Leviticus 20:13

You Won't Return, But I'll Be Waiting

As they waited in the elevator and signed themselves out and walked to the car John had absolutely no idea what to say. He knew that there was something he could say or do to express his gratitude and yet for the life of him he couldn't figure out anything that would even come close to expressing his thanks. Sherlock had gone above and beyond anything John would ever expect from another human being; in fact he doubted he had ever known another human being to be so...so good. When they got into the car the moon had long since made its appearance and they drove out of the parking lot under the stars, still not a word exchanged.
"Thank you Father, for doing that. I think she really liked you." John muttered finally, looking across the car at where Sherlock was leaned up against the window, staring dismally out onto the darkened street, presumably lost in thought.
"It certainly wasn't a problem; she's a wonderful girl Mr. Watson." Sherlock assured.
"I don't think anyone's been so nice to her, you really didn't have to go out of your way to give her the rosary or play dolls, but I'm happy you did. As you know she doesn't get a lot of visitors." John admitted in a small mutter. Sherlock sighed heavily, nodding his gratitude while his head was obviously someplace else.
"How long did you say she had?" he wondered quietly, rearranging himself in the seat so that he could sit up straighter, however his head hung as if he were already in mourning. John was quiet for a moment, squeezing his lips together in an attempt not to let a sob escape.
"Not two weeks according to the doctors." John whispered in the loudest voice he could manage. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, his hand reaching into his pocket before he realized that whatever he was looking for wasn't there. His rosary, presumably, which he had probably just remembered was hanging on Rosie's neck a couple of miles back. They didn't talk much on the way back to the church; however there really was nothing to say. John knew that he had to thank Sherlock more formally than simply saying it, maybe he could make him some cookies or bring him an arrangement of teas from the diner, who knows? Something, just something, must be adequate enough to express his deepest gratitude. When they finally pulled up along the rectory John didn't want to let Sherlock leave, after such a heartwarming and heartbreaking night he felt like there ought to be more, something he could do or say that could make it all end better than a simple goodbye. And so when he pulled up at the curb he turned the car off all together, decided that he would escort Sherlock to the door like the gentleman he always pretended to be. Sherlock unbuckled his seatbelt and thanked John for the ride, looking rather confused as to why John was removing his seatbelt as well.
"I'll walk you to the door, if that's okay." John said quickly, and Sherlock nodded very quickly, pushing open his door and stumbling out onto the sidewalk while John made his way around the front of the car. The only artificial light provided was shining from the porch light next to the door at the rectory, a rusty looking bulb with bugs bouncing off of the glass in an attempt to get closer and closer to the light. They walked up onto the porch in silence, both trying to think of something to say, anything really, before they had to say goodbye.
"Thank you Father, thank you again. For everything." John said lamely.
"It's not a problem Mr. Watson, the pleasure is all mine. I want to see Rosie get better just as much as you do." Sherlock assured. John nodded, rubbing his eyes and laughing a little bit pathetically.
"I wish there was something I could say that would make you understand how grateful I am, or something I could do..." he insisted, however Sherlock just smiled, dropping his gaze for a moment before reaching for John's hands carefully. John knew that this was probably some priest thing he did with everyone he met, maybe priests didn't know anything about personal space, however John wasn't going to complain. Sherlock's hands were so soft and delicate, and as soon as they enveloped both of John's hands he took a quick step forward, almost on instinct, stepping so close to the priest that he had to crane his neck to look into his eyes.
"Just care for her Mr. Watson, that is all I ask. Love her like she deserves, and keep her spirits up. She's a brave girl, a lovely girl, and I wish her all the best in the difficult times ahead." Sherlock said in a very low voice. John nodded quickly, discovering the reason that he usually avoided Sherlock's eye contact at all costs. It was because of moments like these, moments where he stared into Sherlock's eyes and saw his very soul staring back. He saw the earth, he saw the ocean, blues and greens and golds all swirling in those irises like a kaleidoscope of beauty, all concealed and trapped inside of Sherlock's sparkling eyes. It was a very odd feeling of hypnosis, as Sherlock continued to stare John continued to feel himself easing forward so very slowly, barely able to make himself blink before he could so even open his mouth to say something. However suddenly he found that he was standing ever so close, so close that if they both took very deep breaths their chests would undoubtedly collide. Now of course that wouldn't be a bad thing, but the proximity immediately ripped John back into reality. He didn't know what he was doing; he didn't know why he was so mesmerized; however he knew that it surely needed to come to an end. John shook his head in horror, reluctantly letting Sherlock's hands fall away and taking a colossal step back, starting his way down the steps to the sidewalk and taking deep breaths.
"Goodnight Mr. Watson." Sherlock muttered from the porch, standing with his hands falling limply and lonely by his side. John couldn't bring himself to look back, for some reason he knew that if he saw that man again, standing in the soft light of the porch, he would go right back up the stairs and do something he would probably ultimately regret. So he just kept his head bowed, staying where he was and yet keeping his gaze fixed on the sidewalk.
"Goodnight Father." John whispered forcefully, and with that he marched himself back to his car, getting into the driver's seat and driving away as quickly as he could without looking back, knowing that Sherlock would be standing there on that porch waiting for him if he did.