As God Intended

Meddling With Demons

Inside was the usual setup, a large metal table dotted with uncomfortable plastic chairs. There was a large black window on one side of the room, undoubtedly a one way mirror if the police chose to witness this interaction, though John had a feeling even the authorities wouldn't care what they had to say. Even if they were listening in, what were the chances they believed a word of it? The only thing that seemed out of place was the man at the table, being as though he looked more like a sack of potatoes than any man John had seen before. He was crouched over in a bent position, as if he had lost the strength necessary for keeping his posture upright. His long arms flung down towards the ground, his limp fingers nearly dragging against the concrete floors as his gaze fixed permanently downwards, all together unaware that he had visitors. John was beginning to wonder if this man could really be the same that haunted Sherlock's nightmares, considering he had degraded into such a state of dormancy and even evoking some pity. He seemed utterly defenseless, so much farther than a nightmare that John found it almost amusing. Despite his confusion, Sherlock seemed to be set upon the string of emotions that was being pulled through his head, wrapping him in a choke hold and nearly suffocating him with the pressure. John's fingers had lost blood a while ago, though even still he found that the priest's grip could tighten. With a quick glance towards his companion, John saw Sherlock's face had paled into the color of white porcelain, his knees trembling as if he was about to topple over with the weight of his past memories. It took the man a long time to make a move; in fact he was hardly able to take a step towards his designated chair, considering that a seat there would put him directly within the view of the old, crippled Father James. Still the old priest did not raise his head, making John wonder if this interview was going to be worth the struggle. Perhaps the old man was senile, and they could get no more conversation out of him than they would with the wheelchair he was sitting in?
"Sit down." John instructed at last, patting Sherlock's shoulder and beginning to push him in the right direction. Thankfully the priest's feet began to shuffle, and finally John was able to seat him across the table from the crooked form of Father James. The old man was stirring, finally trying to lift his head to peer at the visitors who had come to see him. His face was sagging with wrinkles, undoubtedly heavy from all of this time bent down in shame. His eyes were watery and filled with cataracts, and his lips were trembling with the effort of trying to speak a word. Though there was a spark of intelligence still hidden in those eyes, such a quick brain that even John began to feel uncomfortable in his presence. Upon looking at the man's wrinkled face he could begin to see what scared Sherlock so much, he could begin tracing the man back to the crime.
"To see me?" the Father muttered at last, his voice rough and scratchy as if he hadn't used it in a long while.
"Yes sir, we have a couple of questions we would like to ask you." John agreed, speaking for Sherlock when he noticed the priest had fallen into a silent state of fear. John gave Sherlock's hand a quick shake; though in an effort to look a bit more approachable he unraveled his fingers and pulled them from Sherlock's grip. From there he folded his arms on the table before him, leaning forward so as to make his voice more distinguishable for the old, struggling man.
"No one's cared to ask me a question since I got in this hole." The priest grumbled, finally pulling his arms from the floor with some effort and setting them carefully upon the table.
"Well, perhaps no one was in need of your particular expertise." John suggested a bit nervously, though he rather regretted the words as they escaped him. Judging on this man's complicated history, it would seem as though he had many expertise that were unappreciated by society.
"We need to know about demons." Came Sherlock's first words of the afternoon, finally pulling himself up into a confident position and declaring his words meaningfully. John looked over towards his companion again, giving him a smile of encouragement and hoping the priest found enough strength to continue on with the rest of this meeting. John was perfectly willing to interrogate, though he had yet to know what questions were even worth asking.
"Demons?" the priest laughed, shuffling about in his wheelchair with noticeable effort as if the topic excited him more than he could let on. "What could a nice young man like you want with demons?"
"Don't...don't call me that." Sherlock managed, shivering from head to toe and leaning even farther back into his chair, as if to put as many inches between himself and the priest as he could.
"We have a demon trapped in our schoolhouse." John put rather bluntly, figuring that Sherlock was lost for the moment and the conversation needed to be saved. For a moment the priest stared, as if trying to determine if John was joking with him or not. It was an incredibly bold claim, one that was not entirely comprehensible without further explanation.
"A demon itself, or a demon inside of a host?" the priest wondered.
"A host." Sherlock said quickly, trying to get himself back within the conversation. "And I have reason to believe that he's been escaping, going about his own plans while making us believe we had the upper hand."
"They're deceitful creatures, and incredibly slippery. Have you got him under the bondage spells?" Father James wondered.
"No spells. Just...just belts and rope." Sherlock admitted quietly, to which John winced. When admitting to their restraining methods it really was no wonder the demon escaped. Father James found this to be quite amusing, though his laughs sounded more like a wheezing cough, so much so that John almost got up to fetch him a rescuing glass of water. Perhaps the man had not laughed in a long time, so long he had forgotten just how to make it sound humorous and not painful.
"Father...what is it I should call you?" the man wondered, at last realizing he did not have a name to go along with the face. Sherlock stiffened in his chair, looking over towards John with that look of idiocy in his face again. John could tell the gears in his brain were spinning, though not quite quick enough to be convincing.
"Father Watson." He spit out at last. John took a deep breath of annoyance, though he had to admit there was a nice ring to it.
"Father Watson, very nice. You will need more than human bonds to keep a demon, inside of a book called Demonology you will find bonding spells to keep a demon still. With these enchantments placed upon your silly belts and ropes it will be impossible to keep the demon restrained, so long as the will of the Father does not waver." The priest suggested, speaking a lot longer than John imagined he could. as the man continued to talk he seemed to grow more confident, as if he was slowly remembering how it was to hold a conversation. John wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, though as their conversation continued he noticed the priest seemingly growing larger, as if he was taking over the room not only with his influence, but with his body as well. In comparison poor Sherlock seemed to be shrinking, perhaps offering up his mass to his tormentor without intending to.
"What do you mean, the will of the priest?" Sherlock wondered quickly.
"The blessings you put upon the ropes will only be as holy as your spirit, Father Watson. One wrong move and it weakens. Tarnish your soul with sin and mischief; well you will be in turn feeding the demon, rather than containing it." Father James warned. Sherlock nodded stiffly, dropping his eyes back onto the table and shuffling his fingers together.
"A bonding spell." Sherlock muttered. "I could manage it."
"It's not a difficult thing to do." The priest assured. "Though it takes an untarnished soul."
"I am pure." Sherlock growled, undoubtedly keeping the rest of his thoughts closed and locked behind his teeth. Father James chuckled again, as if he knew he couldn't be fit into the same category.
"What is this demon's plot you allude to?" the Father asked, finally breaking the silence that began to grow in between the competing men.
"He's got his eyes on my wife." John piped in, wanting to offer some sort of help in this situation.
"An incubus, if I'm not mistaken. His wife claims to have been visited by someone...though he's been known to take the shape of others." Sherlock admitted finally. "Though with what motive...that's beyond me."
"The child of a demon is a powerful thing, Father Watson. Do not question the motives of the creature before you understand exactly what is at stake." Father James warned.
"Hamish can't be a child of a demon!" John defended weakly, pounding rather angrily upon the table in protest to this ridiculous suggestion. "He'd have hooves and...and a tail!"
"He is not the biological child; you will be pleased to know. An incubus takes the reproductive power of its host, merely infecting the baby with a portion of his spirit, not with a portion of his biology. Only Satan himself can pass along demonic genes. Therefore, your baby will take upon the appearance of the demon's host, rather than the demon itself." Father James assured.
"That would explain the blue eyes." Sherlock muttered to himself, in such a whisper that John almost protested. So he had noticed an irregularity and had only just mentioned it now? The man didn't know whether or not to be relieved, for while this was still not his own child it wasn't entirely a creation of Satan.
"So what then, okay, so he's got some demon's spirit? Is that why he's all psychic? Breaking things, throwing things when he's upset?" John suggested, wanting to disprove the church's ghost while he was at it.
"The child will show powers early on, and grow at a faster rate. This is the impatience of the demon, manifesting itself within his body." The priest admitted.
"So he's an antichrist?" Sherlock assumed.
"Of a sort. Only Satan's child is truly the antichrist, this child is merely demonic spawn. He's all together useless to the Lord of the Underworld, at least in his current form." the priest sighed, curling his withered fingers together with a look of particular excitement. This didn't hold much hope for either of his visitors, considering what brought the demented priest joy could only mean more trouble for those who would have to deal with this mounting situation.
"His current form?" John clarified. Father James nodded quietly, his watery eyes rising to bear right into poor Sherlock's gaze. The younger priest hesitated, clenching his fists around the edge of the table as if trying to summon the strength he needed to face off with his aggressor. It must have been hard to look such a man in the eyes, a man who caused so much pain fifty years after his crime.
"This spawn holds a certain power within its soul, a power unlike that of a possessed host. Instead of being pushed out by the demon he had uncaptured the demon within him, multiplying its power unintentionally within his body. Think of it as a can of soda that has been shaken, and all of the force that is released when finally the cap is unscrewed." Father James suggested.
"No one's going to be unscrewing my child." John debated.
"I'm afraid that's not entirely up to you." The priest sighed. "To kill a spawn such as this causes a great explosion of this multiplied power, and when directed towards a specific purpose it can harness enough power to do great harm, or perhaps preform great miracles."
"Kill him!" John exclaimed, rising to his feet and pounding his palms against the table in protest. Both priests jumped, though Father James was so immobilized all he could properly do was shrug his shoulders and lurch his old neck backwards.
"John, sit down." Sherlock demanded, pulling heavily upon John's arm and forcing the man back into the chair he had risen from. In some embarrassment John rearranged himself, though his jaw was still set and his fists still clenched, ready to confront anyone who was preparing to kill his child so easily.
"With this power, what do you think is most likely to occur? Is our demon planning on leveling a city?" Sherlock asked at last, finally creating some rational questions in the wake of John's mindless passionate responses. Father James wondered for a moment, as if going over the most possible situations within his mind.
"Well, he would have the ability to do that I suppose. Though if this demon is intelligent, which you make him out to be, he'd realize that wiping out a single city would be all he could accomplish after all of these schemes. That is, admittedly, a bit underwhelming for the creatures of Hell." Father James sighed.
"What would be more favorable?" Sherlock wondered anxiously.
"Well, I suppose he could have the power to summon up the man who could level the whole world." Father James sighed.
"Satan?" John whispered nervously. "He could summon Satan?"
"If I was a demon, I think that would be my first plan of attack." Father James admitted, raising his hands up with some struggle as if to ensure his crowd that these ideas were purely theoretical. John sat dumbfounded in his chair, staring at the old priest as if trying to find a smile poking through his lips, trying to find any reference to this being an elaborate joke. No, there could not be any such thing as Satan? All of this talk of demons, antichrists, and devils was just theoretical, some sort of elaborate metaphor? Sherlock was silent as well, though there was a seriousness upon his face that began to worry John more than the words of some musty old pedophile. If Sherlock was taking this seriously then there must be cause for alarm.
"Satan, I thought that was just some Bible mumbo jumbo, stuff made to scare us into not killing each other?" John clarified nervously.
"Spoken like a nonbeliever." Father James commented with some dissatisfaction.
"You'll have to excuse him." Sherlock muttered, to which John sneered in defense. "Father, if this truly is the demon's intentions, would these bonding spells work to prevent it?"
"I would not trust those spells so completely against the workings of a demon. Already, Father Watson, your soul might be sliding towards the edge of a precipice." Father James warned, to which Sherlock's cheeks glowed involuntarily red. Whether this was a flush of guilt or rage, John could not tell, though he observed the interaction with silent, careful eyes.
"So what power do we have? Could we possibly exorcise this demon without the sanction of the church?" Sherlock asked apprehensively.
"What, can't you get Bishop Moran interested?" Father James chuckled, as if he already knew the answer to that one.
"He does not believe in demons." Sherlock said quietly. "That is why we had to come to you."
"And it's well that you did." The old priest agreed. "I believe you could exorcise the demon, though not in your current state."
"My soul is untainted, Father, do not worry about that!" Sherlock demanded, to which John nodded quick agreement. From what he knew of Sherlock's pastimes he imagined that drinking was his only vice, one which was shared by all priests who had a sip of the altar wine.
"Not your soul, Father! Your Faith!" the priest insisted, batting his arm with considerable effort very slowly through the air. "God cares not about his most loyal followers, those who walk with their hands over their eyes, following the shining of his light! His most obedient soldiers are disregarded, and left to fend for themselves. It is only once you peer out from behind your fingers, when you spread your hand and take a good look at the world around you. He will reach to correct you, and that...that is when you may take his hand."
"To sin?" Sherlock whispered. "You're asking me to sin?"
"You will need the power of your Lord on your side, if you will be facing off against the power of the Devil. Only then will you summon the strength to banish your incubus back to Hell." Father James insisted, his eyes glinting with seriousness as Joh hesitated within his chair. From what he could make of this conversation the old priest had warned Sherlock against sinning in order to keep their demon controlled, though now he was encouraging it? What sort of oxymoron was this?
"And with this banishment, does he take the child with him?" Sherlock asked quietly. "That and...and all his other doings?"
"The human soul will remain with your son. The demon will be expelled from him, as will the rest of his tricks." Father James assured. Sherlock nodded quietly, his shoulders dropping as if this was the first bout of bad news he had yet received. John wasn't so sure of what he was going on about until suddenly he studied his face, his young face...
"It was the demon?" John whispered, suddenly putting these pieces together. No angelic miracle had turned the clock back for Father Holmes; no touch of God had restored his youth! This demon had been meddling with things long before he had visited Mary, he must have been plotting his evil schemes from the moment he had first arrived! Could it be that Father Holmes was living with the youth of the Devil, only offered to him through a series of tricks? And with the banishment of the demon, and therefore all of his schemes, would he be reverted back to his usual form?
"John, we'll speak of this later." Sherlock whispered anxiously. "But I think that we have learned all we need."
"Seems you have a difficult task ahead of you, Father Watson." The priest laughed.
"I can do it." Sherlock insisted.
"Can do what, dear? Stop the devil, or summon your God?" Father James questioned, his eyes widening with the excitement of the affair.
"Both. I have faced off with demons before, and survived the encounter." Sherlock defended, getting quickly to his feet and towering over the crippled frame of the old priest as if calling attention to his superiority. For a moment Father James's eyes struggled to meet those of his aggressor, though there was undeniable confusion within his expression, as if he was trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle that would not so easily connect.
"Father Watson, have we met before?" the priest asked suddenly. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched against the metal table as if he was using all of his powers of restraint. He knew he shouldn't harm this priest, not after the invaluable information they had been offered, though his past betrayed him. Helpful or not, Father James was still better off dead. It was only the powers of the law, and undoubtedly of God, that stayed Sherlock's hand.
"You have hurt people, Father James. And you have hurt me." Sherlock growled.
"Let's not...let's not get excited." John suggested, though with a bat of his hand Sherlock silenced him effectively. John sat back in his chair, nodding his head and deciding not to get involved. Certainly this was a moment of self-actualization, a moment in which Sherlock faced off with the troubles of his past and came out victorious. This was his time to rise above his trauma, and he would not be restrained by the meager suggestions of his friend.
"Father Watson, dare I say you are far too young to have ever been hurt by the likes of me." Father James defended, a crooked smile erupting from behind his cracked lips, one which sent shivers of discomfort down John's spine. He could not look upon that face for much longer without wanting desperately to smack that smile right off.
"I'm older than I look, Father." Sherlock demanded. "You are a sick, twisted human. You speak of God; you pretend to serve him, while you have sinned against his most precious creations! You are wholly damned to have taken advantage of me, to have used my innocence to your advantage, and my inexperience to aid in your silence!"
"Father Watson..."
"Father Holmes!" Sherlock exclaimed, smacking his hands once more against the table and causing the aluminum to ring out in great echoes of metallic song. For a moment that was all which could be heard, though slowly John was able to hear a soft noise of realization mounting within the ancient priest's throat. Sherlock stood seething over the table, taking deep breaths of agony while John sat perched upon his chair, ready to pounce upon the first move of aggression.
"Holmes. I've known that name before." Father James whispered, his eyes blinking quickly as he stared upon the appearance of his visitor, only now linking it to a smaller boy once within his classroom. The dark curls, the defined facial structure, the long and lanky limbs which still hung awkwardly after all of these years. John watched the dawn of realization, though he wasn't sure if he appreciated the reunion or not. The man wasn't staring at Sherlock as if he had seen a ghost, he was staring at him with a certain softness which should be reserved only for those you care about, for those you love. He had no purpose for that affection; he had no right to it!
"Little Sherlock Holmes. How slowly you have grown." Father James managed.
"I've meddled with demons." Sherlock explained. "Like I said, I'm older than I look."
"Sherlock Holmes." The man began to chuckle again, that awful smile displaying each one of his rotting teeth behind a foul, tainted display of humor. Sherlock's face had screwed up in agony, now torn between breaking down into his usual shell or continuing on with this moment of power. John took to his feet, trying to stand within the priest's peripheral vision enough to offer himself as moral support, should it be needed.
"Don't laugh!" Sherlock demanded. "You broke me!"
"Broke you, dear? No I wouldn't say so. You never voiced a protest to me." the priest insisted.
"I didn't know!" Sherlock defended, his voice breaking and dropping into a much softer, vulnerable octave. "I didn't know what it meant; I didn't know what it was!"
"Poor innocent Sherlock." Father James chuckled, as if this reunion was joyous to him, like meeting an old lover rather than facing off with his past victim. "Still I see your smiling face."
"Sherlock, Sherlock!" John defended, catching the man's hands as they went hurtling towards the old priest's neck, wincing against the shriek that was emitted from his throat and throwing the man back into the chair he had begun in. The commotion summoned the guards, those who must have been watching through the cameras this whole time, and the door flung open for the defense of Father James.
"He's trying to kill me; he's trying to kill me!" John could hear the priest muttering, waving his old hands around and pulling off his most innocent expression after the arrival of the guards.
"With any luck you'll die on your own!" John growled in response, collecting Sherlock's shivering frame within his arms as the old priest was wheeled hastily out of the room. Suddenly the men found themselves alone, untested by any of the officers as if their reaction was perfectly understood. It would seem as there was no consequence for going after such a provocative and mean spirited man, at least none in the eyes of the law. However for Sherlock, a man who had tried to fight against his past demons and failed, the mental strain was almost too much to bear. Curled like a child upon John's lap the man sobbed into his shoulder, trembling from head to foot and wrapping his thin arms around the back of John's sturdy neck. There was nothing to say in the moment, there was no way to calm a mind which was undoubtedly seeing the world, and the failure, as crystal clear as any onlooker. There was nothing to say to help ease his sorrows, being as though he had set himself up for disaster the moment he got to his feet.