Leviticus 20:13

Personal Hotline To Heaven

John POV: John wasn't expecting the church to be open so late at night. He hadn't been expecting to be out this late anyway, but he was just returning to the hospital and was feeling a little bit desperate. Rosie's health was deteriorating; he was noticing it now more than ever. She was getting thinner, paler, less responsive. The nurses assured him that there were no developments, good or bad, and yet John wasn't blind, he could see that her condition was worsening. He felt the need to pray, he felt the need to fall onto his knees and beg whatever higher power was listening to please help his daughter, to please save her. He had been trying to prepare himself for this moment of course, trying to remind himself that he knew this day would come, the beginning of the end, and yet he had broken into tears while he drove home in the dark, keeping the radio on while his headlights penetrated the empty darkness around him. The church was on his way home, a silent steeple reaching up to the stars, and yet he doubted that it would be open. It was nearing eight o'clock at night, what kind of idiot went to pray at eight o'clock at night? Surely there would be no one around, if anyone was there John was certain it would only be the janitors, coming in for their nightly rounds and locking up until the next morning. John pulled into the driveway, empty of cars, and yet a couple of lights shined from inside of the building, maybe someone was home after all. John got from his car and fiddled with the rosary that he now kept in his pocket at all times. He wasn't even sure he was using it right, no one had even taught him since he was little, and yet it seemed like a daily reminder that he had something to pray for. The very weight of the necklace in his pocket reminded him that God was watching, and listening. John walked through the cold, dark parking lot until he reached the doors, finding that there were one or two lights on inside of the church, and he was astounded to find that when he pulled on the door it opened easily. So maybe the churches were open longer than he had anticipated. John walked inside cautiously, almost feeling like a trespasser as he made his way up through the entrance, past the empty secretary's desk, and into the main part of the church. Only every other light was illuminated above him, casting the church in a very eerie, shadowy kind of way. The stained glass windows were dark; the figures depicted in them looking almost saddened by the nighttime darkness that failed to illuminate them in all their glory. The statues that loomed in the darkened corners were looking ghostly as they watched John walk to the front of the church, where the empty tiles echoed his footsteps as he made his way up to the empty altar. John slid into the front pew, bowing his head at the gigantic statue of Jesus on the cross in a submissive sort of way. He grabbed the rosary out of his pocket and fingered at the beads, saying their respective prayers under his breath before adding something of his own making. He prayed for his daughter, of course, that she should have a speedy recovery, that she would be happy, that they could be reunited, that all of this would turn out to be simply a bad dream. He also threw something in about his wife, that she should somehow find her way back to him and his daughter, so that Rosie could see her mother one more time before she passed on. He knew that it was a long shot, he knew of course that his prayers would be most likely thrown in with all the other millions of prayers that were being shot up to the sky this very instant, and yet something about saying them made John feel substantially better. It was almost as if praying for his troubles lessened the weight on his back, made it more manageable in a sense. Suddenly it wasn't only him who was worrying about his daughter it was God as well, and God might just be the only person that was potentially able to help. Maybe that made him feel better about his chances to see his daughter turn one year older. All of the sudden, however, there were footsteps from the altar, and suddenly a figure dressed in black emerged from a door that was tucked away along the wall. John looked up fearfully, half expecting this new comer to be some sort of ghost, or maybe an angel, and yet it was very human, standing rather reluctantly near the arrangements of flowers on the three marble steps as if he didn't want to disturb. John simply got to his feet, tucking his rosary back into his pocket and smiling hastily at the man he recognized as Father Holmes.
"I'm sorry Father, I was just leaving." John said hastily, trying to scramble out of the pew before Father Holmes descended onto ground level, shaking his head quickly as if trying to assure John that it was safe to stay a bit longer.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted you, please Mr. Watson, if you haven't finished praying continue." Father Holmes begged, gesturing to the empty pew that John had just been seated in.
"Oh no, I was just done, really." John assured quickly, shaking his head as politely as he could manage. Sherlock nodded, walking closer as if he felt like the proximity needed to decrease in order to have a proper conversation. Something about his presence, however, made John rather uncomfortable. It wasn't that Father Holmes was intimidating; in fact he was probably one of the most neutral men John had ever met. It was his aura, his power almost, clinging to his very pale skin in a holy, intimidating type of way. When John talked to Father Holmes he almost felt like someone else was listening, someone from above.
"I didn't expect anyone to be here so late, I was just about to lock up." Father Holmes admitted.
"Oh, I'm uh...I'm sorry. I just returned from the hospital, I know it was late but I half expected the janitors to be here, I just wanted to pop in for a quick prayer." John muttered nervously, looking around the church once more and noticing that there really weren't any janitors lingering around, where there?
"It's just us." Father Holmes assured, looking down at John with a gaze that he wasn't used to receiving. It wasn't pity, it was curiosity, it was potential. John could only look away, as if he felt like he wasn't allowed to receive such a glare from a priest.
"Then I'll just leave you to it then, I'm sure you've got stuff to do other than wait around for stragglers." John muttered quickly, feeling the need to escape before the conversation got anymore in depth.
"Oh you'd be surprised, actually." Father Holmes shrugged, looking almost reluctantly at the ground, his white collar pressing uncomfortably into his neck. John smiled back at him, feeling the need to leave and yet the sudden urge to stay, it obviously seemed that Father Holmes was trying to keep him here, trying to have a conversation. John wasn't really in the mood to open up about anything, much less confess his sins, and yet maybe there was something he could say, anything he could say really, that could ease Sherlock's loneliness.
"What are you doing here so late?" John asked quickly, lingering around just a little bit out of pity to the priest. He must have a very lonely life, maybe he just wanted to talk to someone who possibly understood the concept of loneliness.
"Oh I was just lingering about; making sure everything was tidy and cared for. I was helping our secretary Mrs. Hudson get some paperwork filled out, and after that I was polishing some of the golden bowls with the ushers, just to give myself something to do. Shockingly weekdays aren't terribly busy for a priest." Sherlock admitted with a frown.
"Yes well, I didn't expect they would be. To be honest I only just decided to show up on my way home, I'm not usually a churchgoer mind you, it's just...I've been going through some rough patches in my life. I thought that maybe I could get a little bit of help from above." John admitted rather reluctantly.
"God is always here to help, Mr. Watson. And of course, so am I." Father Holmes assured softly.
"You can call me John, everyone does." John assured with a sort of smile. Well, everyone except Tobias, who sometimes called him Watson sarcastically, as if he were a coach or something.
"Oh, yes, my apologies." Father Holmes muttered awkwardly, obviously not expecting to be getting on a first name basis so quickly. Had John surprised him, had he made this whole situation much more awkward than it needed to be? Well of course he had managed to mess this up, what else could he have done?
"No need to apologize, but I really should be going." John muttered quickly, glancing at his watch to see that it was nearing nine thirty, and of course he was working the morning shift at the diner again. Sleep was a precious thing, especially when his life was getting busier and busier.
"Yes of course, I'm sorry to have kept you talking." Father Holmes muttered almost guiltily, dropping his head in shame.
"Not to worry Father, you're just being friendly. However I really must go, enjoy your night, and maybe I'll see you again before Sunday." John decided with a forced smile, not really knowing what to say or how to end a conversation that had never even started. And so he turned quickly, not even waiting for the Father to bid his own farewell, before slipping out of the doors through which he had entered and jumping into his car, heading home to the loneliness that was soon to overwhelm him.