Chapter Text
Sherlock and John met their guardian angel in the most unexpected of ways; she came crashing into their lives.
Literally…unfortunately.
John was sitting at his normal spot on his side of the table, typing away on his ever-growing popular blog. Sherlock had been flicking through some files that had been piling up in the corner next to the couch, his mind racing with questions about their current case.
Suddenly, the window behind John shattered, and something rolled on through, crashing over Sherlock's chair. John had automatically stood up, his gun ready to shoot at whatever the threat possibly was. Sherlock turned around quickly, his eyes narrowing.
"Ouch…" they heard. "Son of a bitch…" It sounded like a girl; not a teenager, but not yet a woman, if Sherlock had his theory right.
He did. She was leaning against the bottom of John's chair, one of her legs resting on the opposing chair's cushion. She seemed confused, and was shaking her head as she adjusted her position. She looked to be almost twenty, maybe nineteen, in appearance.
"One moment you're sitting on cloud nine and the next thing you know they throw you through a window…" The girl didn't seem to notice the two men standing there until she looked up. She stared for a few seconds, frozen at the sight. Her light brown eyes watched them carefully, and she tugged at the tan newsboy hat covering her long brown hair with a fingerless gloved hand.
"Sherlock Holmes? John Watson?" she asked tentatively.
"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, and her gaze snapped over to him.
"The name's Raphaela," she said, getting up. John kept his gun trained on her though; he wouldn't lower it until he knew that she wasn't a threat.
"Raphaela?" the army doctor asked, his blue eyes curious.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, sounds like Raphael, one of the bigger angel's names, everyone knows him," she said, finally standing up completely. She wasn't very tall, and was built more on the stocky side. She rubbed the back of her head, looking around the flat.
"And why did you smash through the window?" John asked, lowering his gun ever so slightly.
"Well, how else was I supposed to get in?"
Just then, the doorbell rang, and she swiveled her head towards the sound, her eyes shifting back and forth slightly. She heard someone downstairs walking towards the door, and her eyes widened.
"Wait, don't answer it!" she shouted, dashing through the open flat door faster than Sherlock and John could process. There was a shout, and a gunshot went off. John moved quickly towards the door, and managed to get out of the way just in time for the girl, Raphaela, to come sailing through, skidding to a halt on her back. She glared at the man who had come up the stairs, her rage barely contained.
Before John could do anything, Raphaela shot past him, and jumped, smashing against the man with both of her feet. They fell down the flight of stairs, muffled grunts and yells echoing up the staircase.
Suddenly, just as quickly as it had started, the fighting stopped. Footsteps sounded, and Raphaela returned, her chest rising and falling quickly.
"Now do you see why I came through the window?" she asked, leaning against the door frame. "Mrs. Hudson is fine, too. The bullet hit the wall, but she suffered no injuries." John moved past her, giving her a brief glance as he made his way to the landlady to be sure.
Sherlock just looked at the girl, and her gaze slid over to his. "He was a hit man. He was here for John, not you."
"Really?" Sherlock asked, his face calm. But Raphaela could see a small panic in his eyes. She knew how he was.
"Yes. He's very gravely injured though. I don't know if he'll make it." Raphaela stopped talking when John came back up.
"She's fine." The army doctor stopped a couple feet from Raphaela. "How did you know?" She could hear the suspicion in his voice.
"Because it's my job to know if someone nearby is going to hurt either one of you. Trust me when I say this, but you have no idea how many people I've stopped from trying to even get a chance to do so."
"Job?"
She sighed a little, and walked into the flat until she was standing in front of the fireplace. Suddenly, two great big black wings extended behind her shoulders. The rows of feathers grew lighter as they reached towards the bottom, and grey streaks and dots were scattered throughout them.
"Yeah. Guardian angel. It's a job."