Leviticus 20:13

Might've Stayed Silent Forever

John POV: For the first time in a while John didn't know what to do or who to turn to. He was starting to feel hopelessly lost in his own mind, and suddenly his days began to feel more and more empty. Work was work, it was boring and it was miserable, it stank and he got paid meager wages, however it was much more preferable than sitting around his own house, wondering just what to do with himself. He felt like he had no real reason to be here, or to be anywhere really, with no one to talk to and no one to take care of he was starting to feel more and more useless. John's days were filled with the same uneventful wallowing that he had begun to perfect after Mary had left, and yet the most miserable part about it now was that no one had left, at least not terribly recently. In fact it seemed like Sherlock's sudden introduction to his life had affected him for the worst, as if the night they had spent together hadn't lightened his mood but plummeted it even lower than before. However John wasn't going to let this little thing get in the way of his health like it had before, instead of sitting glumly in his armchair John made an effort to take up jogging, using what money he had made at work to get himself a nice pair of running shoes and trying to promise himself that he would run once every other day. He had also tried to cut fast food out of his diet, deciding that no matter how lousy he felt he was never going to let himself turn into a miserable slug like he had the last time. So instead of cheeseburgers he was making himself salads, and instead of microwavable burritos he was making spaghetti on the stove. It was a lonely existence for sure; however it made him feel just a little bit better knowing that even though he wasn't taking care of anyone else he was taking care of himself. A week passed without much to report, John's life dragged on as it usually did and he'd like to say that he had even worked himself into a little schedule. He was waking up at the same time and working until two o'clock, now that he didn't have to get to the hospital every day, John was trying to get some extra hours in. When he got off of work he would then put on his running clothes and go down to the park, running three or four miles by himself and waving at all of the dogs that he passed, despite how close to death he was beginning to feel. After that painful yet strangely rewarding ordeal was over John then went home and made himself dinner, trying to cook with more vegetables and carbs to fuel himself for his day ahead. Surprisingly Sherlock had not become part of his schedule, in fact he hadn't heard from the priest since he had walked out of the rectory that fateful morning, not a phone call, not a text, he had almost expected to get a letter or something sooner or later with clarifications that Sherlock was still alive. However there was nothing, no news to be had, and so John had just sort of assumed that Sherlock had forgotten about him. Was it possible for someone to just let love slide? To opt out of reminiscing and communicating all together? Was John supposed to just go along with it as well, or was Sherlock expecting him to show up at his front door with another bottle of wine? And John had thought women were difficult, he had never imagined that he'd be trying to decipher the mind of a male, uncommunicative priest. He wanted to see Sherlock again, certainly; however John was slowly starting to realize that there was a hollowness in their relationship, something he certainly didn't want to acknowledge. He had been expecting for Sherlock to swoop in and save him from himself, however it would seem that no one could do that anymore, save him that is. Love was a game for a child, and John had simply outgrown it. After how many girlfriends, after a betraying wife, a kiss just didn't seem as definite as it had ten years ago. Sherlock was the definition of beauty and strength and good nature, he was everything John wanted in a man and yet had just decided to show up in his life at the wrong time. They were both willing to sacrifice so much for their love that could never progress, but after a night spent together what else was there to look forward to? Certainly not marriage, certainly not cocktail parties and galas, well if they wanted they might be able to attend the church's spaghetti dinner together but they better make sure to be inconspicuous. There was no meeting the parents, or talking of having children, there wasn't even the vague chance that there would be a diamond ring on one of their fingers! Sherlock was a priest, not a miracle worker; he couldn't just leave the church for something so insignificant as love. It was just another example of how anticipation was much more satisfying than the end result. Before the first kiss it was always if, how, and where. It was lying awake at night and wondering if your sought after soulmate had any attraction towards you, it was imagining how the first kiss would play out, how romantic and how desperate it would become, and just how far it would escalate. Once the first kiss and the first night were off the table all you had to face were the what if's and the long term consequences. John ran fast that afternoon, faster than he had thought was possible until he looked down at his watch and found that only thirty minutes had passed. He had done four loops around the mile long park, and obviously he had been so enraged that he had just run like the wind. He sat on a bench and watched as the dead leaves scattered about the cement when the wind picked up, his chest heaving and his feet aching. There weren't many people out and about today, and yet John still got the feeling he was being watched. He got to his feet and stretched out a little bit, sipping at the nasty water fountain before starting down the path towards the exit, walking with his hands in his pockets and his forehead matted with now freezing sweat. When he arrived at the road he paused, looking off in one direction and seeing the familiar street signs leading back to his house, however when he looked the other direction he could see the church steeple rising up through the buildings, not two blocks down. Now he knew he was sweaty and rather disgusting, however for some reason he felt the uncontrollable urge to walk down to the church, just to see if Sherlock was there, just to see if he was still alive. After so little communication there really was all the chance in the world that Father Turner had murdered the poor man. However John finally decided that there were better ways, and much less stinky ways, of getting that priest's attention once more.