Leviticus 20:13

He Can't Just Be Gone

Mrs. Hudson arrived just in time for Sherlock to regain his composure, straightening up and walking down through the aisle to meet her.
"Sherlock darling you're here early." She commented with a smile, giving him a quick, motherly hug before trying to pat down his unruly hair.
"Yes well...I had a rough night." Sherlock admitted with a sigh, shaking his head once more to give his curls more volume and ducking away when Mrs. Hudson instinctively tried to fix them.
"You've been very odd lately, I hope everything's alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked in concern, a small frown appearing on her face and making Sherlock force a smile onto his own.
"I'm fine no, it's just...I had chocolate cake before bed. All that caffeine and that sugar you know it just made me go crazy! Couldn't sleep." Sherlock said finally, lying through his teeth and trying to make it seem convincing.
"Oh Sherlock please don't lie to me. You're so pathetic when you lie, it's almost like you lie with the intentions of getting called out on it." Mrs. Hudson admitted pitifully, frowning in disappointment as Sherlock's smile vanished off his face. He was rather happy that Mrs. Hudson had been able to pick up on his misery, because he certainly wouldn't have been brave enough to admit to her the struggles he had been going through if she had never been forced to ask. Sherlock just pursed his lips, sniffing for a moment and dropping his gaze, all aspects of confidence diminishing as soon as Mrs. Hudson saw through his paper thin mask.
"Mrs. Hudson it's been...well it's been a rough couple of days. I'm not sure I can tell you, I'm quite afraid that..."
"Sherlock you know you can tell me anything. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a son, and I should hope you would trust me as if I really was your mother." Mrs. Hudson begged, her wrinkled old eyes glimmering with the trusting nature he had always respected in her. Of course she would have suspected his affair with John way before he had, and yet the very idea of telling another person of his struggles, especially after one had deliberately used them against him, well it was a bit nerve wracking. And yet he felt as though it was duty to confide in someone the pains he was having, and certainly the only person that knew of them was certainly unable to help, since he had been the one responsible for the whole ordeal. Sherlock couldn't sit with his emotions bottled up like this, it was becoming increasingly unhealthy, not to mention irksome, just to admit to someone what he had been up to for the past couple of weeks may just be able to help relive him of some of the built up stress. Oh but could he manage to get the words out? What would Mrs. Hudson think of him when he finally did? She would wear that horrible expression of shame; she would look down upon him, think of him not as a respectable priest but as a lovesick fool, pushed this way and that by the uncharacteristic whims of his inexperienced heart.
"I've said goodbye to John Watson." Sherlock admitted finally, exhaling the words before he could regret saying them. Mrs. Hudson's face fell, and yet her understanding of the situation was evident. The look in Sherlock's eyes was undoubtedly enough to assure her that this wasn't simply a friendship that drifted apart, it was more than that...it had begun as more than anything and ended as nothing at all.
"Oh Sherlock..." she muttered, holding a wrinkled hand to her lips as if she were trying to contain anymore words that were trying to force their way out.
"I chose God over him, and yet...I feel that it was the wrong choice. I shouldn't have left him, I feel so hallow...I think that I should go back and yet I wouldn't be able to preach. I would leave the church if I returned to him." Sherlock admitted shamefully. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, but she obviously saw both sides of Sherlock's internal conflict. For a moment she pondered of what he should do, and Sherlock waited expectantly for her prognosis. The church was echoing with the ghosts of their voices but that was all, not a sound was made, not a word uttered, Sherlock could do nothing but stare at his own feet while Mrs. Hudson's painted fingernail tapped thoughtfully against her cheek.
"Do you love him?" she wondered in a very quiet voice. Sherlock dared a glance up at her before seeing that she was staring right back, and yet he felt as though he didn't have to hide, especially not from her. A tear, a single tear, threatened its way down his cheek and yet he restrained it, he didn't want to show any emotion, especially when she was finally seeing him as something more than a priest, and yet something less than a human.
"Yes of course." Sherlock whispered, unsure if she was talking about God or John and yet the answer was relevant for both options. It was yes, of course. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, shaking her head before reaching up and inviting him in for a hug. Sherlock couldn't help but smile weakly, and yet he was only too happy to stoop over and let her wrap her thin, bony arms around his neck.
"You do whatever makes you happy my dear, God holds no grudges if it was his plan to begin with." She assured softly, whispering so that no eavesdroppers, wherever they may be hiding, could overhear her advice. However Sherlock understood it perfectly, he realized with a startling clarity that she was advising him to go to John; surely she knew that was the option that suited him best. If it made him happy then that was what he must do, that was the path he must follow. Once more he was faced with the same fork in the road, almost as if he were going in circles on the path of life, and yet now he saw that John's path was the one that was the most defined, and the most infinite. He must follow that man, he must take his hand and take his heart, he had to return to the life he knew he had deserved for so long. That fantasy of real life and real love, well that was upon him right now, and he was a fool if he thought himself somehow above destiny.