They’d always known it was going to end badly. It wasn’t something they could prevent. An Angel and a Devil. It just wasn’t possible. They’d had their fun, and now they were paying for it. Perhaps John more than Sherlock. Now he was Fallen. His once brilliant white wings now as black as the blackest Hell. And, he couldn’t see. Blind. Forever. He was no longer immortal. He was shamed, and would never be able to see Sherlock again. He doubted Sherlock would even want to be near him, not after this. He supposed he should feel lucky that he still had his wings at all, but he didn’t. He didn’t like them anymore. He had seen their colour before his eye sight was taken. He knew what they looked like, what they represented. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had lost Sherlock, but now he would never be able to see. He would never know if he could trust anyone, as he used to.
John had been Made on the fall of Rome. He’d seen so much, learnt so much. He’d experienced things no other Angel had. But no more. He would never see anything again. He hated it. Wished he was dead. He would be better off dead. He had tried multiple times, in fact. Tried to kill himself. But, objects he could use – anything that was even potentially dangers – seemed to just disappear. And he knew he had them. As soon as he went out to buy more, they would suddenly appear again, exactly in the spot he kept them, but he just … couldn’t use them. As if he was physically unable to do it. It just didn’t make any sense. It was as if something else – or, someone – was influencing him. During his time as an Angel, he had influenced people. To stop them from doing drastic things he could prevent. He just didn’t know if that was it, or if it was, who was influencing him. He had a feeling, but he hoped he wasn’t right. Because, if it was, he would be damn furious.
Couldn’t he just die in peace? This was worse than any Hell. This was the life of a mortal. Shunned by all and unable to die because someone didn’t want him to.