As God Intended

A Loss of Previous Vows

Sherlock POV: Sherlock recognized the chair that he now sat in as the one which was once positioned inside of the priest's break room, the small room that now served as the kitchen for the Watson family. It was a wooden thing, not very impressive when compared to the golden throne like chairs they sat in before the crowd upon the altar. However this chair had always proved to be more comfortable, and when the church had vacated the property he was almost surprised that it was left behind. It was a relief to know that same comfort had not been drained over these couple of weeks, and as he shuffled into the indentation in the wood Sherlock almost felt as if nothing had changed. He was even wearing a long robe once more, this time in the form of a table cloth which had been tucked into his loosened shirt collar, making up for their lack of proper hair styling equipment.
"Now hold still, the more you squirm the more likely it is that I'll poke you." Mary warned, snipping a bit more agressivley as if to prove her point. Sherlock sighed, almost nodding before he remembered that his head was supposed to remain still. The stray hairs began to collect in the divots of the plastic table cloth, unnerving him considerably. He had told her just to straighten his hair out if she could, though he had never specified just long he preferred it to be. Could she be snipping it down to the roots and giving him a nearly clean shaven atrocity? There was no mirror to ease his mind, and it was all Sherlock could do but shrug his shoulders and hope for the best.
"When's John going to be back?" Sherlock asked finally, hoping that discussing her husband would be an interesting enough topic for the both of them. It had been a little uncomfortably quiet for about ten minutes, and before long even the shy priest had some hesitations.
"Tomorrow afternoon, if the schedule holds. But you know planes, they're quite unreliable." Mary sighed.
"Why did he go to a job interview so far away? You'd think that job wouldn't be very convenient." Sherlock pointed out in protest. He wouldn't say that he was feeling neglected, only that he was never issued a formal goodbye. One might expect at least a farewell from someone in the position they were in, not quite friends but not quite enemies, either. Why was it that Sherlock had only found out about John's interview through his wife the next day?
"It's an online job, actually. He'll only have to take business trips to headquarters about every three months. It'll be perfect for him, really. John never did like to leave the house." Mary chuckled, snipping away and letting more beautiful curls fall bouncing upon the table cloth. Sherlock hummed in agreement, taking this as some good news after all. If John chose an online job that would mean he would be staying at home more often, giving the lonely priest at least someone to talk to throughout the day.
"I didn't know the church had Wi-Fi enough to handle that." Sherlock admitted at last, trying to keep his enthusiasm to a minimum. Obviously he shouldn't get his hopes up, considering the job may likely have many other competitive applicants. Perhaps John was only going to be humored, and would come home just as unemployed as before?
"Well we'd handle that if we had to." Mary assured with a shrug. "We're good at adapting."
"Evidentially." Sherlock agreed, hating to have his mind go wandering off in embarrassing directions. It was hard to sit so close within Mary's reach and not think of what john had spoken of, all of his regrets, his fears, and his shameful imaginative affairs. Could it be that Mary was living a lie herself, or perhaps living inside of one constructed by her husband? They were happy, perfectly happy, from what Sherlock could tell. Why was it then that John crumbled under the pressure of confession, spewing out all of his mental struggles to a man he hardly knew? Sherlock had to wonder what was under their smiles, and if Mary was holding back potent secrets that may ring a familiar tune to those of her husband.
"How had John been lately?" Sherlock asked at last, figuring that was a question that would fly under her radar as something not to be too concerned with. It was innocent enough, if not investigated with too much suspicion.
"Oh he's a little stressed, these job interviews get him all worked up." Mary admitted. "He's always been shy in the spotlight."
"I wouldn't take him for the type." Sherlock muttered, always having seen John as a confident, outgoing man.
"Oh well, he only gets nervous when he's out of control. He really doesn't like that." Mary sighed. Sherlock nodded, to which she gave a hiss of annoyance and straightened his head out again with some firm fingers.
"Sorry." Sherlock muttered, and fell silent again. Mary continued to clip, though he breaths turned a bit more forceful, as if she was finally summoning up the courage to ask a question of her own. Sherlock knew the feeling, the pressure of breaking the silence.
"What about you then?" she asked finally. "Now that you've had an extreme makeover, are you going to be returning to priesthood?"
"Well I never left, of course." Sherlock pointed out in defense.
"I meant, well maybe into more active service? Another church perhaps?" Mary suggested.
"Trying to get rid of me?" Sherlock chuckled, to which the woman muttered out excessive denials and apologies.
"No, no. I just meant that you've probably got more energy in you, more potential." She assured at last. Sherlock nodded quietly, understanding that she was trying to solve the problem which was still looming within his conscious mind. Of course this was a version of the question he was asking himself, whether to stay within the priesthood or to break free of whatever chains he had bound himself in too early within his life.
"I'm not sure what I'll be doing in the coming years." Sherlock admitted at last. "I suppose relocation is up to the diocese."
"How long have you been here without active service?" Mary wondered.
"As long as the church has been up for sale I suppose. Months now." Sherlock muttered, trying to remember the exact date before ultimately giving up. His memory may not have regenerated quite as well as his body had, and he was still struggling with the mental blocks that may be associated with a sixty year old man.
"That's a shame." Mary admitted. "But it's good that you keep up your duties to the parishioners. It's good that you're staying active."
"Yes well, it doesn't only help them. I'm an old man without a set schedule; it was nearly driving me insane. Besides, the longer you don't practice your faith the more withdrawn you become. The first Sunday I didn't stand in front of the congregation felt like a sin in itself." Sherlock muttered.
"I'm sure God forgives you for that, and rewards you for everything you've done since. I mean obviously something came out of it! You are practically stunning." Mary chuckled, pushing Sherlock's head back as she began snipping at the ends of hair that hung near his neck.
"Thank you, but like I said before...it all seems rather suspicious to me." Sherlock admitted.
"Like some sort of set up?" Mary presumed.
"Yes. A plot, some sort of strange devilry." Sherlock agreed mournfully, keeping his eyes down upon his knees as instructed as the woman's hands steadied his neck at the appropriate angle. Her skin was warm against his own, with her fingers wrapped to contort around his protruding shoulder blades.
"How so?" she wondered softly, the steady snipping of the scissors pausing for a moment as she took time to understand. Sherlock heaved a great sigh, not all together excited about sharing his darkest fears to the woman who stood behind him. Then again, what other choices would he have to express himself? He could never say such things to John, who would undoubtedly torment him to no ends. And besides John, what other friends did he have?
"Like I said before, I fear it's a plot to break my faith in God. Or at least tarnish my reputation in his eyes. Regaining youth comes along with all of the temptations along the way, and the question of how the rest of my life will progress. I'm faced again with a cross roads, having already took one path. It seems only logical that the other path should be my choice, even if that means betraying the trust of our Heavenly Father." Sherlock admitted quietly, poking at some of the loose hairs upon his makeshift apron while Mary processed all that she heard.
"You mean you're considering leaving the Church entirely?" she presumed at last.
"I'm not considering anything. But I am not so ignorant as to pretend my options are not there." Sherlock admitted quietly. Mary's scissors regained their usual rhythm, though her hand still had not moved from where it had settled upon his neck. This came as some concern for the poor priest, though he decided that he was not trained in the exact art of hair cutting. He best not think into things too much.
"What would you do if you left?" Mary wondered at last. Sherlock shrugged, feeling Mary's hand go up and down with his shoulders as he pondered what the future could hold. What would he do if he did run off into the real world?
"I'm not sure, really. I'd be without a job, without a home, without a family. Alone, destitute, and without any proper experience." Sherlock admitted.
"You could always come here, if you needed a place of transition." Mary offered finally.
"I won't make plans for something that is improbable, but I do appreciate your offer." Sherlock interjected quickly, hoping that his words were not erupting too much excitement within the woman. Certainly she had to understand that this was all hypothetical, in fact it was a bit too far away from probable that the words may very well be disregarded as soon as they left their mouths.
"Would you get married?" the woman asked at last, as if this was the question she had been leading to this whole time. Sherlock paused in his response, trying to reexamine the life he had envisioned for himself in the future. He had always seen a ring upon his finger, but as to whom he imagined his partner, that part was as shielded to his eyes as ever before.
"I'm not sure. It would depend if the right person came along, I suppose." He admitted at last, figuring that was a safe and ambiguous answer. Mary nodded, as if that was the sort of response she had expected from a man who spoke for a living.
"Not to give you my own opinion, but I think it would be silly to pursue the life you just left. Especially if you're staying on track to become that miserable man again." Mary offered at last. Sherlock sneered, even daring to stretch his neck and confront the woman with a glare.
"Miserable?" he clarified.
"Yes, miserable! Rude, unfriendly, unsociable. It nearly took all of our strength just to get you to acknowledge us, much less to like us!" Mary agreed quickly. Sherlock grumbled, shaking his head to which the woman slapped him back into position once more. "Stop moving."
"I was only miserable because you had stolen my place of work." Sherlock pointed out.
"That all changed when you got your future back." Mary remembered. "As soon as you were back to our age you seemed to have changed. It didn't bother you anymore."
"It still bothers me, but I've grown used to it. That was the initial shock; you caught me at a bad moment." Sherlock defended at last. "Miserable may be appropriate in the context of our first couple meetings, but it did not reflect my personality at the time."
"Well, either way you're happier now. Either way I like you much better, too." Mary admitted with a little chuckle, catching her hand along Sherlock's cheek and giving it a little pat of admiration. Sherlock forced himself to smile, though admittedly he was feeling rather uncomfortable. He was only too aware of the position he had found himself in with this woman, this married woman. Alone inside of a church at eight o'clock at night, with no promise of her husband returning. It sent shivers down his spine, though what Sherlock was feeling wasn't any sort of temptation at all. It was instead a sense of dread, a fear that would come along with the flirtation he had dealt with most all of his life. He was beautiful at any age, of course to those who fit within the same decade as himself. Certainly it was beyond his power to control this, but it had always made him feel something like a tiger trapped in a cage, getting awed at by those on the other side of the bars. Sherlock never liked the feeling, and tonight was no different. He could hear it in the tone of the woman's voice, slight higher now, as if she had forgotten all about her commitments and the state of friendship they were struggling to maintain. Suddenly Sherlock wanted to leave, though he forced himself to sit in that chair and maintain small talk with Mary Watson as she finished up his makeshift haircut. Thankfully that was the end of their more troubling conversations, though by the end Sherlock was almost too happy to shed that table cloth onto the floor and bid the woman goodnight. She bid him farewell in her friendly way, waving cheerfully and allowing him to slip out the side door as he usually did. It was such an easy exit that Sherlock wondered if he had scared himself for no reason, and had made up the woman's intentions within his head. It wouldn't be the first time he imagined things, especially not when he was in such close proximity to a Watson.