Leviticus 20:13

What Does This Have To Do With Fast Food?

Sherlock found himself alone with Greg for the evening once more, bitterly sitting on the couch while he listened to Greg wrestle with the record player, trying to get it to turn up even louder as it pumped out his demonic heavy metal through the withered old speakers.
"Greg I think that's as loud as it goes." Sherlock muttered mournfully, messaging his aching ears as the horrific guitar shook the window panes of the old house.
"No it can't be, I've had it go so much louder I think the speaker's clogged up or something." Greg insisted irritably, getting down on his knees and poking at the record player, expecting it to get louder simply because it willed him to.
"I don't feel like cooking tonight." Sherlock admitted miserably. The very idea of slicing vegetables or boiling water or even using the microwave depressed him for some reason, he just wasn't in the mood for being a housewife.
"Well then we can go out." Greg suggested, yelling a little bit so that his voice could be heard over the lead singer's screeching.
"Ya but I haven't got much money." Sherlock admitted miserably.
"Oh so what, we'll go to McDonalds or something." Greg assured, and Sherlock nodded again, equally miserable. He was in a very glum mood all day, meandering through his routine as if he were sleep walking and not really focusing on anything except his inner mind. Then again it seemed like his inner mind was screaming just as incomprehensibly as the lead singer on Greg's records, and so all he was hearing was gibberish even though his brain obviously has something to tell him.
"That sounds okay." Sherlock agreed.
"You sound sleepy; awe is poor Sherlock getting tired?" Greg asked in a very childish voice, abandoning his record player to go prod Sherlock with his finger like an annoying child. Sherlock simply slapped his hand away, irritated to say the least with his childish forms of entertainment.
"I'm just grumpy." Sherlock admitted.
"Ah, is it that time of the month then?" Greg asked jokingly.
"Yes Greg, I'm due to turn into a werewolf any day now." Sherlock agreed miserably. Greg just giggled, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock as if trying to congratulate him on his joke telling in his own nonverbal way.
"Ya well, something's obviously on your mind." Greg observed, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs (because why should he sit like a normal person?) and tapping his fingers against his knee.
"Maybe something is on my mind; however I'm not even able to hear it because of your accursed music!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily, throwing his arms into the air dramatically to which Greg just chuckled.
"And to think it can go louder." Greg said excitedly.
"You know what maybe I should just order through the drive through and leave you there to eat by yourself." Sherlock decided while rubbing his now throbbing forehead.
"Oh now come on Sherlock, I'm good company. Go and get your shoes on, I'll get the car started." Greg proposed, finally turning off the music and leaving the house in a sudden and eerie silence as he jumped to his feet and out to the garage. Sherlock laced up his shoes and met Greg on the curb, watching as the crappy little car sputtered its way to a stop so that he could get into the passenger seat and fasten his seatbelt.
"I kind of want a hamburger, but then again a chicken sandwich sounds really good too, but then again they both sound revolting all at the same time. Do you get me?" Greg wondered curiously, turning on the radio and fiddling with the stations while he drove down the road with only one hand on the wheel. Sherlock would say something, however at the moment death by car crash seemed almost like a luxury, and so he kept his mouth shut and watched as the car swerved.
"We could always go someplace different." Sherlock offered carelessly, thinking longingly somewhere with a little more class. However with edible food and good atmosphere comes a bigger price tag, and so Sherlock knew that he would be forced to eat something out of a brown paper bag with artificial cheese.
"We could but you're broke and you don't like Taco Bell for some reason, so I mean..."
"Taco Bell is nasty, I don't know how on earth you manage to choke that stuff down and then go to mass for an hour, it's just..." Sherlock gave a shutter of disgust, thinking about the very suspicious meat loaded in the tasteless flour tortilla. Greg gasped as if Sherlock had insulted something much more meaningful than Greg's taste of food, like his mother or his profession. Certainly Sherlock had a lot to say about both, however since they weren't coming up in this conversation he decided that he best stick to the argument at hand.
"You're such a contrarian Sherlock! Anything I enjoy you just have to hate." Greg pointed out rather defensively, to which Sherlock just sighed dramatically.
"That's because you like everything that's distasteful in this world. Your music, your food, your women, I mean really Greg?" Sherlock muttered. Greg, however, now donned that irritable smile on his face, the smile he wore when he noticed something that no one else did and he was going to wait until they realized until he was going to tell them. Sherlock hated that smile, because it was usually always aimed at him, and then he had to wait around and play the guessing game for a while before Greg would finally admit what he had been able to pick out of a sentence and wrap to make it sound bad.
"Oh....Now I get it." Greg admitted with a little smile, tapping on the wheel and gazing out into the road as if something had suddenly just made sense. He nodded his head silently, as if suddenly the world had opened up and showed him the meaning of life. Sherlock, however, was stumped, and of course that bothered him more than anything he might have said.
"What do you get? Oh come on Greg, whatever it was, I probably didn't intend it to be interpreted the way your messed up little brain did." Sherlock insisted desperately, worrying for a moment because it almost seemed like Greg was thinking. Of course that was a skill Greg only used for emergency situations, and the pure fact that his brain had turned on was a sure sign that Sherlock had said something a little bit too suggestive.
"No but I get it, actually that makes way too much sense." Greg admitted, looking at Sherlock with a curious expression before looking back at the road thoughtfully. Sherlock didn't even bother asking at this point, he knew that Greg's mutterings were just his own way to get attention and the more Sherlock played along the more he would mutter and gaze until finally Sherlock went mad with anger and threatened to jump out of the car.
"So you're well...you're more of a Burger King guy then, not so much a Wendy's guy." Greg muttered carefully, glancing over at Sherlock who looked at him with a look of utmost confusion.
"I'm sorry...what?" Sherlock muttered in annoyance, not really in the mood for any more fast food lingo.
"You know, given the choice between the two, you would pick...Burger King?" Greg asked curiously. Sherlock shook his head irritably, tapping his fingers against the dashboard and sighing heavily.
"Greg you know I don't like their food either, and I don't know why..."
"Are you gay?" Greg said flatly, effectively silencing Sherlock for all of eternity and more. He really couldn't think of anything to say, and for a moment as his face paled he tried his best to respond and yet no words seemed to come out, and for a moment Sherlock was just opening and closing his mouth like a lunatic. And yet Greg just seemed to wait for his answer, as if he really was expecting Sherlock to say something other than a flat out no.
"Greg I'm not even going to...why on earth would you even ask such a thing? Not only is that directly forbidden by God it's just...it's just wrong!" Sherlock exclaimed in horror, not brave enough to look Greg in the face just yet. And why did this question bother him so much, of course he should be able to brush it off as a little bit insulting, or maybe even as one of Greg's jokes, but why did he find the mere mention of homosexuality to be paralyzing?
"That's not an answer." Greg pointed out, not sounding very affected by this conversation at all.
"No Greg, of course I'm not gay." Sherlock breathed, nearly shaking in horror at the very proposition of such a thing. He sat even farther against the car door and breathed slowly, keeping his mouth shut for the remainder of the ride while Greg navigated through the rush hour traffic. Suddenly it felt as though the temperature in the car had dropped tremendously because Sherlock began to shiver uncontrollably, rubbing at the goosebumps that were rising up on his arms in an attempt to subside them. Why would Greg ask such a question, why would he purposely go out of his way to insult Sherlock with the very thought...God forbade homosexuality, why on earth would Sherlock even consider such a path? Oh it was just too much for him right now, trying to think of what he might have said that could've made Greg interpret his words the way he did. Greg didn't even seem like the question affected him at all, he only looked satisfied with himself, as if something about the very idea of Sherlock's sexuality being anything less than normal pleased him. Maybe he thought he had figured out Sherlock's secret, or maybe he suspected that by accusing Sherlock of such a thing that it somehow made him above him. Greg might be under the false impression that Sherlock was gay and then used that to justify his own sinful actions. When they arrived at McDonald's suddenly Sherlock's appetite diminished, and all the while Greg was going on about how he could probably eat a twenty piece chicken nugget and a Big Mac, Sherlock's stomach was twisting uncomfortably in his stomach.
"What are you going to have then?" Greg wondered anxiously, standing in line next to a large mural of the demonic clown and bouncing up and down excitedly. Sherlock scanned the menu, not really hungry for anything, but in the end he simply ordered ten chicken nuggets, small French fries, and a fountain drink. Greg ended up attempting the challenge of ordering the small feast he had described earlier, however he was probably going to expect Sherlock to doubt his stomach's capabilities when in all reality Sherlock knew that he was able to eat all that and more. Their bill had racked up quite a bit, and even though Sherlock only owed around five dollars Greg seemed rather upset when he had to hand over ten. While they waited for their food Sherlock and Greg found a booth at the back of the restaurant, tucked away so that if they saw any parishioners they could duck their heads and avoid any forceful conversations. As much as Sherlock loved to see people and talk to them he really didn't like having to discuss grandchildren and retirement every time he stepped out of the rectory, and he knew that Greg had zero tolerance for small talk. He had been known to fall asleep during confessions, which proved to be a very large ordeal because the parishioners end up thinking that he's silent because he was so disgusted by their sins, when in reality he was hunched over against the wall dreaming about women and alcohol. What a wonderful priest he was. Sherlock stood at the soda machine blankly, staring at the labels with his flimsy little cup in his hand and looking genuinely conflicted. He wasn't much of a soda drinker, and yet if he had wanted water he could've gotten it free, and so he decided he probably shouldn't let his dollar go to waste.
"I want root beer." Greg said excitedly, materializing at Sherlock's shoulder and pushing him out of the way to get to the root beer first, as if Sherlock's choice of soda would somehow compromise his own. Sherlock settled with Sprite, fitting the lid on carefully and poking one of the yellow striped straws into the lid before making his way back to their little booth carefully. Greg was gone and yet his root beer was sitting on the table without a lid, and so Sherlock could only assume their food was ready for pickup. Sherlock sat down at his side of the booth and immediately felt lonely, however Greg's presence would probably only make that feeling worse. In fact no matter how lonely he began to feel, Greg's arrival only put his mood down even more. There was way too much food on that tray for two people, and even as they divvied up their French fries and chicken nuggets Sherlock could hear Greg's stomach growling excitedly.
"Can you time me?" Greg asked hopefully as he gazed down at his burger, nuggets, and fries excitedly.
"That would only encourage you to gorge yourself, and then I'm going to have to be up at three in the morning listening to you puke. No I'm not going to time you." Sherlock snapped miserably, and so Greg just frowned.
"Ya, maybe it's for the best. I want to enjoy the flavor after all." Greg agreed reluctantly, picking up his burger and smiling at it in satisfaction.
"What flavor?" Sherlock muttered under his breath, and yet Greg didn't seem to hear him. They ate for a while in silence, and even though Sherlock thought he was going at a constant speed Greg ended up finishing his burger right around the same time Sherlock finished three of his chicken nuggets and a handful of fries.
"Why'd you say it would make sense?" Sherlock asked suddenly, pausing with a half a chicken nugget still clenched in his long white fingers to glare at Greg accusingly.
"What are you talking about?" Greg asked rather blankly, wearing the usual face of confusion as he blindly grabbed one of his many nuggets and shoved it into his mouth. Sherlock sighed, glancing down at the table reluctantly and wondering why he had even bothered to bring this topic of conversation back into the light.
"When you were...you know that whole Burger King thing, with me...why'd you say it would make sense?" Sherlock wondered meekly, suddenly finding it impossible to look Greg in the eyes as his cheeks began to heat up. Greg made a humming noise of knowingness, swallowing his food quickly and smacking his lips a couple of times before he began to talk.
"I mean Sherlock let's face it, you're not what I'd call a lady's man. Remember at the grocery store when all those hot women were walking around (Sherlock made a noise of discontent and looked out the window miserably) and you didn't even notice any of them? I mean I know you're a priest and all, and you use that as justification, however it's really not normal for a man to not have any interest in women. I mean certainly I know you're staying true to your vows and you're abstaining from any romantic entanglements but it's not like you're not allowed to appreciate their beauty! I think it would just explain a lot if you were gay, it's probably the reason you listen to that classical music and spend twenty minutes on your hair and walk around in dressing gowns and lounge over the couch when you're upset..."
"Alright would you stop listing everything, just shush!" Sherlock exclaimed horrifically, waving his hands around in a dramatic fashion and shushing Greg a bit more agressivley than necessary.
"And you do...whatever that was." Greg added finally, eating another chicken nugget in an attempt to shut himself up while Sherlock pouted across from him.
"All of those things are perfectly normal things to do for men and women alike, nothing of what you just listened is any justification for the accusations that you have thrown so carelessly around. You're not taking into account what God has told us is right and wrong, it's clearly stated in the Bible that homosexuality is not only forbidden but punishable as well!" Sherlock exclaimed flatly.
"Yes, yes of course Sherlock but when has that ever stopped you?" Greg wondered with a little smirk.
"There's nothing to stop, I'm not gay!" Sherlock insisted flatly, dropping his voice so that no one would overhear such a sinful conversation being exchanged between two priests. Well, one priest, and one poor excuse for a priest that was now trying to shove two chicken nuggets into his mouth at once.
"Then why do you keep asking about it?" Greg wondered almost too casually.
"Because you said it would make sense, and I was just wondering why on earth you would say something like that." Sherlock insisted defensively.
"Yes well, that means it's playing in your mind, which means it bothered you, and that means that your brain understands that there's some truth to the statement and you just don't want to think about it." Greg pointed out in a very professional manner, opening up a little plastic cup of honey mustard to make the chicken nuggets taste a little bit better. He was actually doing a pretty good job on that feast; he only had five or more chicken nuggets left and a couple of handfuls of fries; however he was showing signs of discomfort. Sherlock had all faith in him of course, he had never known Greg to not eat food that was in front of him and he certainly wasn't going to start tonight. Sherlock had long since finished his ten chicken nuggets and was now picking meagerly at his fries, still staring at nothing and thinking intensely about what all of this could mean. He would be stupid to deny any of his character traits and yet he didn't think that any of them would automatically mean he was gay. I mean sure his tastes were a little bit feminine but that didn't mean he was automatically going to start seeing men in a different light! Sherlock had always been under the impression that he had been blessed without any romantic desires, that God had somehow managed to make sure his heart didn't beat for anyone except his religion and his dedication to God.
"It wouldn't matter anyway, would it? I can't act upon anything; I can't even consider having a romantic partner so how would we even know? Why should we even care?" Sherlock muttered almost to himself, however Greg obviously heard because he chuckled a little bit.
"Is that a confession then?" Greg asked with a smirk.
"No of course it isn't, it's a pledge of obliviousness." Sherlock decided finally, finishing off the last of his fries with an accomplished little pout and watching as Greg finally finished the rest of his meal. So he had actually done it then, very impressive, and yet Sherlock still wasn't positive that they wouldn't see anything of that feast again. However if Greg had to puke Sherlock only hoped he would have the courtesy of doing it quietly and privately, that way Sherlock could sleep through the aftermath of his coworker's bad decisions without any issue.