Leviticus 20:13

It All Feels A Bit Incomplete

The door was open and there were a couple of chairs inside, however John almost felt as though he had to make some sort of appointment. There was only one woman inside, a thin old lady with shockingly artificially colored hair and a nice flower print dress on. She seemed to be idly writing something with a large ballpoint pen, tapping her finger against her wrinkled cheek before continuing on whatever sentence she had faltered on. John knocked reluctantly on the doorframe, expecting her to look up and hiss at him or tell him to go away, however her face broke out into that lovely smile that could only be accomplished by someone over fifty. It was the inviting smile, the one that almost made it seem like she had known him for twenty years rather than roughly five seconds. John smiled hastily, stepping into the brightly lit office and wincing at the amount of crucifixes that were hung on the wall or sat up on the desks. It was like a very confusing game of eye spy, as if she had attempted to hide Jesus's image on everything from the crucifix on the wall to the plastic place mat she was using as a makeshift writing desk.
"Well hello, how can I help you?" the woman asked pleasantly.
"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you I was just wondering where I can make funeral arrangements?" John muttered nervously, his eyes flickering to the name plate that sat proudly on her desk, telling her visitors very flatly that her name was Martha Hudson. Suddenly her face fell, as though the very word funeral put a dark cloud over her head and her heart. John couldn't help but sigh, seeing that exact same look of pity that disgusted him on everyone's faces. He had managed to keep the news of his tragedy very well hidden, except somehow people had found out and he was getting these accursed sympathy cards in the mail, decorated with rainbows and flowers as if that was somehow going to help!
"Yes of course, I will be the woman to ask. Do you mind if I take your name?" Mrs. Hudson asked quickly, pulling out a paper from a very organized filing cabinet and clicking her pen in preparation.
"Oh um, John...John Watson." John said almost reluctantly, as if he had some sort of reservation about letting this woman know his full name. However it seemed as though his predictions had been correct, because as soon as he said his name the woman paused, pressing her pen to the paper yet not writing anything for a moment.
"Mr. Watson? I do believe I've heard your name before." she admitted thoughtfully, writing down his name carefully before clicking her pen closed and sitting back in her swivel chair. John smiled nervously, looking at her and then away, not quite sure what to do to help.
"I've only been coming a short while, but I came to the spaghetti dinner if that helps." John offered quietly, wondering why on earth his identity mattered so much to this woman. Suddenly her face lit up, and she waved her pen excitedly through the air as she started to put the pieces together.
"Aha, that's right! You're the Mr. Watson that Father Holmes was talking about, right after the spaghetti dinner!" she announced proudly, tapping his pen once more before scribbling some more things down on the paper.
"Yes I suppose that would be me. Although I didn't know he um...he talked about me." John muttered a little bit reluctantly, not necessarily wanting to hear what Father Holmes had to say about him. Surely nothing good?
"Oh yes, well Sherlock...Father Holmes, can be quite a talker sometimes. Oh nothing negative Mr. Watson, surely nothing negative, he seemed very interested in you to be honest." Mrs. Hudson admitted with a sort of knowing smile, as if she knew that Sherlock would never want her to be repeating any of this and yet she was going to repeat it anyway.
"Interested how?" John wondered curiously, helping himself to one of the chairs next to the desk and staring at the woman attentively. Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips as if she was trying her best to keep secrets, and yet she suddenly set down her pen and leaned forward, as if this was some sort of secret that she didn't want to say too loudly.
"Now I've known Father Holmes for a couple of years now, and in all those years I have never seen him make a friend before. He never mentions any of the parishioners to me, he never seems to care all that much. Now you, Mr. Watson, you have seemed to be an exception thus far. I remember him mentioning something about you just the other day now that I think of it, it seems as though you're always on his mind." Mrs. Hudson said with a smirk. John nodded, looking down at the floor in honest confusion and trying his best to figure out just what that was supposed to mean. Surely it was a compliment?
"Oh well, that's um...that's flattering I suppose." John muttered nervously, only saying what he suspected she wanted to hear.
"I'd say so, like I said, not many people are able to catch Sherlock's attention." She admitted in a quick whisper, a small smile stretched out on her lips before she quickly glanced out the door. Obviously something that lingered in the entrance hall was enough to remind her that she had work to do, and without missing a beat she grabbed her pen and began to scribble on the funeral form feverishly, despite the fact that John hadn't told her anything yet.
"Mrs. Hudson, what are you up to on this boring, dreadful...." The deep voice faltered when the newly arrived Sherlock Holmes realized what kind of company she had, and suddenly the priest was grasping for words that were refusing to surface.
"What makes it so boring?" John wondered playfully, and Sherlock just looked at Mrs. Hudson almost accusingly, as if it was her sole responsibility to warn him when important people strolled into his church unaccounted for.
"Mr. Watson, I'm sorry to have interrupted." Sherlock said quickly, his hands diving straight for his curls so that he could push them out of his face in an almost obsessive manner. John couldn't help but look at Mrs. Hudson, who he found was giggling to herself and leaning back in her chair as if her work here was done.
"No you haven't interrupted anything." John assured casually, and Mrs. Hudson nodded in confirmation.
"We were just going over funeral arrangements." Mrs. Hudson admitted, and Sherlock's face immediately fell. Obviously he wasn't expecting such a morbid topic of conversation; however upon inspecting the rather calm faces of John and Mrs. Hudson he ultimately decided that there really was no use for pity. John was thankful that he didn't apologize or don that horrible expression of pity, he simply bowed his head in respect and pulled on his jacket anxiously, as if worried it was folded over and creasing in the wrong areas.
"Well then, I suppose I'll just..." Sherlock ended his own sentence, making a move to turn away before waiting for permission to leave.
"Actually Sherlock, I was wondering if you could lead the funeral service." John said quickly, feeling as though he needed to say something to make the man stay just a little bit longer. His inquiry had been a legitimate one, however, since Sherlock knew Rosie he could certainly write a better sermon than Father Lestrade could, at least. Sherlock, however, blushed a flattered shade of scarlet, his mouth turning up into a little smile as if he hadn't expected such an honorable request.
"Oh well of course, yes I'd be happy to." He agreed quickly. John nodded thankfully, looking up at Sherlock to see that the priest was looking down upon him with an awkward little smile, and they stayed that way for a moment longer until suddenly Sherlock blinked, turning his head away towards Mrs. Hudson and prompting John to do the same. They found the woman still leaned back in her swivel chair, a smile on her lips that suggested she knew something they didn't.
"Well then Mr. Watson, for the funeral arrangements, what date would work best for you?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, finally retrieving her clipboard from where it sat on the desk and clicking her pen rapidly while she waited for John to respond.
"Oh I don't know...any day works for me really. I don't think, well I don't want it to be a big deal. I'm not expecting much of a crowd, and I don't see any reason to book the church. Is it possible to just do a little service in the cemetery and burry her?" John wondered hopefully, his voice low and mournful as he thought of his poor daughter, sitting on a slab in the morgue, waiting to get put in a nice dress and rot away in her casket.
"Yes that's possible." Sherlock agreed before Mrs. Hudson could open her mouth to respond. He was now leaning against the door frame, his hands buried deep in his pockets and that familiar rosary hanging gently around his neck. John caught himself staring a little bit too long, and so he quickly turned his head away and nodded towards the ground, making it look like he was just as fascinated with the tiles as he was with Sherlock.
"Yes I suppose then I'll do that." John agreed quietly. Mrs. Hudson nodded, looking rather upset as she wrote something down on her little sheet.
"If you could just fill the rest of this out then Mr. Watson." She muttered, holding the clipboard out for John to take. He nodded, collecting the pen and clipboard and filling out the rest of the ins and outs of the funeral they were planning on having. He still had yet to get the gravestone engraved, however he knew that didn't take all that long and so he decided to hold the funeral this coming Friday. That gave him time to get the invitations out (only to Harry and his parents, he couldn't think of anyone else who would be willing to attend) and to get some lunch arrangements for afterwards, as well as flower decorations and maybe a big picture of Rosie, just for show. He didn't have all that money to invest in it; however he knew that it would be the last time he ever had to spend money for his daughter, so he ought to make it worth it. Even though it wouldn't be a large funeral he wanted it to be a nice funeral, for Rosie's sake and for his own. When he was finally done filling out the paperwork he handed it back to Mrs. Hudson, who had been chatting absent mindedly to Sherlock about something or other. As soon as John showed signs of being attentive again they stopped talking, as if they were waiting for him to say something fascinating. However John was silent, sitting back in his chair and looking between the two for any sort of instructions. He didn't know if they wanted him to pay now or later, however Mrs. Hudson seemed content with the paperwork and she was putting it away into a separate filing cabinet.
"Would you like me to pay now?" John wondered curiously, beginning to dig around in his pockets for his wallet.
"No, no Mr. Watson don't worry about it. No charge." Sherlock said quickly, silencing Mrs. Hudson as she opened her mouth to speak. This time both John and Mrs. Hudson were equally confused, not entirely sure they had heard him right.
"No I can't just steal a funeral from you; I'm taking up your time I've got to pay." John insisted, cracking a little smile as if he thought this was all some sort of joke. Sherlock's cheeks had gotten a little bit red from the sudden attention he received, yet he didn't seem to want to change his mind.
"Consider it my gift, then. For your troubles." Sherlock suggested kindly, and John was left momentarily speechless. Now even though funerals weren't usually that expensive, at least not the burial, this was still more of a gift than anyone would be willing to give. Sherlock was in no position to waste his time and lose the church up to five hundred dollars simply by volunteering himself to do the service, and yet as soon as he blurted out the suggestion he seemed completely content with it.
"Well um...thank you, Sherlock, thank you very much." John muttered blankly, not entirely sure if that was the best way to express his gratitude. Sherlock, however, bowed his head as a sort of pardon, shuffling closer to the doorframe as if he suddenly felt the need to hide from John's view momentarily.
"Well then Mr. Watson, I suppose that's all. And we're always here to assist of course, with everything from headstones to the reception dinner." Mrs. Hudson offered, yet John shook his head reassuringly.
"I think I've got that figured out, at least I hope I do. I've uh, I've never done this before so it should be interesting." John admitted. Mrs. Hudson forced a sympathetic smile, and John, who found that very smile to be downright nauseating, turned his attention back to where Sherlock was now gazing absent mindedly at one of the many crosses hanging on the flower printed walls. Sherlock blinked suddenly, looking back at John as if suddenly noticing that he was being watched. Sherlock gave him a shy little smile before finally pushing away from the door frame, standing on his own two feet and looking very powerful from where John sat.
"Would you like me to walk you out?" he offered politely, looking at John and then at Mrs. Hudson, as if he was wondering if that was the right thing to say or not.
"Oh, yes, certainly." John agreed, getting to his feet very quickly after realizing there was nothing left here for him to do.
"We'll keep in touch Mr. Watson, and I'm sorry for your loss." Mrs. Hudson said sweetly, and despite John's sudden flash of anger he nodded and smiled thankfully. Ya, of course she was sorry, everyone was sorry, weren't they? Oh that was just infuriating! Nevertheless John followed Sherlock out the door, picking up his pace a little bit so that he could walk side by side with the priest.
"You didn't have to do that you know, I almost feel bad." John admitted in a sort of mutter, putting his hands awkwardly in his pockets while Sherlock nodded to the ushers as they walked past the glass doors that led to the church. It was still filled with people, all of them kneeling for communion most likely, so it was going to end shortly.
"There's no reason to feel guilty Mr. Watson, in fact I think giving you this gift is a way to rather ease my conscience as well." Sherlock admitted with a shy sort of smile, lingering near the exit of the church so that they could finish whatever conversation they had just begun. Of course John didn't mind, he didn't necessarily have to be anywhere, except he was very aware of the ushers lingering not twenty feet away, all in their matching yellow jackets with their arms full of bulletins.
"What on earth do you have to feel guilty about?" John wondered curiously, thinking back to everything Sherlock did to help John and Rosie throughout this emotional roller coaster. Sherlock looked at his shoes uncomfortably, shrugging as though he had just talked himself into a corner.
"Well I feel like I could've done more, prayed more maybe...I don't know it just feels sort of...incomplete." Sherlock admitted heavily, glancing up at John for a moment before looking back down at the floor.
"There was nothing more you could've done Sherlock; there was nothing any of us could've done. It was up to God and well, he made his choice. That or he simply wasn't listening." John muttered rather bitterly. Sherlock looked up very quickly, and suddenly John regretted taking his newfound disappointment with God to the only man that would take that as a personal offense.
"He was listening John, God is always listening and always helping those who need it." he assured very quickly. "He helps in mysterious ways, and even if he didn't heal your daughter he still played a part, he still made the pieces come together like they did."
"Are you suggesting that God was the one who planted the cancer in my daughter? And you consider that helping?" John clarified in a disgusted voice, looking up at the priest with an expression of amazement.
"I'm not...no that's not what I meant at all." Sherlock said quickly, taking a step forward as though he intended on apologizing through a hug or a hand shake or something like that. However John took a step back, shaking his head in exasperation.
"God abandoned me Sherlock, of that I'm sure." John insisted flatly, and Sherlock's mouth hung open in disbelief. Obviously he didn't know what to say, and even if he did have something to say it would surely be offensive so he did his best to stay quiet.
"Well Mr. Watson, if that's the way you feel I suppose I cannot change your mind, however I strongly suggest you to search to reclaim your faith, for God never abandons anyone except those who ask for it." Sherlock muttered sternly. John just shook his head, suddenly uninterested in anything Sherlock had to say, and for a moment he burned with a feverish dislike for the man. How could Sherlock dedicate his life to a mystical man in the clouds? How could he submit himself to spiritual slavery after taking a fairytale too seriously? What evidence did Sherlock have of God's existence, and what gave him the right to try to convince people out of their newfound logic?
"I have to go." John said quickly, starting for the door with a frown on his face, expecting Sherlock to shoot out a hand to stop him. And yet no protest came, and John was almost disappointed when the priest let him walk out of the church without so much of as a word of farewell.