Fic: You've Begun To Feel Like Home (8/9)
Rating: Mature
Pairings: 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 Eight: Guide My Feet
The diocese owned a small house on the bank of the Thames, several miles out of London. It wasn’t used much, only occasionally by foreign visitors or priests on sabbatical, but it was clean and tidy and, most importantly, quiet. It was, according to the Bishop, just what John needed in order to spend some time contemplating the choice ahead of him - the Church or his increasingly intense personal relationship. Though he had studiously avoided mentioning Sherlock’s gender when he spoke to the Bishop, they had both agreed this was no time for half measures; it would be one or the other. If he chose the Church, he wasn’t sure his relationship with Sherlock would - or could - continue, even if they remained only as friends. If he chose Sherlock, there was no way he could continue to serve God and the Church in the same way as he did now.
On the one hand, God had been a constant in John’s life, guiding him whenever he felt lost. Being part of the Church gave him a sense of purpose and helped him to help others - it made him feel useful. More than that though, the Church gave him a sense of belonging; a feeling that this was exactly where he was meant to be, this was what he was meant to be doing with his life. He had always been so content.
On the other hand there was Sherlock. Sherlock was wild and unpredictable and fascinating. He had burst into John’s life with a sullen scowl and a desperate sadness, and John had been drawn to him even then. He had seen Sherlock at some of the lowest points in his life - had seen him overcome and succeed where others would have failed - and he had never stopped believing that that broken child could become the amazing man that he was today. He was cold and brilliant, when he needed to be, but there was a softness, a humanity to him that not many people got to see and John felt privileged to be one of the lucky few.
How on Earth was he supposed to make this decision? He wished that he had talked to Lawrence some more; found out more about how he had come to his own decision all those years ago. How had he known that the Church was the right answer? How had he come to believe that the Church was more important than a life with the woman he loved?
For all that John had told Sherlock quite decisively that they could not be together, he found himself thinking of that life now. Lawrence had opened his eyes to the previously unrealised possibility that staying in the Church wasn’t necessarily the right thing to do. A life with Sherlock; a life outside of the Church. John didn’t even know where he might fit in in the secular world anymore. Would he go back to medicine? Would he spend the rest of his life being someone for Sherlock to talk at? Was there even a place for him in Sherlock’s life? The man was devoted to his work, to his puzzles and crime. Where would John fit in to it?
On top of that, John couldn’t help thinking about the difference in their ages. For a while now, he hadn’t really paid much attention to the thirteen-year gap, but the prospect of a romantic relationship brought certain realities with it. Sherlock wasn’t even thirty yet. He had so much of his life still to live, so many experiences still to have. He could have someone closer to his age - someone like Victor - so why would he want a disillusioned old priest?
****
The time away didn’t seem to be helping John at all. He spent hours with his thoughts going round in circles, agonising over a decision he didn’t know how to make. He went about in a daze mostly, drinking endless cups of tea and staring mournfully out of the window, the beads of his rosary trailing back and forth between his fingers.
Five days in, he was thrown off completely when he received a text from Sherlock.
I’m sorry. SH
He had never worked out how to use the phone Sherlock had given him. At the time it had been a vague attempt at avoiding the uncomfortable feeling aroused by accepting it in the first place. He also had no idea if there was even any credit on it. Nevertheless, he couldn’t ignore Sherlock reaching out to him - he never could.
Somehow, he figured out how to compose a message and wrote a simple reply.
Don’t be. I’m sorry for what I said. John
To John’s surprise, only a few seconds after he had managed to send the text, the phone started ringing.
"Hello?" John said hesitantly.
"John," Sherlock said slowly, as if fearing he might hang up. "Where are you? Father Lawrence said you'd gone away but he wouldn't say where."
"I just needed to get away from London for a bit."
"From me, you mean," Sherlock said quietly.
"Sherlock, I..."
John trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"Yes?"
"I am sorry for what I said," John got out after a pause. "I was wrong to say it."
"I think we both said things we wish we hadn't," Sherlock said.
"Yes."
They fell silent and all John could hear was Sherlock's breath coming down the line.
"John?" Sherlock finally said.
"Yes?"
"Do you remember you said to me once that... that whatever happens, we'll still be friends?"
"I remember," John said softly, resting his head in his hand.
"I... I can't lose you, John."
"Sherlock..."
"We can just delete this whole thing. Forget that it ever happened."
"I don't think I can," John murmured.
The other end of the line went quiet.
"Sherlock?"
John heard him let out a shaky breath, and then he spoke up again.
"I suppose this is goodbye then," Sherlock said stiffly.
"Sherlock, what-"
"I think it's best if we just get it over with now. I won't contact you again. You can throw the phone away, if you like."
"Wait, Sherlock-"
"Goodbye, John."
"Sher-"
The line went dead and John dropped the phone on a nearby table, feeling suddenly lightheaded and a little nauseous. He had to fix this. He had to make a choice, one way or the other, although he had a horrible feeling he might have already made it.
****
A week later, John finally returned home. He had already met with the Bishop earlier that day to discuss his decision and had left the Bishop's office feeling a bit sad, but calm, and even more determined in his choice.
Lawrence had been glad to see him back again and had instantly commented that he seemed a lot more at ease than he had been two weeks ago. John had smiled and thanked him again for all his help and advice.
There was only one person left for him to see now - Sherlock. It had been difficult not to contact him after their disastrous call but John had still needed time to come to terms with his choice. It would be better for both of them that the next time they met, John actually knew his own mind.
Determined not to waste any more time dithering and prolonging the agony, as soon as he'd had a quick wash and put on a fresh shirt, he set off for Baker Street.
****
Mrs. Hudson let him in with her usual pleased smile, but immediately told him that Sherlock was out.
"Inspector Lestrade came by earlier," she explained. "And a good thing too - he's been a complete misery for weeks now! He needs a good case to cheer him up."
John gave her a wry smile, some of his bravado disappearing at the delay.
"You can wait upstairs if you like, Father. You know what he's like. He could be back any minute, or he could be back in two days' time."
John forced out a smile and nodded in agreement.
"I suppose I'll wait for a little while."
"Go on up then, Father. Make yourself at home. I would offer you cuppa but I've got to pop out."
"That's okay, Mrs. Hudson. Don't let me stop you."
She gave him a warm smile and disappeared back into her own flat as John made his way upstairs to wait.
****
After forty minutes of waiting, John was about to give up when finally he heard the main door closing and, moments later, footsteps on the stairs. There was more than one pair of feet and, sure enough, Sherlock was followed closely by Inspector Lestrade as he burst into the room. Sherlock came to a startled stop as soon as he spotted John sitting in one of the armchairs and made an indeterminate noise.
"Oh, hello, Father," Lestrade said pleasantly.
"Inspector Lestrade," John replied with a nod, his eyes flicking to the Inspector before returning to Sherlock.
He could feel the weight of Sherlock's gaze on him as the other man's eyes tracked over him, no doubt making a dozen deductions from the state of his clothes and hair and face. Finally, that heavy gaze settled on John's throat - on the empty space where John's dog collar had sat for the previous thirteen years.
****
Part Nine: What Wondrous Love Is This
Pairings: 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 Eight: Guide My Feet
The diocese owned a small house on the bank of the Thames, several miles out of London. It wasn’t used much, only occasionally by foreign visitors or priests on sabbatical, but it was clean and tidy and, most importantly, quiet. It was, according to the Bishop, just what John needed in order to spend some time contemplating the choice ahead of him - the Church or his increasingly intense personal relationship. Though he had studiously avoided mentioning Sherlock’s gender when he spoke to the Bishop, they had both agreed this was no time for half measures; it would be one or the other. If he chose the Church, he wasn’t sure his relationship with Sherlock would - or could - continue, even if they remained only as friends. If he chose Sherlock, there was no way he could continue to serve God and the Church in the same way as he did now.
On the one hand, God had been a constant in John’s life, guiding him whenever he felt lost. Being part of the Church gave him a sense of purpose and helped him to help others - it made him feel useful. More than that though, the Church gave him a sense of belonging; a feeling that this was exactly where he was meant to be, this was what he was meant to be doing with his life. He had always been so content.
On the other hand there was Sherlock. Sherlock was wild and unpredictable and fascinating. He had burst into John’s life with a sullen scowl and a desperate sadness, and John had been drawn to him even then. He had seen Sherlock at some of the lowest points in his life - had seen him overcome and succeed where others would have failed - and he had never stopped believing that that broken child could become the amazing man that he was today. He was cold and brilliant, when he needed to be, but there was a softness, a humanity to him that not many people got to see and John felt privileged to be one of the lucky few.
How on Earth was he supposed to make this decision? He wished that he had talked to Lawrence some more; found out more about how he had come to his own decision all those years ago. How had he known that the Church was the right answer? How had he come to believe that the Church was more important than a life with the woman he loved?
For all that John had told Sherlock quite decisively that they could not be together, he found himself thinking of that life now. Lawrence had opened his eyes to the previously unrealised possibility that staying in the Church wasn’t necessarily the right thing to do. A life with Sherlock; a life outside of the Church. John didn’t even know where he might fit in in the secular world anymore. Would he go back to medicine? Would he spend the rest of his life being someone for Sherlock to talk at? Was there even a place for him in Sherlock’s life? The man was devoted to his work, to his puzzles and crime. Where would John fit in to it?
On top of that, John couldn’t help thinking about the difference in their ages. For a while now, he hadn’t really paid much attention to the thirteen-year gap, but the prospect of a romantic relationship brought certain realities with it. Sherlock wasn’t even thirty yet. He had so much of his life still to live, so many experiences still to have. He could have someone closer to his age - someone like Victor - so why would he want a disillusioned old priest?
****
The time away didn’t seem to be helping John at all. He spent hours with his thoughts going round in circles, agonising over a decision he didn’t know how to make. He went about in a daze mostly, drinking endless cups of tea and staring mournfully out of the window, the beads of his rosary trailing back and forth between his fingers.
Five days in, he was thrown off completely when he received a text from Sherlock.
I’m sorry. SH
He had never worked out how to use the phone Sherlock had given him. At the time it had been a vague attempt at avoiding the uncomfortable feeling aroused by accepting it in the first place. He also had no idea if there was even any credit on it. Nevertheless, he couldn’t ignore Sherlock reaching out to him - he never could.
Somehow, he figured out how to compose a message and wrote a simple reply.
Don’t be. I’m sorry for what I said. John
To John’s surprise, only a few seconds after he had managed to send the text, the phone started ringing.
"Hello?" John said hesitantly.
"John," Sherlock said slowly, as if fearing he might hang up. "Where are you? Father Lawrence said you'd gone away but he wouldn't say where."
"I just needed to get away from London for a bit."
"From me, you mean," Sherlock said quietly.
"Sherlock, I..."
John trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"Yes?"
"I am sorry for what I said," John got out after a pause. "I was wrong to say it."
"I think we both said things we wish we hadn't," Sherlock said.
"Yes."
They fell silent and all John could hear was Sherlock's breath coming down the line.
"John?" Sherlock finally said.
"Yes?"
"Do you remember you said to me once that... that whatever happens, we'll still be friends?"
"I remember," John said softly, resting his head in his hand.
"I... I can't lose you, John."
"Sherlock..."
"We can just delete this whole thing. Forget that it ever happened."
"I don't think I can," John murmured.
The other end of the line went quiet.
"Sherlock?"
John heard him let out a shaky breath, and then he spoke up again.
"I suppose this is goodbye then," Sherlock said stiffly.
"Sherlock, what-"
"I think it's best if we just get it over with now. I won't contact you again. You can throw the phone away, if you like."
"Wait, Sherlock-"
"Goodbye, John."
"Sher-"
The line went dead and John dropped the phone on a nearby table, feeling suddenly lightheaded and a little nauseous. He had to fix this. He had to make a choice, one way or the other, although he had a horrible feeling he might have already made it.
****
A week later, John finally returned home. He had already met with the Bishop earlier that day to discuss his decision and had left the Bishop's office feeling a bit sad, but calm, and even more determined in his choice.
Lawrence had been glad to see him back again and had instantly commented that he seemed a lot more at ease than he had been two weeks ago. John had smiled and thanked him again for all his help and advice.
There was only one person left for him to see now - Sherlock. It had been difficult not to contact him after their disastrous call but John had still needed time to come to terms with his choice. It would be better for both of them that the next time they met, John actually knew his own mind.
Determined not to waste any more time dithering and prolonging the agony, as soon as he'd had a quick wash and put on a fresh shirt, he set off for Baker Street.
****
Mrs. Hudson let him in with her usual pleased smile, but immediately told him that Sherlock was out.
"Inspector Lestrade came by earlier," she explained. "And a good thing too - he's been a complete misery for weeks now! He needs a good case to cheer him up."
John gave her a wry smile, some of his bravado disappearing at the delay.
"You can wait upstairs if you like, Father. You know what he's like. He could be back any minute, or he could be back in two days' time."
John forced out a smile and nodded in agreement.
"I suppose I'll wait for a little while."
"Go on up then, Father. Make yourself at home. I would offer you cuppa but I've got to pop out."
"That's okay, Mrs. Hudson. Don't let me stop you."
She gave him a warm smile and disappeared back into her own flat as John made his way upstairs to wait.
****
After forty minutes of waiting, John was about to give up when finally he heard the main door closing and, moments later, footsteps on the stairs. There was more than one pair of feet and, sure enough, Sherlock was followed closely by Inspector Lestrade as he burst into the room. Sherlock came to a startled stop as soon as he spotted John sitting in one of the armchairs and made an indeterminate noise.
"Oh, hello, Father," Lestrade said pleasantly.
"Inspector Lestrade," John replied with a nod, his eyes flicking to the Inspector before returning to Sherlock.
He could feel the weight of Sherlock's gaze on him as the other man's eyes tracked over him, no doubt making a dozen deductions from the state of his clothes and hair and face. Finally, that heavy gaze settled on John's throat - on the empty space where John's dog collar had sat for the previous thirteen years.
****
Part Nine: What Wondrous Love Is This