As God Intended

The Latin Language

As the days drew on Sherlock was beginning to pity Victor Trevor more and more, for he had to watch as his body grew thinner and his wrists began to cut with the belts which bound him. He was worried that prolonged exposure to this demon was only going to tarnish the innocent boy's soul and perhaps damage his body for good. Without any solid evidence of the demon inside (since Sherlock's startling transformation didn't prove much except some strange magic) he was going to try some of the rituals for himself. This of course went behind the backs of the Catholic church, as well as defied some of the strictest rules of exorcism in the books. These chants were not supposed to be spoken by just any man who happened to pick up the book, they were sacred, intended to be spoken only by experienced lips. Who knows what might happen if his tongue slipped, or if his voice was not powerful enough? Perhaps he would make the demon stronger instead of banish him, or worse yet invite him into the world of the living without intending. The problem could get much worse, though in an attempt to alleviate this added stress to his life Sherlock knew he had to try. This demon was sticking around for too long, and along with its linger presence was a feeling of utmost mischief and defiance. Almost as if the demon's breath was beginning to fill the buildings with temptations and strange feelings, tainting the minds of everyone who tried to live within such close proximity. There was an ungodly feeling surrounding the church's campus, and Sherlock could only place the source at the one demonic presence that still lingered. Therefore he turned the key over in the lock, stepping inside of the old school and shining his flashlight throughout the shadows. Despite the demon's cooperation Sherlock still felt uneasy when approaching, as if tonight would be the night that the thing escaped and attacked him from an unseen position in the darkness. Thankfully the shadows were empty, and when Sherlock unlocked the classroom door he saw his demon still bound, with his head sunken down onto his chest and his gag dangling from his lips. Sherlock sighed, setting up the flashlight upon one of the spare chairs to illuminate the interaction a bit better.
"Hello Victor." Sherlock muttered, tilting the boy's head back and tearing the gag gently from his mouth. For a moment Victor's mouth dropped open, smacking his lips through the air as if appreciating the freedom. His eyes were still closed, though he began to hum softly as Sherlock prepared the flask of water.
"Open up." he instructed, fumbling at Victor's mouth and forcing it open enough to pour the water onto his tongue. For a moment the boy spit and swallowed the best he could, seeming to enjoy the feeling of water in his parched tongue more than he enjoyed drinking it. After the flash had been half drained Sherlock began to shovel oatmeal into his mouth, happy that the demon was content on silence. It was only until after the bowl had been emptied that the demon let his head begin to sway, his eyes closing once more as if he was lost in thought.
"Sherlock, dear, your head is confusing tonight." he muttered at last. Sherlock gave noise of agreement, dragging over the extra chair and seating himself across from the demon. In one hand he steadied the light and in the other he brought out the demonology book from his coat pocket, looking up towards Victor as he began to finger through to his page markers.
"How so?" Sherlock wondered at last, already knowing that it was a dangerous business to pick up conversation with a demon. Victor's lips were pulled into a smile, the first true emotion the demon had expressed all day.
"I see temptations in your heart, dear. And I see conflict." The demon admitted. Sherlock huffed, holding the light up towards his book to get a better look at the dark text which was written before him.
"Maybe so. But you will also see strength, and refusal." Sherlock lied quickly, as if he wanted to use his past mistakes for the betterment of his image. At least in front of this demon, whose agenda it was to break his holy shell, he might as well flaunt his abstinence so far.
"Such a powerful longing, Father. I see within you something more starved than the rest of your emotions, something so enjoyable! Oh you want him, don't you Sherlock?" the demon purred, leaning forward as much as his tight ropes would allow.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus." Sherlock read carefully, cutting off the demon before it could taunt him any longer. The creature's ability to read minds was perfectly astounding, considering these were emotions that Sherlock hadn't even come to grips with himself.
"Oh you're trying that with me, are you?" the demon chuckled.
"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabólica" Sherlock continued, daring to look up towards the demon to see if there were any obvious changes to his appearance. He was expecting black smoke to come pouring from the mouth, or perhaps his eyes to glow dark with the unholy presence of his inhabitant. Out of anything Sherlock at least expected the boy to start to twitch or show some signs of discomfort! This was an exorcism, wasn't it? Wasn't it supposed to have some negative effect upon the demon he had captured?
"Sherlock dear, you're going to have to do a lot better than that." the demon protested with a little chuckle. "You've got to put your heart into it!"
"I am, shut up." Sherlock growled. "Ergo draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te."
"You still find me useful, Father Holmes. There's nothing you can do so long as you don't want me gone." The demon reminded him with a little chuckle.
"I do want you gone, why else would I be reading this?" Sherlock demanded, narrowing his eyes defensively to where the demon was only chuckling. Whatever he was saying obviously had no effect, though perhaps it was just the introduction to the more powerful part of the spell?
"Save your energy, Sherlock Holmes. Save your breath." The demon suggested.
"Sounds like something a demon would say if it didn't want to be exorcised." Sherlock pointed out.
"And you sound like a toddler who's found his father's Latin textbook. Stop rambling, and perhaps I can use my own tongue much better than can you." The demon offered at last, chuckling a bit as Sherlock's attention was forced away from the textbook and back towards where the boy was tied. For a moment Sherlock hesitated with the next couple of lines, wondering what the demon could possibly mean by such a bold statement.
"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock asked abruptly, finally letting the light leave his book and focus on the boy who was tied before him.
"You know that I can see into heads, Sherlock. Not just yours, not just Victor's. No no, I can see into his as well." The demon teased, chuckling now as Sherlock's eyes widened in amazement.
"John's?" Sherlock clarified immediately, perhaps betraying his intentions as his brain jumped immediately to the man who sat somewhere across the alleyway. For a moment he didn't dare trust this demon, who may very well start to tell lies with the intention of leading Sherlock even farther down the path he was beginning to start down.
"Oh yes, I see it clearly. Him and all of his own struggles, all of his own troubles. All of his own preferences. Newfound, dare I say." Victor chuckled, his eyes glinting with that forbidden mischief that Sherlock would do better to avoid. He should stop listening now; he should start back up with his ritual and get rid of this taunting thing while he had the chance! What good was it to listen, when undoubtedly the creature would be feeding him lies? It had its own agenda, the very one that Sherlock was supposed to be avoiding! Nevertheless each one of his nerves was alight with interest, and regardless of his more rational choices the priest had no choice but to stay silent, with even his breath caught between his lips in suspense.
"What do you mean by that? What sort of preferences?" Sherlock clarified abruptly, almost forcefully.
"Wouldn't you like to know." The demon laughed. "You know I don't so freely give away information."
"You've never had a price to pay before." Sherlock protested.
"That was before I knew you took such interest in what I had to say." Victor pointed out in his own defense. Sherlock frowned, feeling as if he was entering upon a slippery slope. There must be some trickery here, especially if there was a deal beginning to be made. What would he give for information, and what should he avoid entirely?
"How about this, Sherlock. All I want to hear is your legitimate confession, nothing more. Just say what's on your mind in the context of John Watson, truthfully and unfiltered. I want to hear your raw emotions, Father, and I want you to mean it." the demon demanded at last, his smile narrowing into a more serious glare.
"You know my thoughts, demon. You know everything about me, usually before I've had the chance to realize them for myself." Sherlock defended.
"It's just delightful to hear some validation." The demon assured. "I would like to hear you say it."
"Say what?" Sherlock snarled.
"That you love him. That, despite your better intentions, you've fallen head over heels with the boy next door." The demon demanded.
"I will say nothing of the sort!" Sherlock insisted, finally getting to his feet in an attempt to stop the momentum of the man opposite. If he let this go on any longer he might find himself spilling the contents of his very soul! He couldn't give the demon that sort of satisfaction; he couldn't entertain this as a possibility. All the same he could hear that little chuckle mounting in Victor's throat, a laugh that made it sound as if he knew so much more than Sherlock would ever believe.
"Let me know how you feel about John Watson and I will tell you how he feels about you." The demon promised at last, his blue eyes catching Sherlock's in the dim lighting, glinting as bait might while tied along a fishing hook. For a moment the priest was about to turn his back, in fact Sherlock's momentum was already beginning to spin towards the door as his rational mind was still clinging to control of his limbs. He almost wished that he had been more receptive to what had to be common sense, though even as he began to pivot towards the exit his head began to spin to compensate, and never once did he break eye contact. It was a deal that wouldn't hurt, really. It was a deal that had already been expressed on his part throughout his prolonged silence and throughout the thoughts in his head. If the demon already knew of his thoughts towards John then what could it hurt to speak them again, this time out loud? Sherlock had settled upon the idea long ago, he had admitted to himself that inside of his heart there was an unprecedented feeling, an unappreciated feeling at that. Something within him was quite forbidden, though it would feel so much better to spill it out into the open. Sherlock's irrationality kicked in, this time his heart taking over and curiosity consuming him. His brain strained to take back control, though by now he had caught himself expertly within the hook that had been left for him. He wanted to know, he needed to know, if there were any familiar feelings in John's heart, any which might mimic the forbidden emotions which were bubbling up in his own. It would be so much easier to ask Victor, the demon who would not judge, as he already knew! And the alternative, would that be asking John upfront? Between the defensive father and the manipulative demon Sherlock wasn't sure which would speak the most lies. At least if he asked Victor there would be no repercussions to a direct no. Finally Sherlock turned to face the demon, settling his shoes onto the hardwood with some determination and staring down upon his shoes anxiously.
"No tricks?" Sherlock clarified.
"I'm a demon, Sherlock." The boy reminded him, as if that would justify anything he did whether moral or not. Sherlock sighed in agreement, figuring there was nothing to be done about that. The creature he was speaking to was perfectly arbitrary, his dishonesty coming along with the unofficial contract that Sherlock would sign with his words.
"Fine, fine." Sherlock agreed at last, his curiosity at last getting the better of him. "What does he feel about me?"
"Say it first." The demon demanded. Sherlock gripped tight to his flashlight, the beam waving up and down as he hesitated to force the words from his lips. He already knew...he already knew.
"I..." he took another sharp breath, this time closing his eyes and hiding his view from the world. "I love him."
"You love who?" the demon clarified.
"I love John Watson." Sherlock admitted at last, throwing his hands to his face in agony and hoping that those words had not been heard by any higher powers, whether above or below. The priest bit down upon his sinful tongue, afraid now that he had just condemned himself for all eternity. How could he say such things without repercussions, at last demonstrating his sinful mind to the world? The demon began to chuckle, his head rolling back and forth upon his neck as his mouth dropped and lulled.
"Such a lovely statement, and yet so sad." The demon admitted at last, finally settling his head back so that he could stare Sherlock in the face with his snarl.
"Sad, why? What makes it sad?" Sherlock demanded, stepping forward anxiously as his voice got trapped in his throat. "What does he feel for me?" he asked at last, already worried that this was a question which set him up for disappointment.
"He finds you terribly amusing, Father Holmes. He finds you attractive, and enjoys your presence very much. But John Watson, I regret to say, is not in love with you." The demon announced at last. Sherlock's fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment his eyes closed to avoid having to stare at that smug, unholy face which was staring back. There was grief within his heart, the equivalent of someone driving a large stake into his chest and letting him bleed. The awful truth of the matter, he was alone in this fight, alone...
"Perhaps that's for the best." Sherlock declared at once.
"Feelings change, Sherlock dear. That man is teetering on the edge of a precipice, and one push on your part would send him toppling in along with you. There's infidelity on his mind, but not yet in his heart." The demon assured.
"That's out of my control." Sherlock insisted. "It's best that I don't tempt him, lest we both find ourselves condemned to Hell."
"It's a lovely place. You and your sweetheart might enjoy it together." The demon suggested. Sherlock sneered, still feeling quite betrayed as he grabbed his book, bowl, and flashlight within his hands. He figured this was enough for tonight, enough heartbreak for one man to endure. Without a farewell Sherlock turned and left the demon where he was, ungagged and unchecked, while he locked the door frustratingly behind. It was a moment of defeat, though he couldn't yet speak to why he felt so betrayed. He was right in claiming that this was a good thing, it kept him as holy as he could be with these feelings inside of his chest. Actions spoke louder than thoughts, and to sin in word and in mind was much less serious than if he dared sin in person. It was for the best on both sides if John Watson stayed dormant, and if his heart didn't begin to wander down the forbidden road. 

Sherlock settled down in his nearly forgotten position, pressing his knees into the dents within his carpeted floor and looking up to the cross which sat upon his bedside table. It had been too long since he last spoke to his father, though tonight he had some explaining to do. Perhaps God was waiting on his call, only to hear his most grueling confession come in response to a demon and not in a prayer. It was lousy work on Sherlock's part; for a priest should keep his heart bared open to the Lord just in case there could be any help from above. Perhaps God himself could reach down and pull any unwanted feelings from Sherlock's heart, or better yet he could inject some into John's? The priest hesitated, dangling his rosary between his forefingers and looking upon the crucifix above.
"Father, hear my prayer." Sherlock began quietly, shuffling his hands along the wooden beads and wondering how he should even begin. This was nothing like a prayer, nothing like he had usually spoken to his cross before. Perhaps that's why God hadn't been listening to him lately, because he was just bored of the same old life that Sherlock had been living. Finally it was time for some variety, though it would require immediate action if it were ever to reach the Heavenly Father's ears.
"I'm not sure if you are aware of what I'm facing off with, but the situation is desperate. I've trapped a demon in my schoolhouse, a pawn of Satan himself, and he's been manipulating my heart and soul ever since he arrived." Sherlock announced at last, ducking his head down in shame. He almost wished the crucifix would open up and begin speaking back, as these one way conversations were a little bit silly sometimes. Nevertheless, the priest continued.
"I've spent sixty years in your service, Lord, and not once did I succumb to temptation. Perhaps that's because it was never so strong as this, never lined up so perfectly, never felt so appropriate. I don't know much about soulmates, in fact I don't know much about love at all... But I believe in your work, Father, and so I wonder why you would design such a man to live next door. Have you set him up to be how he is, so...so compatible? To trusting, and awe inspiring? Or is this Satan's work; is this a plot from the Devil to string me down the opposing path?" Sherlock sighed, bending even farther down into his kneel so that his nose nearly hit the floor.
"I know what is expected of me, but I don't know how I am supposed to restrain! If he makes a move in my direction I will be forced to receive, he has my heart in chains and my body at his demand! If he wants me....he will get me." the priest admitted at last, seething at the very words which were released from his lips. "Help me Father, before I make a mistake I cannot amend." As with before, there was no answer. There was never any answer. Sherlock's fingers finally fell in front of him, supporting his chest as it lowered onto the carpet in a perfectly prostrated position. His rosary now dangled from two fingers, smeared up against the floor so that he might take it up with his mouth if he was willing. Sherlock hesitated, feeling as though there were words collecting within his mouth that he was not yet ready to release, words that he was trying to swallow back with all of his might.
"Tell me what to do!" Sherlock demanded at last, pounding his fist against the carpet and bringing his eyes up towards the cross upon the night stand. He stared at it with the same sort of demand he might use against a stubborn enemy, with fire in his eyes instead of usual domesticity he used with his father.
"I don't want to move against you, but there's nothing I can do without your help! This is Satan's plan, help me defeat him! Help me resist his temptations, lest I fall into the fires by my own actions! I'm straying off of your path Father, I am walking intentionally away! Steer me back, bring me back, with all of my service to you...why, why would you let me fall from so high?" Sherlock demanded, cowering back into his defeat and staring again at the fibers from the carpet.
"I've fallen in love." He whispered at last. "Fallen in love and it can't be helped. It cannot be helped by my own hand! Do you have nothing to say to that?" As would be expected from talking to inanimate objects, the cross was silent. The room was silent. And the echoes of his words, so powerful when spoken, were growing more and more faint until even they were lost with time.