Fic: Too Close To Home, part 2
****
It felt more than a little strange to be coming back to a place that had once been his home. John hadn't been back since the day he'd collected his belongings and left, eight months ago. In truth, he felt a little guilty for his long absence - after all Lawrence's help - but he had simply got caught up in his new life.
The door swung open only a few seconds after John's knock and Lawrence stood in front of him, smiling warmly as soon as he realised who it was.
"John! Hello," Lawrence said, shaking John's hand. "Come in, come in."
John entered and Lawrence waved him to a seat at the table.
"Sit down. Make yourself at home," Lawrence said, taking a seat.
John did so, settling on the chair opposite Lawrence.
"How are you?" Lawrence asked. "You look well."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm really good. Thank you. And how are you?"
"In all honesty, a little thrown by what happened to Father Robert."
John couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in slight surprise at Lawrence moving onto the subject so soon.
"I thought I might be hearing from you," Lawrence explained with a smile. "The PC who came round last night told us that Sherlock was working on the case."
"Ah," John said. "Well, I wanted to see you first, unofficially... I wanted to see if you were alright. If there's anything you need..."
"I'm fine," Lawrence assured him. "Just a little shaken up, really. Such a horrible thing to happen... Simon's quite upset about it."
"Father Robert... He was new?"
"Yes. He'd only been here a couple of months," Lawrence said. "He was settling in well." Lawrence trailed off with a sad smile, but brightened slightly a moment later. "He seemed to be having a very good effect on Simon."
"Oh?"
"Well, I must admit, Simon was a little worked up after you left. He just couldn't understand why you made the choice you did. And well... you know what he's like."
John gave a weak smile.
"Anyway, Robert was rather more liberal-minded, which is always a useful trait in a parish like this, and he had a way of explaining things... I suppose you could say he had the gift of the gab," Lawrence remarked. "In any case, Simon listened to him, miraculously. It seemed to be doing him some good..."
Lawrence trailed off again and let out a sigh.
"Such an awful waste of life," he murmured.
"It is," John agreed quietly, thinking of both priests and the horrible end they had come to.
"Do you have any leads?" Lawrence asked.
"Not yet," John said with a frown. "Did the police tell you about the other priest? And the message?"
"Yes, they told us about that. And they asked us lots of questions about Robert."
"Such as?"
"If there was anyone who'd want to hurt him. If he knew the other priest. If he was gay."
John paused for a moment and then met Lawrence's gaze.
"Was he?"
"Not that I knew," Lawrence admitted honestly. "But then, how do you tell?"
John frowned, lost in thought for a moment.
"Come on, enough about that for now," Lawrence said. "Tell me what you've been up to all this time."
John smiled shyly and started to regale Lawrence with a few stories of cases and living with Sherlock and the mad adventure his life had become.
"You sound happy," Lawrence commented when John had finished.
"I am," John said with a smile. "Very."
"I'm so glad, John," Lawrence said warmly, reaching out to press John's hand with his. "Really I am."
"Thank you."
Lawrence smiled and drew his hand back.
"Tea?" Lawrence asked. "It's been so long since I saw you and there's only so much you can glean from a blog."
John laughed and nodded.
"Yes, please."
"White, no sugars?"
"Yeah."
Lawrence got up to make the drinks and John settled back in his chair with a smile.
****
"Did you have a nice time?" Sherlock asked as soon as John walked in the door, a touch of annoyance in his voice. John looked down at him where he was sprawled across the sofa.
"Don't even start," John warned him good-naturedly.
"You were there far longer than necessary."
John snorted and crossed to the sofa, lifting Sherlock's legs out of the way and sitting down.
"I didn't realise there was a time limit."
"I need you here."
"No, you don't," John said with a smile, resting his hand on Sherlock's knee and squeezing gently.
"Fine. I want you here."
"I was only gone a few hours," John said. "And now I'm all yours."
Sherlock let out a little sigh, but he pressed his legs against John's in a silent acknowledgment.
"Any news?" John asked.
"Nothing. Did Father Lawrence say anything useful about Father Robert?"
"Nothing that would explain why someone would want to kill him."
Sherlock frowned and pressed his hands together.
"I've been thinking though," John said. "If this person wanted to send a message about these priests... Why take their dog collars away? Why make them look like regular people by removing their single most distinguishing feature?"
Sherlock looked at him for a long time and then tipped his head towards the ceiling.
"Trophies, perhaps?" he mumbled, mostly to himself. "No. Too obvious. He must have wanted to send another message. But what? Why take away a priest's collar? Why strip him of that - Oh. Possible. Yes."
"He took their Bibles too," John pointed out. "Presuming they carried them with them."
Sherlock gave him another long look - surprise mixed with pride - before speaking up slowly, working his way around a theory.
"What if he didn't think they deserved any of those things - the collar, the Bible... the rosary? What if they're traitors? Deviants, even."
"Sherlock, be careful what you start accusing these men of," John interjected. "They're men of God, remember."
Sherlock levelled his bright gaze on John.
"That doesn't make them free of sin though, does it? I think the sheer number of child abuse cases involving priests is proof of that."
"Yes, yes, alright. Just... be careful where you tread with this one."
Sherlock gave him a long look, but didn't comment, and eventually turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
"And the message... Why that verse? Why were these specific priests chosen for an anti-gay message?"
Sherlock fell silent, and John left him to his thoughts. He turned on the TV and halfheartedly settled down to watch a nature documentary, one hand idly drawing circles on Sherlock's leg.
****
John yawned and made his way out of the bedroom the next morning, blinking in surprise when he found Sherlock hunched over his microscope.
"New evidence?" he asked, brushing a hand against Sherlock's shoulder as he moved to put the kettle on.
"Hmm? Oh, no. Just something to pass the time," Sherlock said in a bored tone.
"You could've stayed in bed," John suggested with a smile.
"I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."
"Thinking too hard again," John teased, leaning against the sideboard as Sherlock turned towards him.
"I need to find the link between these men. They obviously weren't random choices, so how is the killer selecting victims?"
"I really don't know."
"John..." Sherlock started, almost hesitant in a way he never was. "Is there a chance these men were gay?"
"Well, it's possible," John said. "Of course it is."
"Would they have confided in anyone if they were?"
"I don't know. It could cause a lot of trouble, if you told the wrong person."
Sherlock hummed and pressed his hands to his lips, lost in contemplation. John turned away to finish making his tea.
"What about in Confession?" Sherlock asked after a long silence.
"Maybe, but you know that could never be confirmed."
Sherlock let out a moan of frustration.
"Idiotic!"
John just rolled his eyes and fished his tea bag out of the cup, throwing it in the bin.
A knock downstairs, followed soon after by the lilting cadence of Mrs. Hudson's voice, drew their attention. A moment later there were footsteps on the stairs and Lestrade appeared at the kitchen door.
"There's been another one," Sherlock said instantly, rising to his feet.
"Yeah," Lestrade said tiredly.
"Do we know who?"
"Yeah. A bishop this time. Malcolm Foster, Bishop of... Brentwood, is it?" Lestrade looked to John for confirmation and John nodded, feeling queasy as he reached out a hand to steady himself.
"Christ," John breathed.
"John?" Sherlock called quietly, taking a step closer.
"Malcolm," John got out, his voice rough with shock. "We... We studied together, at the seminary."
John bowed his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"Can you come?" Lestrade asked Sherlock in a low voice.
"Yes. Wait downstairs, I'll be there in a minute."
John looked up as Lestrade shot him a worried look and left them alone. Sherlock turned to him and stepped forward, reaching out to grasp John's arms.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked worriedly.
"I... It's just, I knew him... And now he's dead."
John let out a shaky breath and leaned forward to press his head against Sherlock's chest, shaking it slightly as he tried to calm himself.
"Don't worry about me. Go on, they need you."
"What about you?"
"I... This isn't something I want to see," John admitted. "I really shouldn't be there." Sherlock's grip tightened on him for a moment.
"Are you sure?"
John took a fortifying breath and righted himself, nodding firmly.
"I'm sure. Go."
Sherlock hesitated for a brief pause, but then bent to press a quick kiss to John's lips. He rushed into the living room to fetch his coat and threw it on quickly as he made his way back into the kitchen.
"And Sherlock?" John spoke up, halting him at the door. "Solve this."
Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded sharply and disappeared out the door.
****
When Sherlock returned home several hours later, John hadn't done much with his time. He'd showered and dressed, and tried to distract himself by watching television and then reading the newspaper when that failed. Eventually he'd given up and spent most of his morning in silent contemplation, the rosary he'd had stashed away all this time clutched between his fingers.
When Sherlock walked in the door, he paused to study John where he sat on the sofa. After only a minute, Sherlock sat down beside him, placing a hand over John's, his fingers just touching the beads.
"Anything?" John asked hopefully.
"Some fibres. I'm getting them checked at the lab. Nothing else of importance."
John nodded and let out an unsteady breath.
"John, I... I don't know how to make this easier for you."
John jerked his head up, meeting his partner's concerned gaze. He tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand.
"I'll be fine," John whispered. "You focus on catching the killer."
"You're worried about who might be next."
"Of course I am. The thought of more people - people I might know - suffering at the hands of this mad man... I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare me."
"You're too close to this," Sherlock said after a short pause. "I need you to be objective, otherwise you're of no use to me."
John started, snatching his hand back.
"Sherlock, someone I know is dead. Someone who took my place only a few months ago is dead. Of course I'm too close to this!"
"It won't help them now, will it?" Sherlock countered.
"No, but that's not the--"
"I need you thinking clearly. You have a much better insight into these men's lives, I need you to--"
"No," John interjected. "You don't need me. You just want me around to make you feel good, to tell you how brilliant you are."
Sherlock recoiled as if he'd been hit and John felt his stomach lurch.
"I didn't mean that," John said hurriedly. "Sherlock, I... That's not true. Ignore me."
John ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I- I need to get out and get some fresh air before I say something even more stupid."
John rose unsteadily to his feet and turned to look down at Sherlock, whose expression was guarded in a way that made John's chest ache.
"Sherlock, I..." He didn't know what to say and he trailed off awkwardly. "I'll see you later?"
"Probably," Sherlock said in a deceptively even tone. "Unless I get something to go on."
"Yeah, of course."
John realised he was still holding his rosary in his hand and he stuffed it quickly in his pocket as he moved to put on his jacket. Sherlock looked as if he was deep in thought already, making no sign of acknowledgement when John hesitated by the end of the sofa.
"I'll be back later," John said awkwardly, resting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock did nothing for a long time, but just as John pulled his hand back, he gave one single nod. John let out an inaudible sigh and left the flat.
****
Part Three