hoping that somebody would come in, a reason to stop this, his heart pounding and tears running down his face. He pulled it away, leaning on his knees, putting his right up to his head as he took a moment to get his bearing, the gun hanging loose in his left. A deep breath, and he tugged it up again, angling it into his mouth and pulling the trigger before he could stop himself.

His hand had fallen onto his lap, the gun laying against his knee, as he stood looking at himself, blood dripping from the back of his head. He covered his mouth, as he stared, then closed his eyes and swallowed, not knowing what to do. The note fluttered in a slight breeze, and he glanced towards it, his own handwriting in the neatest possible way... "You didn't come back, so I'm coming to you. - John.

He turned and looked at the window, then turned around slowly to look at himself, before jumping violently at what he saw.
He looked as handsome as he had been, high cheek bones, curly hair, he even had his coat and scarf on... but all John could see were his eyes. They had no pupil, instead gleaming inside with a soft gold light. His friend smiled, faintly, taking a step forward and resting his hands on the back of John's chair, beautiful white and silver wings moving around, the gold-dusted tips brushing the body...

"I don't have friends, John." He whispered, the same deep baritone. "I just have one."
John almost ran towards him; he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, finding him warm, the fabric of the coat scratchy against his cheek, the feather wings moving the envelop him. "I missed you, Sherlock." Sherlock just smiled and turned, a sweep of his wing revealing a door in the wall.
"Ready to see more?" his voice was barely audible, but he was smiling still.
"Oh god, yes."

... okay.
Original prompt was by Emilyshadenoughnow.tumblr.com who accidentally gave it to me xD
Also, YES I know Sherlock isn't dead but I can't stop myself from breaking some hearts now can I. Roughly two hours work, used a couple Google references... hit download for the full size.
You get half a background because I say so.