The Devil Was Never Here

The Definition Of Humanity

While everyone was doing their thing Sherlock walked down the stairs alone, submerged once more into the darkness. However dispute the darkness he didn't turn on the lights, he felt no need to be afraid anymore, now that the dead have gone from his view. It wasn't like he missed them; of course, it felt extremely satisfying to walk into a darkened room and not seeing a bloodied face staring back at you. It was just that without the dead lurking in the corners he was basically useless, the only thing that made him feel like he was special was his ability to see through the veil of death. Now that his only specialties were useless, well, he felt useless as well. Especially when he was around Mary, and around John. Their happy, successful lives were basically mocking him, reminding him of how much of a failure he was. Nevertheless, it was nice to wander around in the darkness of this evil house, to try to notice the shadows cast by moonlight and hear the wooden heart creaking out its tired beats. But just as he was starting to appreciate the darkness a lamp was turned on beside him, throwing its orange beams through the shadows and making Sherlock jump in surprise.
"What are you doing, wandering around in the darkness?" John wondered, standing near the lamp's light as if too afraid to wander closer. Sherlock just cleared his throat, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make him sound crazy.
"Oh just um...just trying to find the light switch." He said with a shrug, thrusting his hands in his pockets casually. John looked rather confused, as if that reasonable answer didn't satisfy him, but nevertheless he couldn't accuse Sherlock of being up to no good. Their little solitude was interrupted by Molly, who was making her way down the stairs loudly. Her face was clean of any cheap children's makeup, and she was looking very ready to head home.
"Sherlock I'm going to leave!" she announced. "Do you two want to come over to my place?"
"We're fine here, thanks though." Sherlock shrugged. He didn't feel like going through the whole process of jamming into that tiny car and besides, they were perfectly fine in this old farmhouse.
"Well, suit yourself. I for one, am exhausted, I don't know how you two do it." Molly admitted, breaking into a yawn as if she needed to prove her point.
"Just talented I guess." John said with a modest shrug.
"We're just used to it." Sherlock added, which was a better explanation. Molly just nodded, pulling on her coat and eyeing the two of them nervously.
"Just be good." She insisted.
"Course we will." John assured, his voice so reassuring that Sherlock was almost positive that they would in fact behave themselves. Then again, there was no one better at breaking the rules than a man in love, even if he didn't physically break the rules. There were ethical boundaries that would be broken tonight simply by a mere glance. Molly gave them both a hug goodbye, as if one night was simply too agonizing to go through without a proper goodbye, and with that she finally left them alone in the darkness of the living room.
"Rosie is in bed, Mary is headed there now." John announced, as if those two points of information were vital to their enjoyment of tonight. Sherlock nodded, rocking back and forth awkwardly on his toes, wondering where they would start their nighttime journey tonight.
"Coffee?" Sherlock recommended, feeling his eyelids already start to droop without an excess of caffeine pumping through his veins.
"Coffee." John agreed simply, walking past Sherlock and into the kitchen. He put the pot on and let it brew, leaning over the counter and watching as Sherlock stood rather awkwardly next to the dining room table.
"So how was Rosie? Cooperative?" John asked hopefully.
"Oh ya, she was fine. Turns out I'm not the best babysitter however." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"I didn't really expect you to be." John assured with a little laugh. Sherlock, however, found that rather offensive.
"What do you mean?" he wondered a bit accusingly. John just shook his head, looking as though he intended to justify his words but just didn't know how.
"I just mean that you don't really seem like a kid's person." He admitted.
"I can be good with kids when I want to be." Sherlock decided with a bit of a frown.
"Do you ever want kids?" John wondered, looking casual but all the while his face was getting a bit red. Obviously he didn't like to talk about Sherlock's future, especially when they both wanted a future with each other at their sides.
"I always found it impossible for myself to have a child of my own, and even though it would be nice to have a son or daughter who got my features, I wouldn't want to curse them with my gifts." Sherlock admitted after a moment's thought. John nodded, seeming satisfied with Sherlock's answer.
"So you wouldn't want a kid?" he clarified.
"Not my own biological child, no. Then again, being that I'm not interested in have any relationships with women I couldn't see how I would ever be able to have my own. I'd have to adopt, if need be." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded, silent once more. They were probably thinking the same thing, that if John and Mary's marriage faltered, whether or not Sherlock would be willing to be a father to Rosie alongside John .The answer to that unasked question would be, of course, yes. Rosie was a lovely child, and even if she weren't it would be worth it just to be at John's side. Sherlock would probably be willing to raise the antichrist as long as he and John wore matching rings. When the coffee was finished the two of them migrated to the couch, sitting on the cushions and sipping at the scalding hot coffee just to give themselves an excuse not to talk. It was awkward because they both had things to say, but they both didn't want to say them.
"Sherlock..." John started, going to set down his coffee mug on the table in front of him.
"John." Sherlock said just as quickly, his eyes darting to meet John's immediately. John just smiled a bit uneasily, turning on the couch so that he could face Sherlock without moving his neck. Sherlock kept his coffee mug in his hands, not quite sure why John even bothered to brew the coffee if he wasn't intending on drinking any of it.
"You seem nervous." John observed, noticing Sherlock's flickering eyes and his hands, shaking slightly against the warm porcelain of his mug.
"I'm not nervous." Sherlock lied. He was indeed nervous, worried about what John might have to say and what might follow his words.
"I'm not going to say anything important, it's alright." John assured, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling, as if he were worried someone might be listening above. "It's too early for important conversations." Sherlock could breathe a bit easier, taking a sip of his coffee and nodding.
"Alright, sorry for, you know...overreacting." He muttered. John nodded, sighing heavily and leaning back against the armrest of the couch, stretching out his arms so that it wasn't difficult to make out his chest underneath his thin dress shirt. Sherlock didn't notice, however, of course he didn't.
"How was dinner?" Sherlock wondered casually, deciding that they needed to fill this silence with at least some sort of meaningful conversation.
"It was fine, ya." John said quickly, saying that because he knew that was what Sherlock expected to hear.
"You seemed irritated when you returned though, both you and Mary. Certainly everything's alright between you two?" Sherlock wondered, trying to make it sound like he was worried instead of hopeful.
"Well, no, not really." John admitted heavily. "It's hard to love someone when they can't take you seriously."
"She does John, she has to. She's caring about you in her own way." Sherlock assured.
"That's rubbish Sherlock's, you know she's just being stubborn, being jealous. By admitting to this thing inside me is accepting your presence around the house as necessary, and she's not going to go against her pride like that. She hates you Sherlock, she despises you." John insisted, grumbling in annoyance as if this were just so unfair. Then again, Mary had every reason to hate Sherlock, every reason in the world.
"Well, to be fair, I'm not really the most pleasant man to be around." Sherlock admitted.
"But you are Sherlock, god, I would sell my soul to be in your company forever, you're half the reason I put up with this twelve hour sleep deprivation." John assured, easing closer to Sherlock on the couch as if he had to prove his point by being nearer. Sherlock, however, didn't like this new proximity simply because he loved it. He knew that it wasn't necessary, and it wasn't right. However he didn't open his mouth to protest, and neither did John.
"I think there are much better reasons to stay awake." Sherlock assured. John was silent for a moment, staring down at the couch between them and sighing heavily. Obviously he was trying to make his mind up about something; obviously his brain was whirling inside of his skull. Sherlock just sipped at his coffee, not saying anything.
"I think Mary's asleep." John decided. Sherlock craned his neck to the ceiling, as if hoping to see some sort of sign that there was no more movement above them. However, they couldn't be sure that she was in bed, nor could they be sure that she wasn't perched at the top of the stairs, listening to every word exchanged between their lonely lips.
"Yes I suppose she must be." Sherlock agreed meekly, feeling the tension grow as they agreed that the wife was asleep upstairs. She wouldn't be listening, she wouldn't be aware of anything going on under the floorboards on which she slept. John fiddled his fingers nervously, picking up his coffee once more to occupy himself for the time being.
"When do you think this Aspiration is going to take over? For good?" John wondered. Sherlock looked at him curiously, not expecting such a question so abruptly.
"I'm not sure; I can only imagine that it's looking for any opportunity, however." Sherlock admitted.
"Yes, but don't we want it to come out? Don't we want it to be in control?" John asked.
"That is the end result, of course, but we can wait it out for as long as possible. I wouldn't want to let it feel that it has the upper hand." Sherlock admitted.
"But we want it to take hold so that we can expel it, so why are we wasting our time trying to repress it deeper inside of me when we could just be letting it take control?" John wondered, setting his coffee down once more. Sherlock stared into his own mug apprehensively, not knowing why they were waiting so long, not having a good answer.
"I'm not sure." He admitted finally. "I think it just appeals to my conscious to do everything I can to preserve your humanity as long as possible."
"Are you scared of the ritual? Are you afraid it won't work?" John asked fearfully.
"Of course I am! So much can go wrong, we're relying on nothing but a hunch and a bunch of old Latin, the father himself said that it was nearly impossible to do it correctly. I'm just worried that I'll let it take control and never get you back." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"Can the Aspiration just leave? Could it decide that this is all too much effort and leave my body?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed doubtfully, but in the end he nodded.
"I can't imagine why it would go through all this trouble but yes, I suppose that's possible." He agreed after a moment.
"Then why don't we, I don't know, coax it out? Convince it that there are better things in life than being nestled in me?" John wondered.
"I think it's got its own plan John, I think it's inside you not because it just wanted to be there, but because it has further use of you, and is waiting to take full control." Sherlock decided after a moment's thought.
"What would it want with me?" john wondered nervously.
"Oh nothing, probably, nothing against you I mean. But it wants your body, your human form, to do its bidding. It's a lot easier to prove yourself to the Devil while in a form that can create mass destruction." Sherlock decided with a shrug.
"I don't to be used for the Devil." John said simply.
"No one does I suspect." Sherlock decided with a shrug.
"Irene does, though. She loves the Devil." John pointed out in a very weak voice. "If she takes over my body, will I die?" he wondered.
"I don't know, I've never been in this situation before." Sherlock admitted.
"Well if you do the ritual wrong you could most certainly kill me." John decided.
"That's not the plan." Sherlock assured.
"Then what is?" John asked as soon as Sherlock's words faded from his tongue. "What do you intend to do with me other than just keep me awake all night?"
"I intend to protect you, and help you expel this thing inside you as safely as possible." Sherlock assured without a moment's thought. That was, after all, the truth.
"Protect me from myself, yes, protect me from this Aspiration. By keeping me awake and keeping me holy." John said in a bitter tone, as if the very idea of this disgusted him. Sherlock took note of his mood change, wondering if his anger was a byproduct of his soul's struggle, as if the Aspiration was starting to take charge once more.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed, his hands shaking nervously and rippling the dark coffee in his mug. John sighed once more, staring at Sherlock through the semidarkness, through the distant orange glow of the lamp.
"And what about my intentions with you?" John wondered. Sherlock pulled his legs closer to himself protectively, now starting to worry that it wasn't John who was speaking, dispute the lack of black smoke. Surely John wouldn't make his flirting so obvious; surely he would be more careful?
"Only positive I should hope." Sherlock muttered nervously.
"Yes, positive, of course." John agreed in a rather flirtatious tone, easing his way ever closer to Sherlock across the length of the couch.
"John, you know that you can't do this, stay there." Sherlock instructed, going quite numb.
"I'm fully intending on sinning tomorrow anyway, I won't be attending church in the morning. Why not sin then, tonight?" John wondered, coming ever closer and placing one of his hands onto Sherlock's forearm. Sherlock twitched uncontrollably, but dispute all of his intentions, he stayed stone still. He couldn't move, no matter how much he willed himself to. He was entranced by John Watson, entranced to a point where his actions were no longer his own.
"Who am I talking to?" Sherlock whispered nervously as John eased the coffee mug out of his hands.
"John, of course." John assured, setting the mug onto the coffee table and moving so that he was directly in front of Sherlock, right up against Sherlock's arched knees.
"I'm not so sure it is you." Sherlock admitted. "The last time this happened, it wasn't."
"But it is Sherlock, I assure you. What would the Aspiration want with you?" John whispered, his hand trialing up Sherlock's arms gently, his fingers brushing against Sherlock's chin. Sherlock's skin conducted the electricity that passed through John's careful fingers, making him feel as though he had stuck a paperclip in an outlet.
"Who knows what a Satanist should want?" Sherlock wondered in a very small voice.
"I'm not a Satanist." John said flatly, his eyes going serious for a moment. That was reassuring, to say the least, but it still didn't solve all of Sherlock's problems.
"Then why are you sinning?" Sherlock whispered back, his arms numb in anticipation and fear. Of course he should be pulling away, of course he should be pushing John back a few feet and running up to get Mary, but he didn't, he didn't want to.
"Because there's no use anymore Sherlock. There's simply no use." John insisted. Sherlock took a deep breath, but it was impossible to do anything except comply, it was impossible to do anything except what his heart was telling him. Who needed his brain, who needed his righteousness? The words of God and of Father Franklin leaked out of his mind as he got hopelessly lost in John's beautiful emotional eyes, and slowly Sherlock leaned ever closer, letting John's fingertips trail across his face and his cheek.
"We shouldn't be doing this." Sherlock said simply, dispute his intentions to proceed.
"No of course not." John agreed. Sherlock let his knees fall, he let John ease closer and closer with every breath, he let his touch pull him away from everything that had ever made sense, pull him away from the terrifying reality they were living in. He let himself be with John, and only John, only in this moment. As if nothing lay beyond the darkness that surrounded them.
"It's you?" Sherlock whispered once more, trying to clarify as their faces drew ever closer. John's breath encircled him for a moment, his fingers running lovingly through his curls and his face hovering ever closer. John's skin was glistening in the dull lamp light, his lips so close, his eyes sparkling with all love and all seriousness.
"Yes of course." John assured in a breath, his anxious words trying to silence themselves as he spoke.
"Good." Sherlock muttered, and with that he lifted his head impatiently, pressing his lips to John's as forcefully as he knew he should, kissing him with all of the emotions they have held back for weeks on end. And John kissed back, with every kiss, with every touch, and with every motion they strayed further and further away from God, away from the only protection they had from the demons stirring inside. And yet they knew exactly what they were doing, and they were only too happy to follow Irene into the abyss. Sherlock pulled John closer to him, letting his head fall back onto the cushions, letting John's weight and John's kisses take him away from the complicated life he led. He had never felt more human than he did that night; he had never felt so safe while encircled with the Devil's arms. He had never felt so loved, so loved by the man he knew should never be allowed to love him. Because for once it wasn't a stranger that he spent the night hours with, for once he knew exactly who this heart belonged to.