Fic: Too Close To Home, part 4

[yalublyutebya]

****

The first person to greet them at the Bishop's residence - set in the gardens adjoining the cathedral - was the deacon, a middle-aged man named Thomas. He had worked closely with the Bishop, for all intents and purposes serving as his personal assistant, and seemed pale and sad-eyed as he cast his gaze across them.

"Deacon Thomas, this is the consultant I mentioned," Lestrade said, gesturing towards Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes. And this is his partner, John Watson."

They all shook hands and the deacon ushered them inside.

"I think I've found everyone who was here two days ago," Thomas said. "They're waiting in the dining room."

"I think we'll want to see them one at a time," Lestrade suggested and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"I'll bring them in," the deacon said with a nod, showing the three of them into a small sitting room.

They went into the lavishly decorated room and John stood by the window, keeping one eye on Sherlock - who was nosing around at the bookcase - as Lestrade settled hesitantly on an old, incredibly decorative sofa.

"This is... really quite posh," Lestrade commented, looking over at John. "What happened to the vow of poverty thing?"

"None of this belongs to the bishop," John explained with a smile. "It's all the Church's."

Lestrade gave a vague 'ah', leaning back and making himself more comfortable. Sherlock and John exchanged a smile, then turned as one to the door as it opened. John was surprised to see a familiar face following the deacon. The young priest broke away as soon as he saw John, crossing the room to take John's hand.

"Father John, what are you doing here?"

David had also been at the seminary at the same time as John and Malcolm, although he had been several years younger and had been ordained some years after them.

"David," John greeted him, shaking his hand warmly. "It's so good to see you."

David smiled widely and pressed his free hand over their joined ones.

"And it's just John now," John added quietly.

"Oh," David said in a low voice. "I didn't realise. When did you leave?"

"About eight months ago," John explained, before clearing his throat and turning his attention to the room. "David, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. And this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Are you with the police as well?" David asked Sherlock.

"No," Sherlock said, glancing at John and then fixing his attention on David. "Why don't you sit down, Father. We'd like to ask you some questions."

The deacon left the room and John lingered by the window as Lestrade and Sherlock asked David a series of questions. Lestrade's were always direct and to-the-point, while some of Sherlock's seemed almost random, but John knew better than to doubt either of them. Once they were done, David rose and moved over to John.

"I hope you'll be able to make it to the funeral," David said quietly. "I think Malcolm would've liked you to be there."

"I'll try to be there," John said hesitantly, his eyes flicking to Sherlock's. "I hope I can be."

"It's just a shame you can't be involved in leading the service," David said, adding after a pause: "What made you leave the priesthood?"

"Personal reasons," John explained, more than aware of both Sherlock and Lestrade watching him. David nodded and gave him a weak smile, apparently content not to push any more. "Well, it was nice to see you, David, although I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Yes," David agreed, shaking John's hand once more. "I hope to see you again soon."

John smiled awkwardly and, after a grave nod towards Sherlock and Lestrade, David left. John shared a look with Sherlock, and then settled in the window seat, content to blend into the background as the deacon brought a little old lady to the room.

A procession of people - clerical and lay - passed through over the next few hours, and John hadn't seen or heard anything remotely suspicious. Sherlock and Lestrade never gave any indication to their thoughts, and it all seemed to be a bit of a waste of time.

When the last person had shuffled out, Lestrade asked for a word with the deacon and they both left. John moved to the sofa, where Sherlock had joined Lestrade about halfway through. Sherlock was quiet, but he looked up as soon as John sat down.

"What do you think?" John asked.

"I think you need a name badge."

"Excuse me?"

"A name badge," Sherlock said, his lips twitching in amusement. "With 'Just John' on it."

John laughed and leaned in close, elbowing Sherlock in the side.

"You ridiculous man," he said, curling his fingers around Sherlock's wrist.

"It would certainly be efficient, save a lot of explanations. Maybe you could--"

"Okay, shut up now," John said, resting his other hand against Sherlock's neck. "You are--"

John was cut off as the door opened again and Deacon Thomas appeared, his gaze flicking over the two of them.

"That sofa is over three hundred years old," he said with a strained expression. John straightened somewhat guiltily as the deacon continued. "Inspector Lestrade had to take a call. He said he would meet you at the car."

"Thank you," John said and the deacon retreated again.

As soon as he was gone, John let out a helpless giggle and Sherlock's low baritone joined him only a second later.

"I feel like I've been caught snogging by my mother," John got out, drawing his hand away from Sherlock's neck. "No, actually, your mother."

Sherlock curled his fingers around John's and sat up, bending his head to John's ear.

"Want to get caught properly?"

John laughed and gave him a little shove.

"Not here. We should probably get moving, Lestrade will be waiting. I don't fancy getting stuck in the middle of Surrey if he gets fed up."

Sherlock huffed but stood up quickly, drawing John with him.

"You still haven't said if you've worked anything out," John pointed out.

"I've got a few ideas," Sherlock said distractedly.

"Care to share?"

"Not yet. Not enough data."

John rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly and followed Sherlock out of the room.

****

Sherlock had been silent for hours, pacing the floor, or sometimes perching on the armchair, his hands occasionally making erratic little movements. He was so completely absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the cups of tea John placed on the nearest raised surface, but he did drink them almost unconsciously in moments of stillness.

John kept out of the way - in a case like this, silence like this usually meant Sherlock was getting close. It was only when Sherlock hadn't even moved in about ten minutes that John looked up from the laptop balanced on his knees. Sherlock was folded up in one of the armchairs, his fingers twisted in his hair, but instead of looking contemplative, he just looked exhausted.

"Sherlock," John called softly.

He had to call Sherlock's name another two times but eventually Sherlock started and turned towards John.

"Did you actually sleep at all last night?" John asked with a frown.

"I'm fine," Sherlock answered a little too quickly.

"Do we need to have this argument again?"

"I can't sleep," Sherlock said quietly, turning his head away.

"Yes, you can," John said firmly. "This case can wait a couple of hours so you can get some rest."

"No, John, I can't sleep. I physically can not sleep. I can't switch off," Sherlock said a little desperately.

John closed his laptop and set it aside, before patting the space on the sofa next to him. "Come here."

"John-"

"Come here."

Sherlock climbed out of the chair and crossed the room to drop down at John's side.

"Lie down."

Sherlock gave him a look but then complied, lying down with his head in John's lap. John smiled softly and rubbed his fingers against Sherlock's temples, gratified by the almost instant flutter of Sherlock's eyelids.

"You should have told me," John chastised gently.

Sherlock only hummed, some of the tension seeping out of his body as John gently massaged his temples. It went quiet for a while, but John should have known better than to think Sherlock was actually dozing.

"Why is the Church so afraid of homosexuality?" Sherlock murmured.

"This isn't relaxing," John pointed out.

"It's strange though, don't you think, in an organisation that preaches forgiveness and kindness to others."

John sighed, continuing to rub soothing circles against Sherlock's skin.

"I'm not sure it's quite that simple. We're talking about very old scripture, Sherlock; a code of behaviour that's been held sacred for thousands of years and has resisted change because it is inspired by the Divine. For millions of people it is the word of God. What do you want to tell them, that it needs updating because it lacks modern-day context?"

Sherlock hummed lowly, and then went quiet again. John thought he might finally be dozing - until Sherlock spoke up again a few minutes later.

"I'd marry you."

John froze and looked down at Sherlock in astonishment. "Excuse me?"

"I'd marry you," Sherlock said, opening his eyes to meet John's stunned gaze. "If they legalised gay marriage."

John was a little too shell-shocked to make any sort of sensible reply.

"I'm not asking," Sherlock added. "But I'd consider it. I know a civil partnership wouldn't mean the same to you."

John continued to stare at him, but finally shook his daze away.

"You really are the most ridiculous man," John whispered, coaxing Sherlock up so he could kiss him, just a tantalising brush of lips. "You don't even believe in religion, or God. Or in marriage, come to think of it."

"It's different when it comes to you," Sherlock breathed, leaning into John's loose embrace.

"Mad," John whispered, brushing his lips against Sherlock's. "Now, let's go to bed."

"You're supposed to be helping me sleep."

"I am."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but got to his feet anyway and made his way through to the bedroom with John right behind.

****

Sherlock was gone by the time John woke the next morning, but when John found him in the living room, he looked considerably more refreshed. In fact, he was practically vibrating with excitement and was just pulling on his coat when John entered the room.

"You've got a lead?"

"Yes! No time to explain now, I'll tell you later," Sherlock said, crossing the room to kiss John quickly, before rushing out of the flat. John just shook his head and went to get washed and dressed.

John had planned to visit Lawrence that morning and was just getting ready to leave when the doorbell rang downstairs. He ignored it - it wasn't likely to be for him anyway - but a few moments later, Mrs. Hudson's voice called out as footsteps clattered up the stairs.

"Sherlock? John?"

"In here, Mrs. Hudson," John answered.

Mrs. Hudson appeared a moment later, followed by none other than Deacon Thomas.

"Hello," John got out in surprise.

"Hello."

"No Sherlock, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"No, he's just popped out. Said he had a lead."

"Oh, I was hoping to see him," Deacon Thomas said.

"If there's anything I can do..." John suggested. "I'd hate for you to have wasted a trip."

"John here's very clever too," Mrs. Hudson spoke up. "He used to be a doctor, you know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but there's really no need to pretend I even come close to Sherlock. Nonetheless, I'll do whatever I can to help."

"I'll leave you to it," Mrs. Hudson trilled, and disappeared.

John showed the deacon to the nearest chair and settled opposite him. "Well, uhm, what can I do for you?"

"I was checking the Bishop's diary, and I suddenly remembered that he'd had an appointment the day he was killed, with a visitor who never turned up."

"Right..."

"Well, that's rather suspicious, isn't it?"

John hummed. "There could have been any reason the person didn't turn up," he said reasonably. "If you have the name though, I'll look into it."

John got up to search for a pen and some paper on the desk.

"That's the most interesting thing. He left the name 'Father John Watson'."

John stopped and turned to the deacon in surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

John shook his head, dropping his gaze to the desk.

"May I ask, Mr. Watson, why you left the priesthood?"

John looked up at the deacon and frowned.

"I don't think that's relevant."

"Really?" Thomas countered. "So you didn't leave to carry on a homosexual relationship with Mr. Holmes?"

"I really don't think that's any of your business," John said tersely.

"Tell me, Mr. Watson," Thomas said, getting to his feet. "Have you asked God's forgiveness?"

John blinked, too shocked for a moment to react, and then moved forward, gesturing to the door.

"I think you'd better leave."

"Have you repented for the vile acts you've committed?" Thomas spat out, taking a step closer.

"Get. Out," John snapped, all attempt at politeness gone.

"You are an abomination," Thomas said in a low voice. "You do not deserve God's grace. You will burn in hell for what you've done."

The deacon hissed the last words and before John could realise his intention, Thomas had tackled him to the floor, his large hands wrapping around John's throat. John hit the floor with a thud, his head bouncing off the floorboards. He struggled as best he could against the other man's hold. Even so, he could feel his air supply being cut off and panic truly started to set in.

"You are an abomination," Thomas repeated, as John helplessly tried clawing at his hands. It was no use - the other man had all the leverage, and was larger than John in the first place.

Black spots were starting to float at the periphery of his vision and John wriggled in vain, fighting with the little remaining strength he had left. His addled mind conjured Sherlock's face behind his fluttering eyelids and it was all he could focus on as the world slowly faded to black.

****

Part Five