Fic: Too Close To Home, part 5
****
"John."
John could hear his name being called, but it sounded very far away. He struggled to open his eyes and when he finally succeeded, he tiredly shut them again after only a few seconds. It had been just long enough to take in Sherlock's worried face looming over him.
"Sher..." John trailed off weakly. It hurt to speak.
"I'm here," Sherlock said quietly, his voice strangely rough too. John became aware of the pressure on his hand and weakly brushed his fingers against Sherlock's wrist.
"Where?" John got out weakly, trying to open his eyes again.
"You're in the hospital, John," Sherlock explained, his hand resting against John's chest. "Just relax. I'll explain everything later."
John nodded sleepily, his head lolling to one side. Sherlock's grip tightened on his for a moment, and then John was asleep again.
****
The next time he woke, John's head felt somewhat clearer, but he still felt dizzy and weak as he struggled to focus on Sherlock's face.
"You're alright," Sherlock murmured, wrapping his fingers around John's again.
"What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
"The deacon... He came round, he wanted to see you. Except, I don't think he actually did. He... He killed those priests, didn't he?"
"Yes."
John let out a shaky breath, wondering how this man had penetrated so deep into the heart of the Church without raising any suspicion.
"He confessed everything," Sherlock added. "Once he'd woken up."
John frowned in confusion, his mind not quite succeeding in following Sherlock's words.
"For once, my brother's infuriating need to follow my every move - and yours - turned out to be a very good thing. I would have been halfway to Brentwood if he hadn't called to let me know Deacon Thomas had come to 221b."
"Did you suspect him?"
"There were a few things he'd said that made me suspicious. That's why I was heading to Brentwood. However, it seems he couldn't bear to wait any longer to... well, 'fulfil God's wishes' was how he put it. I walked in the door and you were already unconscious. Thankfully, my entrance distracted him and he let you go in order to attack me."
"I'm guessing that didn't work out to well for him," John said with a weak smile. Many men before Deacon Thomas had made the mistake of underestimating Sherlock, and John almost wished he could have been awake to see Sherlock deliver one of his astonishingly effective attacks.
Sherlock just smiled and squeezed John's hand in his, before turning serious.
"John, I... I'm sorry I didn't warn you."
"It's not your fault. I should've realised it was strange for him to have come all the way into London."
"I should've--"
"Sherlock," John cut in, brushing his fingers against Sherlock's wrist. "I'm okay, and a murderer has been stopped. That's what matters, right?"
"I'd rather you'd not been in any danger at all."
"You didn't say that when you took me to that stakeout that turned into a gun fight," John teased.
"That's different."
John laughed and tugged on Sherlock's arm until the younger man bent down and allowed John to pull him into a gentle kiss. Sherlock sighed into the kiss, his hand clenching tightly around John's.
When they parted, Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's.
"I thought I'd lost you," Sherlock whispered, his voice gone rough. "You weren't breathing and I- I didn't know what to do. If Mycroft hadn't sent the emergency services as backup..."
"I'm okay now," John whispered, stroking a hand over Sherlock's hair. He felt Sherlock shudder, and then he was pressing his mouth to John's in a desperate, hungry kiss. John clung to him, pressing up into the kiss, opening his mouth under Sherlock's onslaught.
A throat being cleared in the doorway drew them reluctantly, breathlessly, apart and when John looked up, Mycroft was leaning against the doorframe, his usual smarmy smile in place.
"John, so glad to see you're feeling better."
"Mycroft," John got out with a polite smile, as Sherlock scowled at his brother - although perhaps not with his usual menace - and settled in the chair next to John's bed. "I believe I owe you thanks."
"Not at all."
"What do I owe you now?" Sherlock asked in annoyance.
"Sherlock, surely you don't think I require compensation for saving John's life. I'd say that accomplishment in itself was reward enough."
Mycroft gave John what approximated to a warm smile - at least as warm as Mycroft could manage, before turning towards his brother. "And after all, I think it's safe to say John has done the same for you many times over."
"Yes, yes. Are you done, Mycroft?" Sherlock got out, apparently having reached the limit of his patience for dealing with his brother.
"I'll leave you to rest then, John. If you need anything while you're recovering, do let me know."
"Thank you," John said.
With a nod, Mycroft was gone and John turned his attention back to Sherlock, reaching out for him. Sherlock stood once more and took John's outstretched hand in his.
"When can I come home?" John asked.
"I'll check."
John smiled softly and squeezed Sherlock's hand as he relaxed back on his pillow once more.
****
Epilogue
"Are you sure about this?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes," John replied with a smile, squeezing Sherlock's elbow and steering him through the enormous wooden doors of Brentwood Cathedral. "I want to do this."
They were greeted by one of the cathedral's canons, and then made their way towards an empty pew. They genuflected and then sat down. John fixed his eyes on the Bishop's coffin on the bier at the front of the cathedral, his hands clasped together. He felt a little uneasy, but he knew it was important to do this - both for himself, and in memory of Malcolm.
A few minutes later the service began and John listened, enraptured just as he always had been by the unfathomable power of Mass, as Father David went through the Introductory Rites. It was all as familiar as it had ever been: the readings, the songs, the Eucharist. He wasn't surprised when Sherlock chose not to join him to receive Communion, and when he returned to his seat, they shared a small smile, Sherlock's fingers just brushing against his.
Finally, the service finished and the congregation made their way out to the graveside for the final blessings as Malcolm's coffin was lowered into the ground. As the mourners began to dissipate, John stepped forward to pay his own respects, whilst Sherlock waited a few metres away.
When John finally turned away, he was greeted by a familiar face.
"David."
"John."
The two men shook hands, David's hand lingering in his for a moment longer.
"I'm glad you could come," David said softly, his gaze drifting momentarily to the almost-faded bruise on John's neck.
"So am I."
"Mr. Holmes," David greeted as Sherlock joined them.
"Sherlock, please," Sherlock answered, shaking the priest's hand.
"I never got a chance to thank you for your help," David said. "The thought of Deacon Thomas continuing... Well, it's an awful thing to think about."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed in a low voice. "Although I'm not sure I can claim any of the credit. If he hadn't chosen John as his next victim, maybe he wouldn't have been caught."
John had grown increasingly uncomfortable, still plagued by the memories of the deranged man lunging for him, and cleared his throat as he turned towards Sherlock. "Maybe we should get going. It'll be a nightmare getting back into London."
Sherlock gave John an appraising look and then nodded. "Of course."
They said their goodbyes to Father David and left, walking out of the cemetery in silence.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked once the cathedral was some distance behind them.
"I'm fine. Honestly." He reached out to brush his fingers against Sherlock's arm. "Thank you for coming with me."
"I trust you can cope by yourself after this," Sherlock suggested with a hint of a smile.
"Come on, it wasn't that bad," John said.
"True," Sherlock agreed. "The homily could have been longer. Your predecessor in Withyham was quite accomplished when it came to hour-long homilies."
John laughed lowly, but forced himself to stop, elbowing Sherlock at the same time. "Stop it. We shouldn't laugh. We've just been to a funeral."
Sherlock smiled and hooked his arm through John's.
"If you say so."
"I do." John smiled widely and squeezed Sherlock's arm against his side. "Now, let's go home."
THE END