Leviticus 20:13

Drastically Different From The Rest

Sherlock nodded, taking a deep breath as if he felt like there was something he needed to say.
"My mother died when I was young, she was the one who led me on the path of God. In fact, this rosary was hers, her last present to me before she died." Sherlock admitted, letting his fingers trail carefully at the rosary hanging very delicately around his neck. John glanced at it for a moment, trying to image what young Sherlock might have looked like with tears in his eyes and that rosary in his hands.
"That must have been hard, I'm sorry." John muttered, although he felt like he already understood and was able to sympathize with Sherlock's pain. Rosie was still living and yet John felt like he had lost her as soon as she had been admitted into the hospital.
"It was a while ago, and time heals most wounds. However I still miss her, a mother is a very difficult person to lose, especially for a child so young. And yet with her help I adopted my faith and dedicated my life to God, so in a way it feels as though she's looking over me and listening to my prayers above." Sherlock admitted in a sentimental sort of way, a sad smile stretched almost beautifully across his face. John nodded glumly, realizing that whatever conversation they had been having just took a morbid turn, and he sat very quietly and stared at the remainder of his dinner.
"I um, I think I should get going. It's getting pretty late and I have the morning shift at work again." John decided quickly, realizing that whatever time they had left would be dedicated to pathetic attempts at conversation and that was definitely not something John was interested in. And so he got to his feet and Sherlock, being the gentleman he was, rose as well, however clumsily.
"Yes well, don't let me take up your time Mr. Watson, I image you're a very busy man." He said quickly, struggling to push the little folding chair out of his way so that he could move about the room more freely.
"It was nice talking to you Father; I don't usually tell people my tragic backstory." John admitted with a kind smile. Sherlock smiled back, holding his hands out in front of him as if trying to get to hold John's hands again; however John knew better than to make any sort of physical contact, at least not yet. And so Sherlock, seeing his rejection and going quite red, simply folded his hands in something of a praying stance, as if trying to pass it off like he was going to do that from the start.
"I'm always here to help, whatever it is you need Mr. Watson, we can do our best to help. I know the pain of losing a loved one, especially to illness, and if you need anything just ask." Sherlock assured politely.
"I will, but in the meantime maybe, could you pray for her? I don't know if God pays any more attention to the prayers of priests, however if there's even the slightest chance..."
"I will Mr. Watson, I will indeed." Sherlock assured, cutting off John's sentence before he could ramble on anymore.
"Yes, thank you." John muttered rather awkwardly. They stood there for a moment, both knowing that John had to leave and yet neither was brave enough to make the final goodbye.
"I'll let you go Mr. Watson; It was nice to talk to you." Sherlock said respectfully, regaining his priest composure before turning away at last, going over to a table of elders who all nearly choked on their pasta in excitement when they saw that he was coming over to talk to them. 

 Sherlock POV: Sherlock lay awake that night, his thoughts consuming him to the point where he didn't even try to close his eyes. He was going over Mr. Watson's story in his head and trying to figure out why it affected him so greatly. It wasn't all that much of a surprise; in fact Sherlock had been expecting something to that degree ever since John had mentioned a woman named Rosie. However Sherlock had half expected Rosie to be John's wife, not his daughter, and the fact that she was just five years old somehow make the blow hurt even more. The problem was he didn't know how to help. For most people in peril Sherlock was able to talk to them in a soothing voice and assure them that God would take care of it but with Mr. Watson...with Mr. Watson he felt like he simply had to do more. Somehow he couldn't let God call the shots, because it was undoubtedly God who had managed to plant this sickness in Rosie Watson in the first place. But how could Sherlock take this into his own hands, how could he help Rosie without being a doctor or a man of science? His praying could only get so far, his reassurance could only get a brief smile on John's face, it would do nothing to ease his worried heart! And to think that while Sherlock sat here, pondering the situation over in his head; John was undoubtedly doing the same thing, however at a much more costly level. This was his issue, if he lost his daughter he would be the most affected, what could Sherlock possibly do to understand his pain? John probably thought that Sherlock didn't care; he probably just assumed that Sherlock saw him as another face in the crowd, begging for the same hopeless miracle. Except he wasn't the same as the rest, there was something vastly different about him, something that stood him apart from all the other desperate souls that went crying to God for help.