John POV: John wasn't expecting the church to be open so late at night. He hadn't been expecting to be out this late anyway, but he was just returning to the hospital and was feeling a little bit desperate. Rosie's health was deteriorating; he was noticing it now more than ever. She was getting thinner, paler, less responsive. The nurses assured him that there were no developments, good or bad, and yet John wasn't blind, he could see that her condition was worsening. He felt the need to pray, he felt the need to fall onto his knees and beg whatever higher power was listening to please help his daughter, to please save her. He had been trying to prepare himself for this moment of course, trying to remind himself that he knew this day would come, the beginning of the end, and yet he had broken into tears while he drove home in the dark, keeping the radio on while his headlights penetrated the empty darkness around him. The church was on his way home, a silent steeple reaching up to the stars, and yet he doubted that it would be open. It was nearing eight o'clock at night, what kind of idiot went to pray at eight o'clock at night? Surely there would be no one around, if anyone was there John was certain it would only be the janitors, coming in for their nightly rounds and locking up until the next morning. John pulled into the driveway, empty of cars, and yet a couple of lights shined from inside of the building, maybe someone was home after all. John got from his car and fiddled with the rosary that he now kept in his pocket at all times. He wasn't even sure he was using it right, no one had even taught him since he was little, and yet it seemed like a daily reminder that he had something to pray for. The very weight of the necklace in his pocket reminded him that God was watching, and listening. John walked through the cold, dark parking lot until he reached the doors, finding that there were one or two lights on inside of the church, and he was astounded to find that when he pulled on the door it opened easily. So maybe the churches were open longer than he had anticipated. John walked inside cautiously, almost feeling like a trespasser as he made his way up through the entrance, past the empty secretary's desk, and into the main part of the church. Only every other light was illuminated above him, casting the church in a very eerie, shadowy kind of way. The stained glass windows were dark; the figures depicted in them looking almost saddened by the nighttime darkness that failed to illuminate them in all their glory. The statues that loomed in the darkened corners were looking ghostly as they watched John walk to the front of the church, where the empty tiles echoed his footsteps as he made his way up to the empty altar. John slid into the front pew, bowing his head at the gigantic statue of Jesus on the cross in a submissive sort of way. He grabbed the rosary out of his pocket and fingered at the beads, saying their respective prayers under his breath before adding something of his own making. He prayed for his daughter, of course, that she should have a speedy recovery, that she would be happy, that they could be reunited, that all of this would turn out to be simply a bad dream. He also threw something in about his wife, that she should somehow find her way back to him and his daughter, so that Rosie could see her mother one more time before she passed on. He knew that it was a long shot, he knew of course that his prayers would be most likely thrown in with all the other millions of prayers that were being shot up to the sky this very instant, and yet something about saying them made John feel substantially better. It was almost as if praying for his troubles lessened the weight on his back, made it more manageable in a sense. Suddenly it wasn't only him who was worrying about his daughter it was God as well, and God might just be the only person that was potentially able to help. Maybe that made him feel better about his chances to see his daughter turn one year older. All of the sudden, however, there were footsteps from the altar, and suddenly a figure dressed in black emerged from a door that was tucked away along the wall. John looked up fearfully, half expecting this new comer to be some sort of ghost, or maybe an angel, and yet it was very human, standing rather reluctantly near the arrangements of flowers on the three marble steps as if he didn't want to disturb. John simply got to his feet, tucking his rosary back into his pocket and smiling hastily at the man he recognized as Father Holmes.
"I'm sorry Father, I was just leaving." John said hastily, trying to scramble out of the pew before Father Holmes descended onto ground level, shaking his head quickly as if trying to assure John that it was safe to stay a bit longer.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted you, please Mr. Watson, if you haven't finished praying continue." Father Holmes begged, gesturing to the empty pew that John had just been seated in.
"Oh no, I was just done, really." John assured quickly, shaking his head as politely as he could manage. Sherlock nodded, walking closer as if he felt like the proximity needed to decrease in order to have a proper conversation. Something about his presence, however, made John rather uncomfortable. It wasn't that Father Holmes was intimidating; in fact he was probably one of the most neutral men John had ever met. It was his aura, his power almost, clinging to his very pale skin in a holy, intimidating type of way. When John talked to Father Holmes he almost felt like someone else was listening, someone from above.
"I didn't expect anyone to be here so late, I was just about to lock up." Father Holmes admitted.
"Oh, I'm uh...I'm sorry. I just returned from the hospital, I know it was late but I half expected the janitors to be here, I just wanted to pop in for a quick prayer." John muttered nervously, looking around the church once more and noticing that there really weren't any janitors lingering around, where there?
"It's just us." Father Holmes assured, looking down at John with a gaze that he wasn't used to receiving. It wasn't pity, it was curiosity, it was potential. John could only look away, as if he felt like he wasn't allowed to receive such a glare from a priest.
"Then I'll just leave you to it then, I'm sure you've got stuff to do other than wait around for stragglers." John muttered quickly, feeling the need to escape before the conversation got anymore in depth.
"Oh you'd be surprised, actually." Father Holmes shrugged, looking almost reluctantly at the ground, his white collar pressing uncomfortably into his neck. John smiled back at him, feeling the need to leave and yet the sudden urge to stay, it obviously seemed that Father Holmes was trying to keep him here, trying to have a conversation. John wasn't really in the mood to open up about anything, much less confess his sins, and yet maybe there was something he could say, anything he could say really, that could ease Sherlock's loneliness.
"What are you doing here so late?" John asked quickly, lingering around just a little bit out of pity to the priest. He must have a very lonely life, maybe he just wanted to talk to someone who possibly understood the concept of loneliness.
"Oh I was just lingering about; making sure everything was tidy and cared for. I was helping our secretary Mrs. Hudson get some paperwork filled out, and after that I was polishing some of the golden bowls with the ushers, just to give myself something to do. Shockingly weekdays aren't terribly busy for a priest." Sherlock admitted with a frown.
"Yes well, I didn't expect they would be. To be honest I only just decided to show up on my way home, I'm not usually a churchgoer mind you, it's just...I've been going through some rough patches in my life. I thought that maybe I could get a little bit of help from above." John admitted rather reluctantly.
"God is always here to help, Mr. Watson. And of course, so am I." Father Holmes assured softly.
"You can call me John, everyone does." John assured with a sort of smile. Well, everyone except Tobias, who sometimes called him Watson sarcastically, as if he were a coach or something.
"Oh, yes, my apologies." Father Holmes muttered awkwardly, obviously not expecting to be getting on a first name basis so quickly. Had John surprised him, had he made this whole situation much more awkward than it needed to be? Well of course he had managed to mess this up, what else could he have done?
"No need to apologize, but I really should be going." John muttered quickly, glancing at his watch to see that it was nearing nine thirty, and of course he was working the morning shift at the diner again. Sleep was a precious thing, especially when his life was getting busier and busier.
"Yes of course, I'm sorry to have kept you talking." Father Holmes muttered almost guiltily, dropping his head in shame.
"Not to worry Father, you're just being friendly. However I really must go, enjoy your night, and maybe I'll see you again before Sunday." John decided with a forced smile, not really knowing what to say or how to end a conversation that had never even started. And so he turned quickly, not even waiting for the Father to bid his own farewell, before slipping out of the doors through which he had entered and jumping into his car, heading home to the loneliness that was soon to overwhelm him.
John's life had started to adopt a sort of schedule, an extremely stressful and action packed schedule but a schedule all the same. He woke up at hell o'clock to go to work, hating his life as the steam from the grill burnt his face (the best day was payday of course, where he got to leave that miserable place with a roll of money in his hands), after work he went to the hospital to visit Rosie, sometimes bringing her little presents, and when finally he was kicked out of the hospital because she needed to do this or that he headed home. John hadn't made a habit of stopping at the church, only when he felt like the situation was dire did he bother himself with trying to sneak into the doors and avoid Father Holmes at the same time. It wasn't like he didn't like the priest; of course, it was just that he didn't think the priest liked him. Surely he was just making polite conversation, as all priests seemed to be obligated to do, and yet all of his words felt forced, as if he was forcing them out of his mouth just for the sake of talking. What little conversations they had in the past all ended very awkwardly, with both of them rocking on their heels, thinking of something to say, before one of them finally decided that it was time to make their leave. Not only that, but Father Holmes was obviously just aching to unlock John's tragic backstory. He hadn't asked yet of course, however John suspected that the priest pondered over what could bring him to that church nearly every night, and every time John mentioned something about the hospital or his rough patches in life the priest's ears perked up, as if hoping to learn more. Surely John wasn't hiding anything about his daughter, it wasn't like he was embarrassed that she was sick, it just wasn't something he wanted to talk about day in and day out. People love to gossip, and even more they liked to feel like they were a part of something, like they were helping out just by asking him if he was okay every five minutes. People pitied him tremendously when they found out that he was a single father to a daughter in the hospital, and John found their sympathy to be irritating at most. He could only eat so many casseroles and accept so many apologies (for something they didn't even do remember) and receive so many sympathy cards. They were acting like she was already dead! It was just bothersome; it only reminded John that he was different from all the rest, and that his life was turning ever more tragic as he progressed. Of course Father Holmes only wanted to help, and to be honest the help of a priest would be virtually invaluable, maybe it was just pride keeping John from letting that priest into his life. Maybe it was just stubbornness, the masculine mirage that he could handle everything himself. John attended church that Sunday, not the seven o'clock mass however, because he still was obligated to man the grill, but at three o'clock, right before he went to the hospital. There was barely anyone in attendance, John was among ten or twenty people who milled along the pews, all sitting very spread out, as if all of the other parishioners were going to give them diseases when they gave the sign of peace. John sat alone in a pew, flipping through song book to entertain himself while he waited for the mass to begin. The little altar servers were still trying to light the candles, struggling with the matches that they had been given and cursing under their breath, however just loud enough so that everyone in the room could hear their remarks when the match light fire and the boy dropped it in shock onto the marble floor. Finally the lady who sang all the songs came to help, lighting the candles effortlessly before shoving the matchbox rather angrily into the boy's hand, disappearing through the door behind the altar and leaving the poor altar server to race in a slight panic after her. John could only smile, finding that to be one of the most entertaining spectacles to ever happen in this drab old church. The music started to play and they all stood up, flipping to their respective pages in the song book and singing along to the very uncreative and rather repetitive song about God or Jesus or something like that while the priest, deacon, and some other glorified book carriers made their way down the middle of the aisle. John wouldn't say he was surprised to see Father Holmes leading the small parade, singing along as if he had remembered the song by heart and draped in robes of white and gold. It was almost as if Fate that heard that Father Holmes made John rather uncomfortable, and so he sent him to lead a mass with only twenty people, where John would be only too recognizable from the crowd. As Father Holmes got situated on the altar the song ceased, and while the organist kept playing from who knows where the people quieted, tucking their songbooks away and waiting for the okay to sit down. John always thought the Catholic traditions were rather irritating; it was the same ritualistic mass over and over again, simply with new songs, stories, and sermons. As much as he felt obligated to continue on with the religion of his parents he was always kind of annoyed when he couldn't sit without permission. Father Holmes glanced over the crowd, obviously spying John immediately before looking away down the middle of the aisle awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as if he knew that his gaze made John uncomfortable. John kept his head down, saying his prayers and blessing himself when told to do so before sitting back down onto the pew, not overly eager to have to stare at Father Holmes's hypnotizing eyes for the entirety of the hour long mass. It actually went quick, John only glanced up at the altar a couple of times and most of those times Father Holmes was looking either at the book in front of him, the wall at the back of the church, or at some other people that had been scattered about. However there was always that one time when John would look up and see the priest staring directly back at him, and their eyes would meet for a split second before stuttering slightly and looking away. It was as if John's eye contact was enough to make him forget what he was saying entirely, as if nothing more than John's gaze was enough to shut his brain off from God for that split second. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Was that flattering or just plain creepy? After making that mistake once John was smart enough to keep his gaze directed at the floor, trying his best to be attentive all while trying to keep that priest's words from infesting his brain too much. There was even something about his voice, something that seemed a bit off. It was almost as if he was preoccupied with John's being there, as if he was nervous about something, about his selected audience of one. When finally they ended the last song and Father Holmes made his exit it had felt like merely ten minutes and a whole year all at the same time. However John knew that this was the most stressful part, the part where he had to be the most tactical. Father Holmes would man the door, the only exit, and try to talk to everyone before they left. Now of course John could wait until he was very occupied talking with some annoying old lady or he could simply get it over with and have a little chat, however he didn't want any unnecessary questions asked. He didn't want to have to explain how he was going to the hospital immediately after mass. John quietly followed the procession of people all leaving the church, filing through their pews and spilling out into the center aisle. The three o'clock crowd was usually all old people, milling about and walking ever so slowly with their walkers and their canes, talking to each other excitedly about some sort of spaghetti dinner the church was hosting. According to the elders it was this Friday night, five o'clock or something like that. Even though John had virtually no interest in attending it was pleasing to hear about how excited the older parishioners got about the idea of all you can eat spaghetti for only eight dollars or something like that. It was most likely going to be very mediocre pasta, mediocre sauce, and slow service, and yet the old timers were probably only looking for a reason to go out and spend time with their friends. John walked very slowly, keeping his head down; he was starting to hear Father Holmes's voice above the rest, talking loudly and sounding ever so enthusiastic about whatever those old people could throw at him. John was trying to look around for a side door, or perhaps an exit that wasn't blocked by the chatty priest, and yet there seemed to be no option. He had to go through and say hello.
"Mr. Watson, it's good to see you." Father Holmes said with a smile, holding out his hand to shake as John walked through the door. He simply smiled back, trying not to wince as he felt the priest's suspiciously soft fingers wrap around his own. Except he didn't let go, John was expecting a hand shake and instead Father Holmes simply held John's hand between both of his, trapping him there as the rest of the small crowd pushed past. John immediately went tense, his fingers squirming inside of the soft prison they were now trapped in. This wasn't a normal form of greeting, was it?
"It's um, it's good to see you too." John muttered nervously, looking up at Father Holmes and forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He hated those eyes, those tragically beautiful eyes, with blues and greens combined in something of a galaxy; they were so distracting yet so hard to look into at the same time.
"Mr. Watson I hope you heard about our spaghetti dinner on Friday night, we're looking for volunteers to be cooks and waiters." Father Holmes started, still with his hands over John's. John cleared his throat, nodding and trying to think of a good excuse not to show up.
"Yes um, well, I don't know I'm very busy these days, with work and with Rosie and..."
"Rosie?" Father Holmes wondered softly, his eyebrows rising in interest before John silenced himself indefinitely.
"I'm sorry Father, but I really need to go." John stammered, stumbling away from the priest before he could ask anymore invasive questions. Father Holmes's face fell, as if finally realizing he was prying, and let go of John's hand in a sudden revelation. He looked horrified with himself of course, growing paler by the second as if by disturbing John he was betraying himself.
"My apologies Mr. Watson." He muttered, however John was already starting for the door, walking swiftly yet trying to make it seem like he was in no hurry. He didn't want to hurt the Father's feelings, of course, but surely the man should realize that he was going too far too fast? They weren't friends; they were hardly even acquaintances, why should he think he was entitled to John's entire life story? Nevertheless John pushed his confusion from his mind; he tried to focus on the positives. He had a priest on his side, a direct line to God, if he could somehow recruit Father Holmes to help him get Rosie back on her feet maybe all of this invasive conversation would be worth it. Maybe that priest could be John's secret weapon, his own tool to help his daughter cheat death.