Leviticus 20:13

Their Blood Shall Be Upon Them

Sherlock went back twice before he alerted the authorities. It wasn't an easy thing to do, especially when they asked numerous questions about what his relationship was with John and if he knew of any possible motives for John to run away. Sherlock answered as honestly as he possibly could without putting his job or reputation on the line, and so most of his story was fabricated in the end. Thankfully the police seemed more interested in people that may have a grudge against John than in the one person in the world who seemed to care about his safety, and so as soon as Sherlock told whatever he could they began making calls and trying to find out just where Mr. Watson could be hiding. Sherlock watched miserably from the church morning after morning as he saw the squad cars go down the road to John's house, wondering what they were expecting to find when they arrived. That seemed to be the ground zero for the operation, and soon they had other crews of men in black uniforms, laden with jackets and gloves and hats for their investigation of the surrounding area. Another two feet of snow had fallen since Sherlock had visited the first time, and so their investigation proved to be even more difficult now that the roads were all unplowed and John's body, if he weren't alive that is, could possibly be hidden under numerous feet of snow. The very idea of the operation made Sherlock's heart ache and his stomach twist nervously, and yet he obviously couldn't do anything other than wait. This wasn't his fault in the end, Greg had been the one to make him break up with John, and for once in his life Sherlock saw some sort of guilt evident on Greg's face whenever they heard the single wail of a police siren. Greg knew what he had created, and yet not it was Sherlock's turn to hold it against him. And by doing so, he was absolutely silent. Sherlock refused to talk to Greg about the investigation, and when they did have a conversation he made sure to sound melancholy and nervous, however he refused to bring John's name up. It was a way of slow burning the guilt and making sure he twisted the knife that had impaled itself into Greg's consciousness. It was a rather petty thing to do of course, however had it not been for Greg's selfishness John and Sherlock would be together and happy, and there would be no reason for John to run away. Sherlock tried to live his days out normally, and yet he was constantly plagued with the horror of receiving the telltale phone call, announcing that John's body had been dug up under the snow. He didn't want to have to listen to that, to accept that, and to wonder about what he might have done to be able to prevent it. Sherlock knew that in some ways he was doing all that he could, however whenever he sat around and put his mind to the search he wished beyond anything that he could be out there searching as well. Now he wouldn't be much help of course, he'd whine and complain about the cold and he wouldn't be much help in lifting heavy objects or shoveling snow or anything like that, however he wanted to feel like he was doing something other than just waiting! It was an agonizing pain, like a cold flame that was nestled in his heart, burning slowly until he got at least some clarity as to what happened to his melancholy lover. Sherlock had tried to imagine the worst possible scenarios, and yet every single one sounded just as depressing as the last. He could have driven away, deciding that Sherlock wasn't worth his staying anymore, deciding that he was too broken to even visit his daughter's grave, leaving his life and his home behind him. John could be dead as well, laying in a frozen heap under two feet of snow, his skin blue and cracking and his face frozen in an eternal expression of agony. However Sherlock suspected the worst possible scenario would be no answer at all, the everlasting question that would never be solved once the police decided they didn't care all that much about what had happened to the man without friends or family. He was simply one in seven billion, what should they care about what happened to him, especially when it's seemingly no one but the local priest who cared about his fate? Sherlock wanted an answer, no matter how terrible that answer might be, just so that his brain could settle on the tragedy and begin to move on, if it ever could. Sherlock found himself praying for John's outcome even though he knew that his words most likely meant nothing to God, neither did John's fate. They were both sinners so what would God care about their pain? Maybe he was the one that lured John into the snow in the first place, dragging him along like a fish on a hook and walking him right up to his imminent death? Was this some sort of punishment for them both; was this some sort of joke? Or was it just...meant to be?