Fic: You've Begun To Feel Like Home (7/9)
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Warnings: mentions of child abuse, drug abuse, character death(s), slash, sexuality issues, religious issues, angst, unrequited love. General warning: this features the Church quite heavily so if you have a problem with that for whatever reason, you might want to give this one a miss.
Spoilers: General spoilers for both seasons
Beta:
lady_t_220
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is everything Father John Watson should probably disapprove of. He's an atheist, a rationalist, an addict, and gay. But none of those things is enough to stop him from being the most fascinating person John's ever met.
Part Seven: Let Your Heart Be Broken
It was the early hours of the morning before John got home and he was exhausted. He crept through the house as quietly as possible and once he was in his room, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, still in his clothes. Despite his tiredness, sleep did not promise to come easily, not when he felt so completely and utterly lost. His experience with Moriarty had left him shaken, but it was what he had shared with Sherlock that kept him from his rest. The first time he had kissed someone in almost twenty years and he felt nothing but all-consuming guilt; guilt for the betrayal of everything he believed in, and for the pain he already knew he would bring to Sherlock.
He had always cared for Sherlock, had always loved him in a vaguely fraternal - sometimes even paternal - kind of way, but somehow, without him even realising, those feelings had transformed into something far beyond the platonic. The idea of losing Sherlock - of him being killed at the hands of a maniac like Jim Moriarty - had been enough to make John realise that he could not live without this man, and he had been instantly overwhelmed with the desire to keep him close and safe and his. The kiss had been the final piece of evidence - the final proof - that he, John Watson, was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
It had taken only the space of a few seconds for the euphoria of that discovery to be quashed entirely by the sudden shame that swept through him. He could not be in love with Sherlock Holmes. The Church was his life. It had saved him at his lowest point and brought him such contentment, such happiness. He was a priest, meant to serve God and the people, and he could not give that up - not even for the most fascinating man he had ever known.
John lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling as he tried to reconcile himself with what he knew he had to do. It felt like something was slipping away from him; as if he was losing a part of himself. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to them tiredly, praying desperately for strength. When he suddenly heard scrabbling and then the sound of his bedroom window opening, he felt his heart sink. The window slid shut again and silence descended over the room.
“I know you’re not asleep,” Sherlock finally said, and John let out a shaky breath.
“What are you doing here?” John asked tiredly.
He forced his hands away from his eyes and rolled into a seated position, his feet resting on the floor. When he finally dared to raise his head, Sherlock looked about as composed as John felt, his pale eyes flicking about the room before settling on John.
"You kissed me back."
John turned his head away.
"It was an accident," he said dismissively. "It was just shock, and adrenaline. I-"
"You're lying."
John whirled round to protest, but froze when he found Sherlock standing in front of him.
"You're lying," Sherlock repeated softly, dropping to his knees in front of John.
“Sherlock,” John whispered painfully.
Sherlock reached up and pressed his hand to John’s face. John couldn't help leaning into it, just for a moment, but then he forced himself away, getting to his feet.
"You need to go."
"John.”
"No, Sherlock," John said brokenly. "I am a priest. I can't do this. I won't."
John started when Sherlock’s hand came to rest on his arm and he whirled round, shaking him off.
"Please leave," John begged.
A look of frustration crossed Sherlock's face and he clenched his fists tightly.
"You know how I feel about you," Sherlock started, but John wouldn't let him continue.
"I know, and that is exactly why you need to leave. I'm a priest, Sherlock. I can't be what you want me to be."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John pushed on.
"I know you don't have any respect for the Church, but at least have some for me. Please. Just go home."
After a moment of contemplation, Sherlock seemed to deflate, and he nodded sadly.
"Okay, John."
He turned slowly and made his way to the window, stopping with one hand on the frame.
"I don't want to feel like this, you know," he said quietly. "Love makes you weak. Makes you vulnerable."
John wanted to argue, but after the events of the night, it wasn’t easy - not when Jim Moriarty had so obviously used Sherlock's emotions against him.
"I've tried to stop it," Sherlock continued. "That's why I went away."
He let out a sigh.
"It didn't work. As soon as I saw you again, I knew nothing had changed."
Sherlock laughed bitterly and pressed his head against the window.
"It's ironic, really. Victor left because he said I was incapable of loving anyone."
John looked at him in surprise - he'd had no idea Sherlock and Victor had parted ways. Sherlock sighed again, his breath leaving a cloud on the window.
"What am I supposed to do, John?" he asked.
"I- I don't know. Get on with your life. Find someone else, someone who can love you properly."
Sherlock turned to face him again.
"You do love me though, don't you?” he pressed. “I wasn't wrong about that."
"Sherlock," John said - half plea, half warning.
Sherlock groaned in frustration and closed his eyes.
"You'll find someone else," John said gently. “I was just...convenient."
Sherlock’s eyes flew open, a look almost like disappointment crossing his face.
"Is that what you think it is?" Sherlock asked, a sharp edge to his voice. "Convenience?"
"Sherlock, I... I've known you since you were fifteen. And I don't think I've ever known anyone treat you with any particular kindness, or affection."
Sherlock looked a little shocked, and a little angry, at John's words.
"You- you think I'm in love with you because you were kind to me?"
"Aren't you?"
"No," Sherlock answered sharply, running a hand through his hair in agitation. After only a moment, he raised his head and fixed John with a fierce look. “What about you, John? Are you in love with me because I’m the only person you’ve ever been close to?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh, please. It’s why you became a priest in the first place,” Sherlock said, his tone laced with anger and hurt. “It’s the perfect job for you, hiding behind the Church. You can keep people at a distance. You can keep life at a distance, because you’re too afraid of actually feeling something.”
“Coming from the man who shoots up whenever he can’t handle his emotions!”
He knew he had gone too far as soon as the words were out of his mouth and he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Sherlock-”
“I have to go,” Sherlock said coldly.
“Sherlock, I didn’t mean-”
“Yes, you did.”
Sherlock threw the window open and climbed out without even a glance in John’s direction.
“Goodbye, John.”
“Sherlock,” John called helplessly, but he was already gone. John shut the window behind him and sank to his knees, his head pressed to the cool glass.
*****
John slept fitfully and finally dragged himself out of bed just past nine, forcing himself downstairs. Lawrence and Simon were already in the kitchen and they both turned to look at him as he came in. He knew he must look as awful as he felt and he slid into a chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“Morning, John,” Lawrence said politely.
“Morning.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Please.”
Lawrence moved away to make the drinks, but John could feel Simon’s eyes on him.
“You look tired,” Simon finally said and John forced himself to meet the other priest’s eyes. “Late night?”
“What are you trying to imply?” John said tightly, too tired to have any patience with Simon.
“I heard you get in at about four,” Simon commented.
John glanced at Lawrence, who was now watching him as well, and turned back to Simon.
“If you must know, Simon,” he got out. “I spent most of yesterday being kidnapped and held hostage by a psychopath bomber.”
“Are you alright?” Lawrence asked worriedly, even as Simon’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“I’m fine. Just exhausted. I had to stay and talk to the police, after.”
Lawrence placed a cup in front of him and settled in the seat next to him.
“What happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Okay,” Lawrence said, turning his attention to Simon. “Simon, isn’t it time you were leaving to get to the school?”
“Yes,” Simon said reluctantly, still watching John in amazement as he got to his feet.
Simon got his things together and left, and John let out a sigh.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You didn’t look like you had the energy to deal with him this morning.”
“No,” John agreed with a tight smile. “It was a long night.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, really,” he said, even though he felt far from it. “I’m just glad I don’t have much to do today.”
“If you need me to take over anything for you...”
“No, really. I’d rather keep busy. Keep myself awake, you know,” John explained with a wry smile.
“Alright then,” Lawrence said. “Just let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”
“I will. Thank you.”
*****
As John had said, he didn’t have much to do that day, and he was extremely glad. He felt drained - physically and emotionally - and he was so distracted that he almost ended up ordering a new box of communion wafers when they had only just received a fresh one two days before. His mind just kept replaying the events of the last evening over and over again - the kiss, Sherlock’s caress, the harsh words. He felt truly miserable about their argument, and annoyed with himself for lashing out so cruelly. Sherlock had struggled with his addiction and it hadn’t been fair of John to throw it in his face.
John supposed he should congratulate himself. After all, he had wanted Sherlock gone - hadn’t wanted to risk temptation - and he had definitely achieved that. If only it hadn’t caused them both to get hurt in the process. There had been a kernel of truth in Sherlock’s words - of course there had been, it was Sherlock - and John had been smarting from the blow just enough to come back in quite possibly the worst way imaginable.
John sighed for perhaps the hundredth time that day and sank his head in his hands. He had given up on his few remaining tasks, knowing how useless he was today, and was now sitting at the back of the church, driving himself mad with self-flagellation. It wasn’t particularly productive - it certainly wouldn’t help him find a way out of this mess - but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Father John?”
Simon’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and he quickly raised his head, turning towards the younger priest.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
“It’s fine,” John said. “Did you need me for something?”
Simon sat down next to him, hands clasped nervously in his lap.
“I wanted to apologise.”
John did a double-take but remained silent, waiting for Simon to continue.
“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning. I-I wasn’t implying anything, I was just curious.”
John gave him a weak smile.
“It’s okay, Simon.”
“I feel like I should explain,” Simon continued. “It’s just... every priest I’ve known is so wrapped up in the Church that they don’t really have any kind of life outside.”
Simon paused and turned towards John, cheeks faintly flushed with embarrassment.
“You do though,” Simon said. “You have Sherlock.”
A week ago, this conversation might have pleased John, but now it just made him feel even guiltier. He wasn’t supposed to have a life separate from the Church.
“It’s inspiring,” Simon added, breaking into John’s thoughts again. “And I - it was wrong of me to question you. Father Lawrence told me about Sherlock’s background, about what you’ve done for him. So, I’m sorry for anything I’ve said that might’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” John said. “Really.”
He sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Maybe you were right.”
Simon’s eyes went wide with surprise and John hurried to explain.
“No, not like that,” John said. “But the general idea, I suppose. Perhaps my relationship with Sherlock has been... inappropriate, at times.”
John fell silent, thinking of all the times Sherlock had climbed into his room in the middle of the night. John himself had commented on it, but he’d given up arguing very soon and let it slide because - well, because it was Sherlock. John shook himself out of his thoughts and turned back to Simon.
“Thank you, Simon, for the apology.”
Simon smiled awkwardly and left John alone once more.
*****
“You didn’t need to say anything to Simon on my behalf,” John told Lawrence as soon as he saw him later that afternoon.
Lawrence settled at the kitchen table with his mug of tea, watching John closely.
“I thought he should be set right about a few things.”
John joined him at the table, picking idly at the chipped handle of his own cup.
“And I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit more sensitive about the whole thing this morning.”
John looked up at him in confusion.
“Sorry?”
“I heard you come in as well,” Lawrence said. “And then I heard you arguing with Sherlock.”
John looked away in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry if we woke you.”
“You didn’t,” Lawrence reassured him. “John, what happened? What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing,” John said weakly.
“It’s obviously not nothing. You haven’t been yourself all day. I thought it was this kidnapping business, but that’s not all, is it? You’re upset about arguing with Sherlock.”
John rubbed his forehead, completely lost as to what to tell Lawrence.
“I thought you’d sorted things out between you?” Lawrence asked. “I thought everything was okay.”
“We had. It was.”
“And now?”
“Things changed.”
“How?” Lawrence pressed.
John took a calming breath, his eyes fixed on the table.
“I... I think I’m in love with him, and I have no idea how I let that happen.”
Lawrence was silent and John didn’t dare look at him. He didn’t know what good he thought might come from telling someone else, but he needed to share the burden pressing down on him.
“I’ve never felt so bloody helpless,” John whispered. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”
“What brought on the argument?” Lawrence asked quietly.
“I told him I couldn’t be with him and - I don’t even know.”
“Why can’t you be with him?”
John raised his head again, frowning in confusion.
“Because I’m a priest.”
“People leave the priesthood every day to be with the people they love.”
John didn’t know what to say to that. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I almost left myself, once,” Lawrence added.
John’s eyes flew to Lawrence’s again.
“You did?” he asked. “Why?”
“I fell in love,” Lawrence said. “Almost twenty years ago now. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
Lawrence smiled fondly and John couldn’t help smiling back.
“She was a nun,” Lawrence explained. “We worked at the same school.”
“What happened?”
“We both chose the Church,” Lawrence said, his expression clouding as he met John’s gaze. “And some days I regret it more than I can bear.”
“Lawrence, I am so sorry,” John said sadly.
“It’s okay. It was my choice and I made what felt like the right decision at the time.”
Lawrence reached out and placed his hand briefly over John’s.
“I just don’t want you to forget that you do still have a chance to change your mind.”
John sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.
“I don’t know what to do, Lawrence,” he admitted. “The Church is everything to me. But Sherlock...”
Lawrence squeezed his shoulder and John looked up at him, his expression no doubt conveying how torn he was.
“What you need to do is take some time for yourself,” Lawrence said. “Get away from here. Away from Sherlock too. And you need to work out what you really want.”
“I couldn’t,” John said weakly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, or to Simon.”
“We’d manage just fine. Do you honestly think you can perform your duties to the best of your ability right now?”
“No,” John murmured.
“Exactly. You need to focus on yourself. You need to make a decision,” Lawrence said softly. “And you need to be sure that it’s the right one for you.”
John reached out and squeezed the other man’s arm.
“Thank you, Lawrence.”
Lawrence smiled and John let out a long breath, feeling calmer than he had all day.
****
Part Eight: Guide My Feet
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Warnings: mentions of child abuse, drug abuse, character death(s), slash, sexuality issues, religious issues, angst, unrequited love. General warning: this features the Church quite heavily so if you have a problem with that for whatever reason, you might want to give this one a miss.
Spoilers: General spoilers for both seasons
Beta:
lady_t_220
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is everything Father John Watson should probably disapprove of. He's an atheist, a rationalist, an addict, and gay. But none of those things is enough to stop him from being the most fascinating person John's ever met.
Part Seven: Let Your Heart Be Broken
It was the early hours of the morning before John got home and he was exhausted. He crept through the house as quietly as possible and once he was in his room, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, still in his clothes. Despite his tiredness, sleep did not promise to come easily, not when he felt so completely and utterly lost. His experience with Moriarty had left him shaken, but it was what he had shared with Sherlock that kept him from his rest. The first time he had kissed someone in almost twenty years and he felt nothing but all-consuming guilt; guilt for the betrayal of everything he believed in, and for the pain he already knew he would bring to Sherlock.
He had always cared for Sherlock, had always loved him in a vaguely fraternal - sometimes even paternal - kind of way, but somehow, without him even realising, those feelings had transformed into something far beyond the platonic. The idea of losing Sherlock - of him being killed at the hands of a maniac like Jim Moriarty - had been enough to make John realise that he could not live without this man, and he had been instantly overwhelmed with the desire to keep him close and safe and his. The kiss had been the final piece of evidence - the final proof - that he, John Watson, was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
It had taken only the space of a few seconds for the euphoria of that discovery to be quashed entirely by the sudden shame that swept through him. He could not be in love with Sherlock Holmes. The Church was his life. It had saved him at his lowest point and brought him such contentment, such happiness. He was a priest, meant to serve God and the people, and he could not give that up - not even for the most fascinating man he had ever known.
John lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling as he tried to reconcile himself with what he knew he had to do. It felt like something was slipping away from him; as if he was losing a part of himself. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to them tiredly, praying desperately for strength. When he suddenly heard scrabbling and then the sound of his bedroom window opening, he felt his heart sink. The window slid shut again and silence descended over the room.
“I know you’re not asleep,” Sherlock finally said, and John let out a shaky breath.
“What are you doing here?” John asked tiredly.
He forced his hands away from his eyes and rolled into a seated position, his feet resting on the floor. When he finally dared to raise his head, Sherlock looked about as composed as John felt, his pale eyes flicking about the room before settling on John.
"You kissed me back."
John turned his head away.
"It was an accident," he said dismissively. "It was just shock, and adrenaline. I-"
"You're lying."
John whirled round to protest, but froze when he found Sherlock standing in front of him.
"You're lying," Sherlock repeated softly, dropping to his knees in front of John.
“Sherlock,” John whispered painfully.
Sherlock reached up and pressed his hand to John’s face. John couldn't help leaning into it, just for a moment, but then he forced himself away, getting to his feet.
"You need to go."
"John.”
"No, Sherlock," John said brokenly. "I am a priest. I can't do this. I won't."
John started when Sherlock’s hand came to rest on his arm and he whirled round, shaking him off.
"Please leave," John begged.
A look of frustration crossed Sherlock's face and he clenched his fists tightly.
"You know how I feel about you," Sherlock started, but John wouldn't let him continue.
"I know, and that is exactly why you need to leave. I'm a priest, Sherlock. I can't be what you want me to be."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John pushed on.
"I know you don't have any respect for the Church, but at least have some for me. Please. Just go home."
After a moment of contemplation, Sherlock seemed to deflate, and he nodded sadly.
"Okay, John."
He turned slowly and made his way to the window, stopping with one hand on the frame.
"I don't want to feel like this, you know," he said quietly. "Love makes you weak. Makes you vulnerable."
John wanted to argue, but after the events of the night, it wasn’t easy - not when Jim Moriarty had so obviously used Sherlock's emotions against him.
"I've tried to stop it," Sherlock continued. "That's why I went away."
He let out a sigh.
"It didn't work. As soon as I saw you again, I knew nothing had changed."
Sherlock laughed bitterly and pressed his head against the window.
"It's ironic, really. Victor left because he said I was incapable of loving anyone."
John looked at him in surprise - he'd had no idea Sherlock and Victor had parted ways. Sherlock sighed again, his breath leaving a cloud on the window.
"What am I supposed to do, John?" he asked.
"I- I don't know. Get on with your life. Find someone else, someone who can love you properly."
Sherlock turned to face him again.
"You do love me though, don't you?” he pressed. “I wasn't wrong about that."
"Sherlock," John said - half plea, half warning.
Sherlock groaned in frustration and closed his eyes.
"You'll find someone else," John said gently. “I was just...convenient."
Sherlock’s eyes flew open, a look almost like disappointment crossing his face.
"Is that what you think it is?" Sherlock asked, a sharp edge to his voice. "Convenience?"
"Sherlock, I... I've known you since you were fifteen. And I don't think I've ever known anyone treat you with any particular kindness, or affection."
Sherlock looked a little shocked, and a little angry, at John's words.
"You- you think I'm in love with you because you were kind to me?"
"Aren't you?"
"No," Sherlock answered sharply, running a hand through his hair in agitation. After only a moment, he raised his head and fixed John with a fierce look. “What about you, John? Are you in love with me because I’m the only person you’ve ever been close to?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh, please. It’s why you became a priest in the first place,” Sherlock said, his tone laced with anger and hurt. “It’s the perfect job for you, hiding behind the Church. You can keep people at a distance. You can keep life at a distance, because you’re too afraid of actually feeling something.”
“Coming from the man who shoots up whenever he can’t handle his emotions!”
He knew he had gone too far as soon as the words were out of his mouth and he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Sherlock-”
“I have to go,” Sherlock said coldly.
“Sherlock, I didn’t mean-”
“Yes, you did.”
Sherlock threw the window open and climbed out without even a glance in John’s direction.
“Goodbye, John.”
“Sherlock,” John called helplessly, but he was already gone. John shut the window behind him and sank to his knees, his head pressed to the cool glass.
*****
John slept fitfully and finally dragged himself out of bed just past nine, forcing himself downstairs. Lawrence and Simon were already in the kitchen and they both turned to look at him as he came in. He knew he must look as awful as he felt and he slid into a chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“Morning, John,” Lawrence said politely.
“Morning.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Please.”
Lawrence moved away to make the drinks, but John could feel Simon’s eyes on him.
“You look tired,” Simon finally said and John forced himself to meet the other priest’s eyes. “Late night?”
“What are you trying to imply?” John said tightly, too tired to have any patience with Simon.
“I heard you get in at about four,” Simon commented.
John glanced at Lawrence, who was now watching him as well, and turned back to Simon.
“If you must know, Simon,” he got out. “I spent most of yesterday being kidnapped and held hostage by a psychopath bomber.”
“Are you alright?” Lawrence asked worriedly, even as Simon’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“I’m fine. Just exhausted. I had to stay and talk to the police, after.”
Lawrence placed a cup in front of him and settled in the seat next to him.
“What happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Okay,” Lawrence said, turning his attention to Simon. “Simon, isn’t it time you were leaving to get to the school?”
“Yes,” Simon said reluctantly, still watching John in amazement as he got to his feet.
Simon got his things together and left, and John let out a sigh.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You didn’t look like you had the energy to deal with him this morning.”
“No,” John agreed with a tight smile. “It was a long night.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, really,” he said, even though he felt far from it. “I’m just glad I don’t have much to do today.”
“If you need me to take over anything for you...”
“No, really. I’d rather keep busy. Keep myself awake, you know,” John explained with a wry smile.
“Alright then,” Lawrence said. “Just let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”
“I will. Thank you.”
*****
As John had said, he didn’t have much to do that day, and he was extremely glad. He felt drained - physically and emotionally - and he was so distracted that he almost ended up ordering a new box of communion wafers when they had only just received a fresh one two days before. His mind just kept replaying the events of the last evening over and over again - the kiss, Sherlock’s caress, the harsh words. He felt truly miserable about their argument, and annoyed with himself for lashing out so cruelly. Sherlock had struggled with his addiction and it hadn’t been fair of John to throw it in his face.
John supposed he should congratulate himself. After all, he had wanted Sherlock gone - hadn’t wanted to risk temptation - and he had definitely achieved that. If only it hadn’t caused them both to get hurt in the process. There had been a kernel of truth in Sherlock’s words - of course there had been, it was Sherlock - and John had been smarting from the blow just enough to come back in quite possibly the worst way imaginable.
John sighed for perhaps the hundredth time that day and sank his head in his hands. He had given up on his few remaining tasks, knowing how useless he was today, and was now sitting at the back of the church, driving himself mad with self-flagellation. It wasn’t particularly productive - it certainly wouldn’t help him find a way out of this mess - but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Father John?”
Simon’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and he quickly raised his head, turning towards the younger priest.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
“It’s fine,” John said. “Did you need me for something?”
Simon sat down next to him, hands clasped nervously in his lap.
“I wanted to apologise.”
John did a double-take but remained silent, waiting for Simon to continue.
“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning. I-I wasn’t implying anything, I was just curious.”
John gave him a weak smile.
“It’s okay, Simon.”
“I feel like I should explain,” Simon continued. “It’s just... every priest I’ve known is so wrapped up in the Church that they don’t really have any kind of life outside.”
Simon paused and turned towards John, cheeks faintly flushed with embarrassment.
“You do though,” Simon said. “You have Sherlock.”
A week ago, this conversation might have pleased John, but now it just made him feel even guiltier. He wasn’t supposed to have a life separate from the Church.
“It’s inspiring,” Simon added, breaking into John’s thoughts again. “And I - it was wrong of me to question you. Father Lawrence told me about Sherlock’s background, about what you’ve done for him. So, I’m sorry for anything I’ve said that might’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” John said. “Really.”
He sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Maybe you were right.”
Simon’s eyes went wide with surprise and John hurried to explain.
“No, not like that,” John said. “But the general idea, I suppose. Perhaps my relationship with Sherlock has been... inappropriate, at times.”
John fell silent, thinking of all the times Sherlock had climbed into his room in the middle of the night. John himself had commented on it, but he’d given up arguing very soon and let it slide because - well, because it was Sherlock. John shook himself out of his thoughts and turned back to Simon.
“Thank you, Simon, for the apology.”
Simon smiled awkwardly and left John alone once more.
*****
“You didn’t need to say anything to Simon on my behalf,” John told Lawrence as soon as he saw him later that afternoon.
Lawrence settled at the kitchen table with his mug of tea, watching John closely.
“I thought he should be set right about a few things.”
John joined him at the table, picking idly at the chipped handle of his own cup.
“And I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit more sensitive about the whole thing this morning.”
John looked up at him in confusion.
“Sorry?”
“I heard you come in as well,” Lawrence said. “And then I heard you arguing with Sherlock.”
John looked away in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry if we woke you.”
“You didn’t,” Lawrence reassured him. “John, what happened? What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing,” John said weakly.
“It’s obviously not nothing. You haven’t been yourself all day. I thought it was this kidnapping business, but that’s not all, is it? You’re upset about arguing with Sherlock.”
John rubbed his forehead, completely lost as to what to tell Lawrence.
“I thought you’d sorted things out between you?” Lawrence asked. “I thought everything was okay.”
“We had. It was.”
“And now?”
“Things changed.”
“How?” Lawrence pressed.
John took a calming breath, his eyes fixed on the table.
“I... I think I’m in love with him, and I have no idea how I let that happen.”
Lawrence was silent and John didn’t dare look at him. He didn’t know what good he thought might come from telling someone else, but he needed to share the burden pressing down on him.
“I’ve never felt so bloody helpless,” John whispered. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”
“What brought on the argument?” Lawrence asked quietly.
“I told him I couldn’t be with him and - I don’t even know.”
“Why can’t you be with him?”
John raised his head again, frowning in confusion.
“Because I’m a priest.”
“People leave the priesthood every day to be with the people they love.”
John didn’t know what to say to that. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I almost left myself, once,” Lawrence added.
John’s eyes flew to Lawrence’s again.
“You did?” he asked. “Why?”
“I fell in love,” Lawrence said. “Almost twenty years ago now. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
Lawrence smiled fondly and John couldn’t help smiling back.
“She was a nun,” Lawrence explained. “We worked at the same school.”
“What happened?”
“We both chose the Church,” Lawrence said, his expression clouding as he met John’s gaze. “And some days I regret it more than I can bear.”
“Lawrence, I am so sorry,” John said sadly.
“It’s okay. It was my choice and I made what felt like the right decision at the time.”
Lawrence reached out and placed his hand briefly over John’s.
“I just don’t want you to forget that you do still have a chance to change your mind.”
John sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.
“I don’t know what to do, Lawrence,” he admitted. “The Church is everything to me. But Sherlock...”
Lawrence squeezed his shoulder and John looked up at him, his expression no doubt conveying how torn he was.
“What you need to do is take some time for yourself,” Lawrence said. “Get away from here. Away from Sherlock too. And you need to work out what you really want.”
“I couldn’t,” John said weakly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, or to Simon.”
“We’d manage just fine. Do you honestly think you can perform your duties to the best of your ability right now?”
“No,” John murmured.
“Exactly. You need to focus on yourself. You need to make a decision,” Lawrence said softly. “And you need to be sure that it’s the right one for you.”
John reached out and squeezed the other man’s arm.
“Thank you, Lawrence.”
Lawrence smiled and John let out a long breath, feeling calmer than he had all day.
****
Part Eight: Guide My Feet