Leviticus 20:13

We Both Just Need A Miracle

    "Can I get you anything to drink?" asked a woman suddenly, making John jump in surprise. He hadn't expected to be approached so quietly, and how this woman had managed to sneak up on him with a huge cart laden with drinks was honestly beyond him.
"Oh um, just water, please." John muttered quickly, observing the woman as if trying to tell if her outfit was a joke or not. It seemed to be a sweater with cats on it, and yet it seemed to be personalized, with every cat bearing a name embroidered into the material. John looked at her with a sort of bewildered expression, and yet the woman only smiled, as if she thought he was being polite or possibly flirting with her. Definitely not the latter.
"Here you are." She said sweetly, handing him a nice cup of water with three sad little ice cubes bouncing around inside.
"How do I order here? I'm sorry to ask, but it's my first time attending one of these fundraisers and I'm pretty confused." John admitted almost regretfully, knowing that he sounded like such a mega loser, and of course his sitting in solitude wasn't helping anything either.
"I can take your order if you'd like." She offered, taking out a pen and paper with a smile. "Usually I wait for the people to finish their drinks, however you're awfully eager aren't you?"
"Well no, just hungry." John said with a shrug. In reality he wasn't very hungry at all; this loneliness was creating something of a rock in his stomach, making him feel nauseous yet unresponsive all at the same time.
"Well then we have the classic spaghetti, the penne pasta, some lasagna, and then we have meatballs or sausage to top your choice. And garlic bread, and salad." The woman said quickly, as if checking off a mental list while forgetting half of it as she went. John nodded, thinking for a moment and knowing that he probably didn't have all that much time to make his decision.
"Spaghetti for me I suppose, with garlic bread." John decided finally, and the woman nodded, scribbling John's order down on her little notepad.
"I'm Molly by the way, Molly Hooper." She said with a smile, holding out a very bedazzled hand to shake. However through her very shiny rings John didn't seem to spot an engagement ring or a wedding band, which, judging by her sweater, wasn't all that much of a surprise.
"John Watson." John said with a smile, shaking her hand politely. Molly finally shuffled away, pushing her drinks cart just as silently as she had before and leaving John to sit quietly at his lonely table, tapping his fingers against the bundle of silverware and staring at the empty chairs in front of him. Finally John spotted a priest entering from the staircase, which one he couldn't be sure of, it was only the white collar that stuck out so vividly through the masses of people that identified him as a man of God. Of course everyone flocked to the poor man, and he had to say his hellos and make polite conversation with everyone who seemed to think themselves worthy of his time. However as soon as the crowd parted John got that strange feeling like he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck prinking up as he suddenly realized those galaxy eyes must be trained on him. So it was Father Holmes. John pretended not to notice, however he was quite sure that the distance between them was steadily decreasing, he could feel something of a pressure gauge in his head so to speak, increasing as the proximity decreased. John studied his placemat, noticing finally that the choices for their meals were actually printed right on the placemat to serve as a menu as well. Poor Ms. Hooper, who had to try to recite the choices since she was too nice to point out John's obliviousness.
"Mr. Watson, funny seeing you here." said that familiar deep voice above him. John sighed heavily, wondering why Father Holmes, after probably realizing John's squeamishness around him, made sure to stop at his table in the back of the makeshift cafeteria first. However when John looked up there was something strangely dormant about the priest, as if he had indeed noticed John's reluctance and therefore changed his methods of approach.
"Yes well, I decided that maybe I was hungry for spaghetti after all." John admitted with a forced little laugh. Father Holmes nodded, holding his hands together and looking like a very awkward schoolboy, waiting for permission to sit with his friends at the cafeteria.
"Would you...would you like to sit?" John asked quickly, deciding that the priest was most likely waiting for an invitation before he seated himself.
"Oh yes, yes thank you." Father Holmes agreed, pulling out a chair two down from where John was seated and fell into it rather clumsily, seeming very out of place for a man who should probably understand that he was the superior to everyone in this basement. John had always thought of priests as almost mystical men, moving with grace and elegance, and yet right now Father Holmes was clumsily trying to readjust his chair that he had pulled out a bit too far, scuffing it against the floors and making a horrible creaking sound that brought everyone's attention to their secluded little table.
"I would, well I'd like to apologize Mr. Watson, about my abruptness the other day." Father Holmes started rather awkwardly, twiddling his fingers against the table cloth as if he had prepared something of a little speech on his way from the stairs to John's table. John suddenly felt a wave a panic, realizing that the priest thought he owed him something, or that he had done something wrong. Well of course he had every right to suspect that he had crossed the line because he undoubtedly did, however suddenly John couldn't bring himself to let the poor man feel so bad about himself.
"No, no Father you have nothing to apologize for. In fact it's probably my fault, I'm a little, well I'm a little reserved when it comes to my life." John agreed quickly. Father Holmes nodded grimly, taking a little bit of a breath and letting his gaze fall on the table as he thought about something to respond with.
"And you have every right to be, I suppose I just got so used to getting blabbed to that I forgot some people were more reserved than the rest." he admitted rather reluctantly. John nodded in agreement, forcing something of a smile to try to get the priest's mood up, however Father Holmes kept his gaze fixed down and didn't notice the forceful change in John's expression.
"Father..."
"Call me Sherlock." Father Holmes said quickly, his head suddenly rising and his gaze permeating John's eyes almost agressivley. John blinked for a moment, unable to process that word as an actual name. He had never heard such a name before, and for a brief and very confusing moment he thought it was some sort of code name or nickname Father Holmes thought sounded cool.
"Oh yes, Sherlock, that's your name?" John asked in a moment of idiocy, to which the priest simply laughed a little bit, keeping his head down to hide the gorgeous smile as if he was ashamed of it.
"Not a name you hear every day, is it?" he asked with a guilty little smile. John nodded, blanking on what to say for a moment as Sherlock raised his head and John was at last allowed to see what his face looked like with a smile on it. To be honest it was something he had never seen, and it brought on a sort of emotion that he simply couldn't explain. Happiness wouldn't cover it, neither would satisfaction, however Sherlock's smile made John want to smile simply because he knew that the priest was happy, which almost seemed like a rare occasion in this usually stony faced man. And the very fact that John was the sole reason of Sherlock's happiness was something even more pleasing.
"I would rather an um, an interesting name. I mean my name is John, growing up there were like ten other Johns in my school, and we would all respond to the same questions it was just...it was chaotic." John admitted with a forceful laugh.
"Oh well, there were three other Sherlocks in my school, I know your pain." Sherlock assured with a chuckle. John sat for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking or not but honestly he didn't know Sherlock enough to tell.
"Wait, are you serious?" John muttered blankly.
"No of course not, it was a joke. Or at least I found it funny, maybe it was a bit too confusing..."
"It was fine, don't worry. I just, ya I don't know. Just didn't get it." John stammered, suddenly finding communication with another human being unspeakably impossible. Sherlock's very presence seemed to be shutting off his mind at the moment, and he was unable to think of something intelligent or even understandable to say. Thankfully it seemed that Sherlock was having the same problem, and so John suspected that they were both unreasonably uncomfortable around the other as they forced themselves to converse all while having virtually nothing to say. Thankfully Molly Hooper arrived with John's food, balancing a plate very carefully on one hand while trying to steer/kick the drinks cart in the right direction.
"Father Holmes!" she exclaimed excitedly, basically dropping John's plate of spaghetti onto the table in front of him so that she could fix her hair. Then again all of her long brown hair had been tucked away in a rather ugly ponytail and all she could do was prod at the little bangs that were hanging down over her forehead.
"Ms. Hooper, I see you took my advice then." Sherlock said with a friendly smile, adopting a completely new aura to him when she arrived. This was the attitude John had expected from a priest, or at least from Father Holmes, he sat up straight and beamed a radiant yet obviously forceful smile up at Molly while she fiddled with the drinks cart, pushing it back and forth all while keeping her gaze fixed on the priest. He was faking his happiness in an attempt to be nice, he was flattering her just by taking an interest in what she was doing, and therefore securing her spot on the volunteer signup sheet for the next event. So why on earth, if he was this confident around Ms. Hooper, was Sherlock suddenly faltering and stuttering when talking to John? What was the difference between John and Molly that Sherlock could so obviously detect?
"Your advice? Oh, oh for waitressing! Oh it's nothing really; I was going to sign up anyway." Molly assured with a little giggle, making to tuck her hair behind her ear however, finding that there was no hair hanging down, she simply scratched at her forehead before going back to rocking the drinks cart back and forth.
"Well we really appreciate it, you're a good helper around here Ms. Hooper." Sherlock assured with a smile. Molly beamed back at him, and John noticed that she had begun to flush with the compliment, her cheeks growing redder by the moment.
"Could I get you anything to drink Father?" she wondered finally. Sherlock hummed, observing the list of drinks that they had scrawled down on notebook paper and taped to the cart.
"Could I have a Pepsi please?" he wondered hopefully. Molly nodded anxiously, scrambling around the cart to fill up Sherlock's little plastic cup with as much ice as she could (bear in mind that John had only received three meager ice cubes) and popping open the lid of a very nice cold looking can of Pepsi. Sherlock thanked her politely as she handed him the cup (now filled to the brim) and the remainder of the can, and Molly watched him expectantly as he took his first sip, as if expecting some sort of compliment on her soda pouring skills.
"Perfect Molly, did you waitress when you were younger?" Sherlock wondered politely, and Molly just blushed once more, muttering about how she had in fact waitressed when she was in high school and then she was talking about the friends she made and the mistakes she made and the money she received. John zoned out of the conversation, suddenly remembering that he had a big plate of pasta waiting for him, and began to twirl some around on his fork and eat. He only noticed that Molly had disappeared when Sherlock leaned back over the table, his shoulders sagging as his posture dropped and his eyes becoming heavy, as if that conversation had been physically exhausting for him.
"She's very enthusiastic." Sherlock muttered in a little mutter, as if that was his way of apologizing for Molly's rather abrupt entrance.
"Yes I noticed. She's nice though." John assured, feeling the need to stick up for poor crazy Molly Hooper.
"She certainly is." Sherlock agreed in a monotone sort of voice, as if he couldn't care less about Molly Hooper or their feelings towards her personality. John continued to eat his pasta, feeling a little bit awkward since Sherlock was just sitting there watching him eat.
"Are you going to order something?" John asked in an attempt to be polite, however he was sure he only sounded a little bit confrontational, because Sherlock recoiled just a little bit.
"Oh no, no I'm not very hungry. Besides, I think Greg's back in the kitchen, and if he knew I was ordering something he's most likely spit in it." Sherlock admitted with a laugh. John chuckled for a moment; however he hadn't the faintest clue who Greg was.
"Sorry who is Greg?" John clarified in a small voice, as if it was rude to ask.
"Oh, Father Lestrade." Sherlock admitted quickly, and John just nodded in agreement. Well that figures, he had always taken that Father Lestrade to be a rather rowdy fellow.
"Does Father Lestrade have something against you?" John wondered, to which Sherlock just laughed, as if the idea of Greg being angry was something purely comical.
"Oh no, we get along very well, he's just spit in it because he thought it would be some sort of joke." Sherlock assured with a little laugh.
"And of course he wouldn't tell you until after you ate it, right?" John laughed, and Sherlock nodded in his amused agreement.
"He certainly in a character, not a person you'd really expect to go into priesthood." Sherlock admitted in a curious sort of way, as if he legitimately wondered why Greg would devote his life to something so strict when he was such a rambunctious man.
"So you all live together then? In the um...the convent?" John wondered nervously, blanking on the name of the little house the priests shared but trying to play it off cool.
"Ah, I suppose he wished he lived in a convent. But no, we live in the rectory, the convent is for nuns." Sherlock corrected politely, only making his comment about Greg all the more amusing.
"That sounds chaotic to say the least. How many priests do you have?" John wondered.
"Three, myself, Father Lestrade, and Father Turner." Sherlock listed, all of the names John recognized from one mass or the other. Father Turner was the old one, the intimidating one, and Greg was the one who usually forgot the prayers in the midst of saying them.
"That sounds like quite the house. And I thought living with my wife was bad." John muttered with a little laugh. Sherlock stiffened up for a moment, his face falling and then readjusting back to his slight smile so quickly that John almost wondered if his change in expression was simply a trick of the eye. However no, there was definitely something in his expression, something of disappointment, as if the mere mention of Mary was enough to stifle his good mood.
"I didn't know you were married." Sherlock admitted in something of a forceful voice, keeping his eyes fixed on the table in front of him in a sort of reluctant way.
"Oh well, I'm not, not anymore. She left me, a couple of years back." John admitted quickly, feeling the need to clear the air as soon as possible even though he knew that divorce was looked down upon in the catholic faith.
"Ah, well, I'm sorry to hear that Mr. Watson." Sherlock muttered, although he didn't sound all that sorry at all. John may be crazy, but he thought he heard something of relief in Sherlock's voice, as if the presence of John's wife would compromise whatever connection they were forcefully making over a plate of pasta and a very cold Pepsi.
"Yes well, it's rather lonely in my house nowadays. That's kind of why I've been here so often." John admitted sadly, looking down at the table and almost feeling Father Holmes's anticipation. Here it was then, right? The backstory? The tragedy? Obviously this was what Sherlock had come over here to listen to, and suddenly John felt so ready to tell his story, being that Sherlock seemed to be the only person in the world that seemed to have an interest.
"If you don't want to tell me you're certainly welcome to stay quiet, Mr. Watson I assure you I have no interest in prying." Sherlock assured softly, holding his hands up in something of a surrender.
"No it's, I suppose it's time." John muttered sadly, looking down at his plate of spaghetti, suddenly not very hungry.
"As you wish Mr. Watson." Sherlock agreed, sounding like he was looking around for some popcorn to go with this fascinating tale. John sighed heavily, setting down his fork and taking a sip of his water before he began.
"Mary was my wife, my wife of nearly six years, and we had one daughter, Rosie." John started. Sherlock nodded, as if he had been wondering who Rosie was ever since John had accidently spoken her name at church the other day.
"My wife left me two years ago, just when Rosie was starting to get sick. We thought it was nothing at first but...she's been in the hospital ever since. The doctors just told me today that they estimate she only has a month to live, and she's my only daughter, she's all I have left. She's only five years old." John admitted in something of a whisper, ending his very short sob story rather abruptly. However Sherlock was silent, sitting at the table and blinking for a moment, processing the story he had been longing to hear with that familiar look of pity across his face.
"Mr. Watson..." he started, and yet he silenced himself, suddenly realizing that he had nothing to say, at least nothing John hadn't heard a million times.
"I just thought that maybe God could help me out a little bit, I'm struggling with money, and with time, and I just, well I need a miracle. That's why I readopted my faith, hoping that someone up there might be listening." John admitted rather pathetically. Sherlock nodded slowly, thinking of something to say while his mind was racing in all sorts of directions.
"God is always willing to help of course, however sometimes he helps in mysterious ways. Maybe not in the way you would expect, or pray for." Sherlock muttered after a moment's thought.
"That's your polite way of telling me that there's nothing God can do to help." John confirmed, and Sherlock looked up at him in a sort of grief strewn panic.
"No, no Mr. Watson of course not. God can help you, of course he can, and if he can't then I will." Sherlock assured quickly, talking so fast that John could barely understand what he was trying to say. Then again that was exactly what John needed to hear, or at least what he had been expecting to hear. So Sherlock could help him, or at least he was willing to try. That was good news, very good news; maybe John did have a friend amidst this mess after all.
"Thank you Father that means a lot." John admitted softly.