Leviticus 20:13

You Have My Condolences

"Look at us; we look pathetic here, sitting with a bottle between us." John muttered miserably, running his hand through his sweaty blonde hair, the top of his head roasting in the hot sun that blared down upon them. Sherlock chuckled halfheartedly, however he didn't say anything, at least not immediately. He seemed almost too ashamed to talk, or too scared, as if he was worried that when he opened his mouth something might slip out that he wanted to keep to himself. In that case John really hoped he would talk, he wanted to know more about the inner workings of the priest's mind, whether it be romantic, platonic, or even hateful, John wanted to know everything Sherlock thought about him, just in case he needed to use it in the future.
"I wouldn't say we're pathetic at all. I'd say we're more...opportunistic." Sherlock decided finally, his eyes trailing slowly over the graveyard around them, as if scanning to make sure they weren't being watched. John didn't know what the big deal was, however he wasn't a public figure like Sherlock was. Hundreds of people a week cross into the church's threshold to hear Sherlock preach, imagine their horror when they saw him with his feet swinging in a grave, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle! John had no reputation to uphold, in fact it might be a good thing that people found out he had some sort of social life, even if the entirety of that social life was just one man who could never be more than friends.
"Opportunistic, yes. We're making the best of a horrible situation. How? Well the only way any adult could, by getting drunk and talking about things we know we shouldn't." John agreed with a laugh, holding the whiskey bottle lovingly and grinning at Sherlock as if daring him to say one more thing on the topic of love.
"There's nothing we're not at liberty to discuss, it's not like it's wrong to even bring up Greg's deliriums." Sherlock defended rather quickly, his pale cheeks tinting with red once more.
"Why does your mind jump so quickly to that topic of conversation?" John wondered in an almost interrogation-like style. Sherlock glanced quickly at John before becoming fascinated once more with the grass below him, and he just shrugged like a little child who knew exactly what they were doing wrong but was planning on denying it all the same.
"It's just the last topic we had discussed, I imagined you also picked it out as being the most, well...controversial." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"We also discussed murder." John reminded him, to which Sherlock smiled a very weak smile before his face dropped once more into the stoic, regretful expression he had been wearing for the last couple of minutes.
"Well I suppose that's worse, just because that's strictly forbidden." Sherlock said weakly.
"And homosexuality is not?" John clarified curiously, looking up at Sherlock and trying to make it seem like he wasn't personally interested. He tried to keep that telltale gleam out of his eyes, the one that so blatantly announced that he was hanging on every word that fell from Sherlock's timid, stiff lips.
"Well, it's not one of the commandments. It's mentioned a couple of times as being sinful and immoral and, well, just a lot of bad things. However now it's different, now people understand that the heart can stray more than one direction. I have to imagine that somewhere along the lines the rules had shifted." Sherlock admitted quietly, his voice dropping so low that John almost had to strain his ears to hear him. However what he heard was meaningful enough, it was enough to at least bring a miniscule smile to John's face before he hastily pushed it away for the almost bored expression he was trying to use as a mask.
"I'm surprised you're so open minded. I thought Catholic priests were all stuffy about that sort of stuff, the whole idea of being gay." John pointed out curiously, and Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders once more, his fingers dancing along the beads of his rosary as if he was trying to make sure that throughout this conversation God still knew that he was a faithful man.
"Well I don't know how much sympathy you'd get from Father Turner, however the newer generation of priests, we're a bit more open minded I suppose. It's a changing age, and we're starting to realize that it's almost, well, almost irrational to suspect that the heart can only love one specific gender. We're starting to open our eyes to things that our ancestors refused to refused to accept or even see, we're testing the boundaries of what was always known as the perfect relationship." Sherlock said very matter-of-factly, as if he had been doing his thinking on the topic just so he could prepare for this one conversation. John nodded once more, merely able to bobble his head while he absorbed what Sherlock had said. It made sense, of course, all of it did, however John was trying to figure out if Sherlock was admitting to it pertaining to him or not. Was he saying that his heart too was two dimensional, and that while he was a priest and while he was bound to God he couldn't help but considering two other paths for happiness, male and female? Was he daring enough to let his newfound logic blur the lines of his reality?
"Well I'm happy to hear that." John admitted. "In a...in a very broad sense of course. I'm happy that even as a priest you're willing to accept everyone, not necessarily me but you know, all of the people out there that are like...that."
"No I know it's not you." Sherlock assured, nodding his head very forcefully so that it looked like his poor skull was swinging on a pendulum.
"No, not me." John agreed.
"You were married." Sherlock added.
"To a woman!" John insisted.
"Definitely not you." Sherlock muttered quietly, his gaze dropping and his shoulders sagging momentarily before he picked himself back up and forced a little smile onto his face. John smiled back, happy they could clear the air with that rapid fire defense of their masculinity. John hastily broke eye contact to check his watch, seeing that the time had simply flown by while they were talking and drinking and blushing and hiding their faces from each other. It was nearly six o'clock, and he was sure that Sherlock had much better things to be doing with his time than babysitting John through his sudden bout of misery.
"I should let you get going, it's nearly six." John muttered quickly, scrambling to his feet and accidentally knocking tuffs of grass into the chasm that stretched before them. Sherlock shook his head defensively yet he got to his feet as well, his long, lanky limbs bending at very unusual angles just to get himself upright again as quickly as possible. Soon the two of them were both standing, facing each other in a rather uncomfortable way while trying to scheme up a possible way to say goodbye. It was obvious that neither had anything to do when they left, and it was even more obvious that they wanted to linger here just a little bit longer, just to appreciate the other's presence in this dismal yet somehow liberating solitude. However Sherlock was rearranging his jacket and fixing his curls, and John found himself carefully rolling down his shirt sleeves so that they were falling at the proper length around his wrists.
"Mr. Watson, how...how alone are you?" Sherlock asked rather abruptly, looking as though he was tempted to take a step forward but was holding himself back in every possible way. John couldn't help but look into his eyes; it seemed the perfect time to focus, now more than ever, when it was obvious that despite the ever swirling irises of green and blue, John had the upper hand. There was almost a sense of submissiveness in those eyes, the usual glare of power gone as soon as Sherlock realized he had asked something a little bit unorthodox. John shook his head, yet all the while he couldn't fight that smile from creeping onto his lips.
"I've only got you." He assured quietly, not quite sure what he was confirming and yet it seemed to him that he had answered Sherlock's question exactly. The priest nodded, breaking his eye contact so that he could duck his head once more, staring at his feet and smiling for a moment before dropping the mask all together.
"My condolences then." Sherlock muttered quietly, and with that he nodded his head in farewell and started off to his car, swaying ever so slightly due to the whiskey and leaving John alone once more with the grave and the casket and his daughter, or what was left of her at least.