He pulled into his driveway not five minutes later, finding that everything was exactly how he had left it the night before. He had almost expected there to be some sort of markings, some sort of warnings, left there by angels who had discovered what he had done. However all was silent, almost suspiciously silent, as he got out of his car and locked it. John knew that he should feel guilty, at least a little bit guilty about having torn Sherlock away from God in the most romantic of ways. It was his fault Sherlock sat there now, most likely being interrogated by Greg while he remained completely motionless in his thin bathrobe. However John honestly thought that the blame here should fall not only on his own shoulders, but on Sherlock's as well. He had been the one to call, to make the arrangements so that the two of them could have the house all to themselves, what did he expect was going to happen? And they were in no danger, of course they weren't, it was all because of a silly little mishap that they had been discovered, it shouldn't change anything, should it? John closed his front door rather agressivley, standing in the middle of his very quiet house while the snowy sunlight filtered in through the cold windows. What was different, what had all changed? He felt off, queasy almost, and the very thought of Sherlock made his head spin. He didn't have anything to be ashamed of, Sherlock had brought this all onto himself, John may be an accomplice to the crime but he certainly wasn't the mastermind behind it all. It just felt wrong; all of it, no matter how magical that night had bene, no matter how beautiful Sherlock had proved to be...there was something missing. There was always something missing, it was just the fact that he hadn't reclaimed it that felt off. Loneliness was supposed to disappear after he had Sherlock all to himself; he was supposed to feel whole again, he was supposed to feel human. After so many days of insisting that Sherlock could be the man to be his permanent company, well after this morning it was becoming increasingly obvious that despite the lengths they would go to make that possible it simply was never going to happen. They had been together, they had been in love, and it still didn't change the fact that they could never be together. Just because he had Sherlock in his arms it didn't mean he had him in his heart, or in his house. What would Sherlock do to fill the hole that John had discovered in his life? What could he do to fix it? It wasn't like he could just move in, it wasn't like he could put all of his black priest outfits in the empty side of John's closet, or drink from the extra coffee mug that still sat on the counter. Just because Sherlock had turned away from God it didn't mean he left the church, it only meant that he didn't deserve to be there. He would never leave his career because of a man that he had spent only a night with, he wasn't going to walk out of the rectory to fill the empty space in John's bed just because he asked him nicely. There was a barrier between them, a barrier that they just now discovered couldn't be broken with a simply declaration of love! It was an immovable object and now John was beginning to realize that they were not an unstoppable force. Sherlock had been stopped; he had been paralyzed, merely with the fact that Greg now knew their secret. No matter how intimate their night had turned out to be John was just now realizing that Sherlock had still been looking for something more, he had been hoping for a spark that had never been ignited. And even now he was returning to the church, he was draping that rosary around his neck and walking the snowy sidewalk to the doors, where he would meet the parishioners with a smile, pretending that nothing had happened. In the end, what had changed? Now they had the experience, now they had the satisfaction, however they also had the knowledge that no matter what they may have told themselves, love didn't always swoop in to save the day. No matter how many times John had told himself that Sherlock was the one for him he was suddenly beginning to realize that maybe he wasn't the one for Sherlock.
Sherlock POV: Sherlock hated to tiptoe around anyone, he hated to keep his head down knowing that he was inferior, or that he had a secret to hide or self-esteem to preserve. Somehow he had gotten through mass without breaking down into guilty tears, he just went along with the plan, the same thing he had been doing for how many days of how many years of his life, it was a pattern, it could be repeated. The same couldn't be said about what happened behind the altar, sitting in his straight backed wooden chair and waiting for Greg to say something, anything, that would help ease his conscience a little bit more. Sherlock knew that Greg was disappointed in him, honestly there wouldn't be a person on earth that wasn't disappointed in him, however there was that aiding factor of denial that had somehow managed to get Sherlock to sink down even lower. How long had he insisted that there was nothing between he and John, and now look at him now, sitting here and waiting for Greg to deliver the final 'I told you so'. However it was Greg's silence that just might be more irritating than his conversation. He was never quiet unless he was making a point to be, and right now his mouth was closed, his hands folded on the kitchen table and his eyes reading back and forth throughout the Bible that was propped up before him. Now Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to believe that Greg was actually reading the Bible for pleasure, nor was he reading it to aid him along with any mass that he had to preform today, no the Bible was a prop, just an extra reminder of Sherlock's sudden treachery. Now Greg, being the serial offender he was, was in no position to taunt Sherlock about his immorality, however Sherlock knew enough about Greg to know that he wasn't going to point out the Bible, he wasn't going to make it seem like it was all part of his long overdue guilt trip, no he would just let it sit out here for Sherlock to observe. He would make Sherlock stare at the worn leather, at the printed gold letters on the front cover, and he would do his best to make Sherlock ponder about how many eyes had scanned the pages, how many hands had held the same book in their hands, and how many hearts have slowly come to accept God. Greg wanted Sherlock to remember how he had let that book down, how he had purposely turned his back on everything that book stood for, how he had betrayed every pair of eyes that had ever scanned the pages and how he had broken every heart that had begun to trust the Father. And yet Sherlock was waiting for something more, usually Greg was a lot more pressing with his issues, usually he was quick to rub them in Sherlock's face, however he was silent, and that was all the more infuriating.
"Do you have something to say?" Sherlock wondered finally, picking up a rather moldy apple and turning it over a couple of times in his white, trembling fingers. Greg shrugged, scanning the pages of his Bible once more as if he hadn't heard Sherlock, or maybe he was just pretending to think about his answer.
"Not really." He admitted finally. Sherlock sighed, leaning forward on his chair and staring intently down at Greg, trying to at least get his attention.
"You always have something to say Greg, especially in a situation like this." Sherlock insisted in an almost pleading voice. Greg pursed his lips and flipped the thin pages, almost as if he was browsing instead of reading.
"Sherlock I don't know what I have to say, I honestly don't. I'm sure in that little head of yours you've conjured up plenty of things for me to say so please, be my guest, and just pick one that best suits you." Greg suggested finally, shutting the book loudly and throwing it across the table towards where Sherlock sat.
"I want you to forgive me, for starters." Sherlock muttered rather guiltily, talking more at the book than at Greg; however he seemed to be addressing both.
"For what? Your little hookup doesn't affect me one bit, what do you have to apologize for?" Greg asked in a little snap, leaning back in his chair with a sigh and rolling his head around on his neck. Sherlock rubbed his eyes miserably, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.
"For taunting you for how many years, for calling you immoral for going out with all those women, it's a terrible realization that I've fallen onto your level." Sherlock admitted in a huff.
"You're not on my level. My level is in the negatives Sherlock, you're nowhere close." Greg muttered rather ironically, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk and shaking his head mournfully. Sherlock watched him with curious eyes, not daring to hope that this was actually going to turn into some sort of apology.
"But I'm a hypocrite, I've tormented you about falling in love and it seems I can't even take my own advice." Sherlock pointed out miserably, however Greg continued to shake his head.
"God Sherlock, sometimes I wonder if you really are the smart one." Greg groaned.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock wondered blankly, never remembering a time where they had received titles for their intelligence. Of course if there had been such a thing he would certainly be dubbed 'the smart one' however he didn't think he was in any position to judge Greg at a time like this.
"I mean I've never been in love. Not with any of those women, not ever. It's not love that drives me, it's lust, it's the magical point where the colors in my blurred vision match with the strobe lights in the bar, and some beautiful woman appears next to me with a smile and a low cut shirt, it's not love Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed miserably. Sherlock blinked at him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at whatever pitiful picture Greg had managed to create.
"Does that make it worse?" Sherlock clarified blankly.
"Yes Sherlock, it makes it a thousand times worse! You knew John for a month, maybe two months, and from the start anyone could tell that there was something there, some sort of attraction. I could tell, and I'm sure you both could to but you...you're just stupid..." Greg muttered, sounding properly enraged by now.
"I'm not stupid." Sherlock defended automatically.
"Ah, then you're in denial! Either way it's pitiful Sherlock, and it gets harder and harder to watch you try to keep yourself a devoted Catholic when it's so obvious that your heart is rattling the bars of its cage." Greg insisted with a frown. "To be honest I was happy to see John this morning."
"You're crazy." Sherlock decided finally, not daring to believe that Greg was actually becoming sympathetic.
"I'm not." Greg muttered finally. Sherlock sighed heavily, running his fingers through his curls stressfully and trying to consider his options here. What was Greg trying to get at, what was he trying to make him do?
"So what now? Do I keep on with this secrecy, do I cut it off, do I expose the both of us? Do I leave the church?" Sherlock wondered horrifically, staring at Greg from across the table.
"Sherlock I'm not going to tell you what to do, God only knows that you'll do whatever you think is best in the end... I'll only suggest that if this feels like true love then you need to take it and run. I don't know how many priests can actually say that they've had this kind of opportunity, to have their soulmate stroll up to them in a church of all places." Greg muttered in a rather bitter tone, as if he envied Sherlock for the luck he's been able to have.
"What if he's not my soulmate? What if I leave the church only for him to leave me?" Sherlock wondered fearfully, suddenly imagining himself sitting on the side of the street, begging for change in a little tin can.
"That's why you wait and see. If you're going to leave the church you need to first make sure that you're making the right choice, the only choice really. Don't leave God unless you're willing to marry John." Greg suggested finally.
"Marriage...I never thought marriage would even be an option for me." Sherlock whispered weakly, slowly coming to the realization that whatever childish fantasies he had always had were slowly beginning to come true. What would his hand look like with a glittering gold wedding band? What would his heart feel like when it became complete? Was John really the man he had been looking for all of these years, was he really the one who would come to complete his soul?
"I envy you Sherlock, truly." Greg admitted with a sigh. "I wish I had a better excuse to leave."
"No one's keeping you here." Sherlock pointed out, trying to say something that would at least cheer Greg up a little bit. Greg, however, just gave a little smile of pity, as if his story was too sad for Sherlock to truly understand.
"Sherlock I could've been anything I wanted to be, except my family wanted me to be a priest. And so I became a priest, not because I had a love for God, not because my mother died and I wanted to make her proud...I became a priest because I was forced to, and what can I do now except continue on with it? I couldn't say no to my family then, I have no hope of saying no to them now, I'm stuck mate...I'm stuck here." Greg admitted miserably. Sherlock didn't know what to say to that and so he kept quiet, struck with an overwhelming pity for Greg, a feeling he usually didn't feel for the man who had always reminded him just how superior he was. It was rather odd, Greg allowing someone to look down upon him, but then again maybe that was his way of cheering Sherlock up.
"Ah never mind that, my stupid sob story is just that, stupid. People have it much worse." Greg insisted finally, waving his hand through the air as if trying to insist that all of that didn't matter, that he could just stuff his soul right back inside after pouring it out to Sherlock, who sat rather stunned across the table from him.
"It's not stupid." Sherlock assured softly. Greg just smiled, a defense mechanism of sorts but a smile all the same, and he leaned forward in his chair rather intuitively.
"See what I want to know is how all of this started. I know the end result, but God I can't imagine what a horrible smooth talker you are. I have to imagine that John was um...in control?" Greg guessed finally. Sherlock felt his cheeks heat up and suddenly he laughed, ducking his head so that Greg couldn't notice all the telltale signs of embarrassment.
"It's none of your business." Sherlock muttered rather defensively, to which Greg just chuckled.
"Oh you poor thing, he probably melted you like butter." Greg guessed with a smile, a sincere one at that. Sherlock giggled a little school girlish giggle, to which Greg laughed even harder. He was right of course, Sherlock was like putty in John's hands, but of course that was none of Greg's business. He should just go back to reading his Bible in silence.
That night at dinner it was disturbingly quiet. Father Turner had been gracious enough to go to the local Italian restaurant and pick them all up their preferred entrées, however Sherlock didn't have much of an appetite after watching his two colleagues stare at each other hatefully across the table. After the events of the day Greg's punishment had slipped his mind, and he just now remembered that Greg was taking the fall for all of Sherlock's mindlessness. In Father Turner's mind Greg had been the one who had someone over, it was Greg's whiskey glasses and Greg's shirt on the floor, and now what was Sherlock supposed to do except sit back and watch them glare? Guilt was already eating him up alive, and now he had to watch one of his closest friends get punished for something he had done? However a little bit of guilt was better than a lifetime of exile, and surely once Greg's punishment was lifted Sherlock could breathe easy once more. To be honest no one knew why they obeyed Father Turner, it wasn't like he was their boss, or their father, or even their superior, however he could just dish out punishments as if he were watching over two meddlesome teenagers who were having trouble finding their place in the world. Sherlock kept his head low, staring at his ravioli as if it had done something to offend him and listening to Father Turner go on and on about how his masses had gone. Sherlock was tuning him out the best he could, simply because he didn't want to admit how terrible his day had been. He had tripped on his way up the alter stairs and to make matters worse he had messed up the prayers that he had said a hundred times, his tongue had just refused to work correctly and he had to stutter and correct himself. It was embarrassing to say the least; however it wasn't only his pride that was damaged but his fearlessness as well. People talk about the fear of God like it was some ancient way of keeping people in line; however Sherlock could've sworn that his day was cursed. Was it God manipulating him from above? That's typical, isn't it; he only cares about you when you decide to leave. Even now Sherlock felt like the worst was about to happen, like there would be a severed thumb unearthed in his ravioli, or possibly Father Turner would suffer a heart attack from the excess of red pepper on his Sicilian pizza. Sherlock felt as if he were cursed, even now his rosary hung heavily on his neck, just ready to catch on the banister of the staircase and hang him as he tried to ascend.
"How was your day Sherlock? I didn't get to see you before I left for the church." Father Turner commented nonchalantly, however Greg's little chuckle into his lasagna made Sherlock's face heat up even more.
"Oh it was uneventful." Sherlock lied, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes glanced guiltily towards the cabinets he had been pressed up against the night previous. Yes, uneventful.
"Well that's not all that bad. Better to have an uneventful day than a bad day, right?" Father Turner said hopefully, looking between the two very unresponsive priests as if he were expecting a giggle or at least some sort of reaction to his little catch phrase.
"Yes I suppose." Sherlock agreed rather miserably. Father Turner nodded, looking around at the two glum priests as if he couldn't figure out why they were so dreary. In the end he obviously didn't care all that much because he went on with eating his pizza, talking only to offer the last garlic knot to whoever wanted it (no one wanted it, so he ate it instead).