The Question of Faith in Baskerville

Chapter Two: On-Going Case

Sherlock paced about the room like a caged tiger, his mind racing, longing for a new challenge, yet also entirely focused on his flat mate. Within the next four months, it will have been a year since the first dreams marking John as a keyblade wielder started. Dreams that ultimately led his best friend to a frankly foolish conclusion of embracing the mindless, blind faith of Christianity. Well, maybe not stupid. John and Molly (his girlfriend and also a Christian) were among the smartest and cleverest people he knew, outside himself and Mycroft of course.

The detective had been sure the former soldier would have dropped the act by now. But no, John was as obsessed with this faith as ever. He was still attending church, dating a Christian woman, almost constantly researching one aspect or the other of the Christian faith. And, John had yet to break. Oh, there had been a few close times. Halted swears, arrested violence, strained kindness easing into true compassion towards those who harassed them. There had to be a breaking point. There just had to be a place where the new perfect John ended and the old human John remained.

Not that Sherlock would confess right now, possibly not even some time after his experiments were done, but he could exert some control over his actions even as his brain raced like a thoroughbred. But he had to know what it would take to break John. Something inside him demanded that he find the answer.

"You could go out and train your own power set," John said, looking through the papers for him.

Sherlock scoffed. "Sniffing out the Light and Darkness within a person is dull, cheating," he said, tossing his harpoon from hand to hand. "Unimportant to solving cases."

John released a breath, obviously a technique for calming his temper. "Jim from IT?" he commented. "Killer cabbies?"

Sherlock scowled. "Your point?"

"Being able to sense the murderous or psychopathic Darkness could have been a help in those cases," John said. "Theoretically, less people would have died."

"I still solved the cases," Sherlock said. "Besides, I didn't have that ability before the Heartless Invasion."

John shook his head, his expression clearly stating, "Why do I bother?"

Sherlock went back to pacing for a few minutes, giving John some time to scour the papers some more. When it didn't appear to be anything forthcoming, he asked, "Nothing?"

"Military coup in Uganda," John offered.

Politics. Sherlock hated politics. No good.

John smiled in amusement.

Oh, no. Not—

"Another photo of you in that hat," John said. "I'm sure Molly is very disappointed."

And the teasing. Well, he could allow that. Not to mention, John was right. Molly hated that hat about as much as Sherlock, though both for different reasons. Maybe Sherlock should finally give in and sit through a photo session sometime so that Molly could have a photo of him without the hat.

"Hm," John moved to another paper. "A cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance," Sherlock growled. He swore as he slammed the harpoon on the floor. True it never garnered a reaction from John before, at least not the reaction he wanted. But at least John reacted a little.

Ah, there it was. The silent sigh and pinching of the nose bridge. So predictable, but also telling. Sherlock had a long way to go before John even started scratching his breaking point.

Well, time to up his game. Again, he could control it, he had been controlling it. But he was feeling just enough of that craving to be convincing. "John, I need some. Get me some," he demanded.