Leviticus 20:13

Having Fallen To The Lower Level

He pulled into his driveway not five minutes later, finding that everything was exactly how he had left it the night before. He had almost expected there to be some sort of markings, some sort of warnings, left there by angels who had discovered what he had done. However all was silent, almost suspiciously silent, as he got out of his car and locked it. John knew that he should feel guilty, at least a little bit guilty about having torn Sherlock away from God in the most romantic of ways. It was his fault Sherlock sat there now, most likely being interrogated by Greg while he remained completely motionless in his thin bathrobe. However John honestly thought that the blame here should fall not only on his own shoulders, but on Sherlock's as well. He had been the one to call, to make the arrangements so that the two of them could have the house all to themselves, what did he expect was going to happen? And they were in no danger, of course they weren't, it was all because of a silly little mishap that they had been discovered, it shouldn't change anything, should it? John closed his front door rather agressivley, standing in the middle of his very quiet house while the snowy sunlight filtered in through the cold windows. What was different, what had all changed? He felt off, queasy almost, and the very thought of Sherlock made his head spin. He didn't have anything to be ashamed of, Sherlock had brought this all onto himself, John may be an accomplice to the crime but he certainly wasn't the mastermind behind it all. It just felt wrong; all of it, no matter how magical that night had bene, no matter how beautiful Sherlock had proved to be...there was something missing. There was always something missing, it was just the fact that he hadn't reclaimed it that felt off. Loneliness was supposed to disappear after he had Sherlock all to himself; he was supposed to feel whole again, he was supposed to feel human. After so many days of insisting that Sherlock could be the man to be his permanent company, well after this morning it was becoming increasingly obvious that despite the lengths they would go to make that possible it simply was never going to happen. They had been together, they had been in love, and it still didn't change the fact that they could never be together. Just because he had Sherlock in his arms it didn't mean he had him in his heart, or in his house. What would Sherlock do to fill the hole that John had discovered in his life? What could he do to fix it? It wasn't like he could just move in, it wasn't like he could put all of his black priest outfits in the empty side of John's closet, or drink from the extra coffee mug that still sat on the counter. Just because Sherlock had turned away from God it didn't mean he left the church, it only meant that he didn't deserve to be there. He would never leave his career because of a man that he had spent only a night with, he wasn't going to walk out of the rectory to fill the empty space in John's bed just because he asked him nicely. There was a barrier between them, a barrier that they just now discovered couldn't be broken with a simply declaration of love! It was an immovable object and now John was beginning to realize that they were not an unstoppable force. Sherlock had been stopped; he had been paralyzed, merely with the fact that Greg now knew their secret. No matter how intimate their night had turned out to be John was just now realizing that Sherlock had still been looking for something more, he had been hoping for a spark that had never been ignited. And even now he was returning to the church, he was draping that rosary around his neck and walking the snowy sidewalk to the doors, where he would meet the parishioners with a smile, pretending that nothing had happened. In the end, what had changed? Now they had the experience, now they had the satisfaction, however they also had the knowledge that no matter what they may have told themselves, love didn't always swoop in to save the day. No matter how many times John had told himself that Sherlock was the one for him he was suddenly beginning to realize that maybe he wasn't the one for Sherlock. 

 Sherlock POV: Sherlock hated to tiptoe around anyone, he hated to keep his head down knowing that he was inferior, or that he had a secret to hide or self-esteem to preserve. Somehow he had gotten through mass without breaking down into guilty tears, he just went along with the plan, the same thing he had been doing for how many days of how many years of his life, it was a pattern, it could be repeated. The same couldn't be said about what happened behind the altar, sitting in his straight backed wooden chair and waiting for Greg to say something, anything, that would help ease his conscience a little bit more. Sherlock knew that Greg was disappointed in him, honestly there wouldn't be a person on earth that wasn't disappointed in him, however there was that aiding factor of denial that had somehow managed to get Sherlock to sink down even lower. How long had he insisted that there was nothing between he and John, and now look at him now, sitting here and waiting for Greg to deliver the final 'I told you so'. However it was Greg's silence that just might be more irritating than his conversation. He was never quiet unless he was making a point to be, and right now his mouth was closed, his hands folded on the kitchen table and his eyes reading back and forth throughout the Bible that was propped up before him. Now Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to believe that Greg was actually reading the Bible for pleasure, nor was he reading it to aid him along with any mass that he had to preform today, no the Bible was a prop, just an extra reminder of Sherlock's sudden treachery. Now Greg, being the serial offender he was, was in no position to taunt Sherlock about his immorality, however Sherlock knew enough about Greg to know that he wasn't going to point out the Bible, he wasn't going to make it seem like it was all part of his long overdue guilt trip, no he would just let it sit out here for Sherlock to observe. He would make Sherlock stare at the worn leather, at the printed gold letters on the front cover, and he would do his best to make Sherlock ponder about how many eyes had scanned the pages, how many hands had held the same book in their hands, and how many hearts have slowly come to accept God. Greg wanted Sherlock to remember how he had let that book down, how he had purposely turned his back on everything that book stood for, how he had betrayed every pair of eyes that had ever scanned the pages and how he had broken every heart that had begun to trust the Father. And yet Sherlock was waiting for something more, usually Greg was a lot more pressing with his issues, usually he was quick to rub them in Sherlock's face, however he was silent, and that was all the more infuriating.