Fic: Too Close To Home, part 3

[yalublyutebya]

****

Somehow, John found himself making the short trip across the river to Brixton, to St. Mary's. It was only as he reached the church that he realised it was the time Lawrence had always held Confession. Not wanting to risk an encounter with Simon, John instead found himself sitting at the back of the church, absently turning a battered missal over and over in his hands.

"John?"

John was startled out of his daze by the sound of Simon's voice and quickly raised his head, trying not to let his annoyance show in his expression.

"Simon. Hello. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you... And you?"

"Yes. Fine."

There was a moment of awkward silence and John wondered if it would be enough to make Simon leave, but when he looked up, Simon seemed to be working up the courage to speak again. John watched him expectantly.

"And how... How is Sherlock?"

John was a little taken aback that Simon would even mention him, and wondered if this was evidence of Father Robert's influence.

"He's well. Thank you."

Simon gave him a small smile and John cleared his throat awkwardly.

"We - uh, well he actually - has been investigating Father Robert's murder."

Simon's expression dropped, his eyes vaguely teary when he met John's gaze.

"He was a good man," Simon said somewhat shakily. "I don't know why anyone would want to kill him."

John hesitated for a moment, but then decided it might do him some good if he tried to do something constructive for the case, instead of torturing himself with his thoughts.

"Simon... Is there anything you can tell me about Father Robert - about what he'd been doing the last few weeks - anything that might give us a lead?"

Simon thought for a moment as he settled next to John in the pew.

"He was very busy," Simon started hesitantly. "He always was, of course, but the last few weeks he'd been preparing for the conference."

"What conference?" John asked. He had guessed it might be the reason for the first victim's trip to London, but he hadn't heard anything to confirm it.

"There was a big one just a few days ago. The day before Father Robert was - the day before he died."

"Was there anything particular about this conference?"

"Usual sort of stuff; regional issues, declining attendance, you know... But I think Father Robert said they might discuss the issue of, uhm, gay marriage."

John wasn't surprised in the slightest. The argument between the government and the Church had been all over the television, ever since the government had announced proposals to legalise it.

"What was Father Robert's view?" John asked.

"He was for it. He said it was about time gay people were allowed to declare their love in front of God just like everyone else."

John thought of the effect those words might have on more hard-line traditionalists, and couldn't help picturing Father Robert's dead body - and the numbers daubed across his chest.

"Simon, I think you've been more helpful than you know. Thank you."

John got to his feet and Simon rose too.

"You think there's a link?" Simon asked.

"Maybe," John said. "I can't be sure. I need to talk to Sherlock."

Simon shuffled out of the way and John moved quickly out of the pew.

"Thank you, Simon."

"Didn't you want to see Father Lawrence?"

"I'll call in another time," John answered hurriedly. "I have to go. Thank you again."

John gave him a quick goodbye and left the church, rushing to find the nearest taxi.

****

When John got home, Sherlock had disappeared from the sofa and was in fact nowhere to be found in 221b. John sent off a quick text asking where he was, and settled at the desk, opening the laptop in front of him.

John liked to think his computer skills had improved in recent months - although Sherlock still mocked now and then - and as soon as he was logged on, he brought up the Internet browser. After a few failed searches, he managed to find details of the conference and flicked through the news articles, searching for anything that might prove what he was beginning to suspect.

He clicked on another article mentioning the conference and suddenly he was met with a large picture of Malcolm Foster. His eyes flicked to the headline - Top Bishop Backs Gay Marriage - and back to Malcolm's picture. According to the article, Malcolm had given a rousing but rather controversial speech in support of gay marriage. It had been a rather daring move on Malcolm's part as well, dissenting so publicly against the party line. John let out a little shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. Could it really be plausible that a madman was killing these priests because they dared to speak in favour of gay marriage?

John spent a little longer trying to see if he could find anything on the first victim, but with no luck. He may well have shared the same view as Father Robert and Bishop Malcolm, but it was unlikely to be in the media anywhere, given that he was only a small-town priest. John could have really used Sherlock's expertise right about now.

He'd received a very short reply from Sherlock about ten minutes after his original text, saying that Sherlock was at Bart's. Sherlock gave no indication as to when he'd be back and John wasn't exactly surprised, after his own rash words earlier. This case was messing with his head and he knew he shouldn't have snapped at Sherlock but it was hard to remain distant and objective when it was all tangled up with his own issues - his own vaguely confused guilt about being gay in the first place.

There was nothing to be done but wait for Sherlock to come home and so John busied himself as best he could - tidying a bit, flicking aimlessly through the newspaper again, making dinner, taking a long shower. By late evening Sherlock still hadn't returned and John retired to bed alone, halfheartedly attempting to read the book he had started a few weeks ago. It was only as he searched for the place he'd left off that he remembered he was reading Dan Brown's Angels And Demons. He shut the book with a sigh - he'd had more than enough of dead priests. In any case, Sherlock had already spoiled the ending, so it was mostly pointless to keep reading. John threw the book on his bedside table and lay down with his hands under his head. He wasn't even really tired.

A moment later he heard noises downstairs that signalled Sherlock's return and he moved to sit up, listening as Sherlock climbed the stairs, entered the flat and, by the sounds of it, threw his coat onto the sofa. There was a brief silence and then footsteps approached the bedroom. Sherlock appeared in the doorway and hesitated almost nervously, bright eyes locked on John.

"Anything?" John asked quietly and Sherlock shook his head, moving slowly to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I may have found something," John said and proceeded to tell Sherlock what Simon had told him and the research he'd done off the back of it.

"The killer must have been at the conference," Sherlock said when John had finished. "How else would he know who to pick? How many people would have attended?"

"A couple of hundred, maybe. All sorts of representatives from across the Church."

Sherlock hummed and stared into space contemplatively. John shifted over the bed and reached up to press his hand to Sherlock's arm.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"It's fine," Sherlock said dismissively, turning towards John.

"No. I was out of order. It's not true anyway."

Sherlock dropped his gaze to the bed for a moment, then raised it again, meeting John's eyes.

"I'm sorry too. I don't expect you to switch off with something like this... I wouldn't want you to either."

"Come here," John said, running his hand up to Sherlock's neck to draw him closer. "I love you," he whispered, just as he pressed his lips to Sherlock.

They shared a tender kiss, but Sherlock pulled back far too soon, drawing a smile from John.

"I don't suppose I can tempt you to come to bed?" John teased, brushing his fingers against Sherlock's nape.

"John... I--"

"No, I'm joking. Go on. Work your magic with what I found."

John drew away with a smile. Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment, but then smiled too, shifting off the bed.

"And make sure you have something to eat," John reminded his partner. "I bet you've hardly eaten all day."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

"Oh John, this is too important to waste time eating! This could be the break in the case I've been looking for."

"Wake me if you need me?"

"I will."

Sherlock bent double to give John a parting kiss and then left the room as John settled down in the bed.

****

John woke the next morning to a cold space beside him; apparently Sherlock hadn't made it to bed at all - certainly not an uncommon occurrence when he was caught up in a case. John got out of bed and threw his dressing gown on, making his way into the kitchen.

As John approached the living room, he spotted a more than familiar figure in one of their armchairs. Both Holmes brothers turned towards John as he entered the room and Mycroft nodded politely.

"Hello John."

"Mycroft. What brings you round here?"

"Oh, just doing my part," Mycroft said enigmatically.

"Mycroft has the CCTV coverage from the conference but he won't give them to me without a suitable sacrifice," Sherlock said crossly.

"Come now, Sherlock, I merely asked if I could rely on your assistance on some future occasion."

Sherlock continued to scowl at his brother and John had to try hard to suppress a smile.

"I didn't think a Church conference would be the sort of thing you're interested in," John commented to Mycroft.

"Quite the contrary," Mycroft replied. "There's very keen interest in the current debate on the legalisation of gay marriage, as I'm sure you've heard. We'd very much like to move things along, you see."

"Right," John said, moving to perch on the arm of the chair Sherlock was sitting in. "You know you'd have more luck putting the screws on The Vatican, it's not like Catholics in this country get to make up their own rules..."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "None the less. It would be a terrible shame to lose any more of our supporters."

John usually had a certain amount of patience for dealing with Mycroft - and the potent cocktail of SherlockandMycroft - but his patience seemed to be wearing very thin at the sight of Mycroft's callous indifference. He clenched his fists tightly and forced himself to look away.

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, shattering the silence. "I agree."

"And you will make yourself available whenever I choose?"

"Yes, yes, alright."

John looked up again as Mycroft rose gracefully to his feet and retrieved a small flash drive from his pocket, handing it to Sherlock.

"I won't keep you any longer then," Mycroft said. "Good day, Sherlock. John."

John forced out a polite nod - not trusting himself to speak - while Sherlock chose to ignore his brother altogether, moving over to the desk where his laptop sat. Mycroft left and John let out a grateful sigh, slipping into the chair Sherlock had just vacated.

"I like to look for the good in everyone," John spoke up. "But your brother really is a pompous arse."

Sherlock's only reply was a distracted hum and when John looked around, he was absorbed in watching the images on the screen.

"Tea?" John asked, pushing himself up.

"Hmm?" Sherlock got out, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Oh. Please."

John watched him for a few seconds, smiling warmly, and then turned away and headed for the kitchen. He wondered idly if he'd have any luck getting some food down Sherlock as well, but a glance at Sherlock - completely wrapped up in what he was doing - soon threw that idea out of the window.

John made tea for the both of them and toast for himself, and settled in an armchair with the newspaper. He flicked through the first couple of pages - all about government cuts - and stopped abruptly when he caught sight of a familiar picture. There was a double page spread on Bishop Malcolm's death, and right there in the bottom corner was yet another familiar picture.

"You've made the paper again," John said, glancing up at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up and scowled, before turning back to his laptop.

"Genius detective, Sherlock Holmes, has been called in to investigate the suspicious death of Bishop Malcolm Foster and at least two others."

Sherlock scoffed under his breath but didn't move his attention from the screen this time.

"At least they didn't refer to you as 'amateur detective' this time," John commented, raising his head just in time to see Sherlock roll his eyes. John smiled and turned the page again, quiet settling over them once more.

****

Sherlock seemed to be getting increasingly agitated, muttering and huffing under his breath as he painstakingly went through hours of CCTV footage. He'd been at it for over an hour now and he didn't seem to be having much luck.

"Can I help?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock snapped, then glanced up, his expression softening. "But thank you."

John nodded absently, hovering in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He didn't really know what to do with himself. He was just turning towards the kitchen, wondering how much of Sherlock's impromptu lab he could get away with cleaning, when Sherlock made an excited noise.

John turned back, only to find Sherlock looking at his phone instead of the computer. Sherlock got to his feet and moved to the window, looking out into the street.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said. "We're going to talk to everyone who visited Bishop Malcolm the day he was killed."

Sherlock had moved to pull on his coat but paused now, turning towards John.

"Will you come?"

"Of course," John said, going over to grab his own coat and pull it on.

"Good. You know I don't have the patience for these people."

"And by 'these people' you mean anyone who goes anywhere near a church?" John clarified with a teasing smile.

"You know exactly what I mean," Sherlock answered haughtily, fighting the smile that lurked in his eyes. He opened the door and preceded John out of the flat.

"Your poor mother would be turning in her grave," John commented with a smile.

"I can assure you an aversion to religion would be the least of my sins in her eyes," Sherlock returned, turning back to give John a wry smile before moving quickly down the stairs and out the door to the waiting car.

****

Part Four