The Devil Was Never Here

The Executioner Is Doing His Best

John was sitting in the back pew, getting to his feet as soon as Sherlock made his grand entrance.
"Are you alright?" John wondered worriedly, walking swiftly over to investigate. However as soon as he got too close Sherlock took it upon himself to take a step back, insisting that he couldn't be tempted to sin only thirty seconds after he had just gone through confession.
"I'm fine." Sherlock lied, feeling a very uneasy grumbling in the pit of his stomach. He was feeling guiltily, beyond guilty in fact, because even as he remembered the priest's words he still wanted to take John up in his arms and kiss him until they were both blue in the face.
"You look kind of pale." John decided, crossing his arms and examining Sherlock's face as if it fascinated him.
"I'm always pale John." Sherlock snapped.
"Well, abnormally pale. Like you're scared of something." John observed, his voice dropping to a softer tone as if he were worried about Sherlock's little mental state.
"I'm fine." Sherlock insisted once more, lying through his teeth. The door opened once more, and Father Franklin came out, stretching his arms and observing the two men with newfound shame. Obviously they have both confessed to the same thing, or at least Sherlock assumed they had, so he now knew basically everything that was going on in their lives, all of the dirty little secrets they kept hidden away.
"Well Mr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, you have been forgiven of your sins as of now, go in peace, go in tranquility." Father Franklin willed, looking very calm as he approached. He didn't seem too disgusted, actually, in fact he seemed rather appreciative, as if he was happy they could both admit to such sins so carelessly. Then again, that had most certainly not been a careless process for Sherlock to endure; he felt very guiltily when the Father's eyes strayed onto him. Sherlock also noticed that John was looking uncomfortable, staring down at his toes and blushing guiltily. He must have confessed, there would be no better explanation for such an act.
"Thank you Father, for everything." Sherlock muttered, deciding that if John wasn't going to be the one to talk he should lead them out of here as smoothly as possible.
"Not a problem Mr. Holmes. And for both of you, heed the word of God, and the sanctity of the promises you have made." Father Franklin pleaded, looking upon them both with concerned eyes. Sherlock even felt rather awkward in his glare, finding it necessary to make sure his shoes weren't scuffed and that the floors were properly cleaned. You know, important stuff, that he had to focus on right this moment.
"We'll be more cautious." John promised, finally speaking up when Sherlock found that his throat had seemingly swollen up. Talking anything about the promises he had made felt like he had been asked to cough up a golf ball, it felt impossible to admit to such things as these and not feel as if the whole church were looking down on you in shame.
"Until then, good luck with the spirit inside you." Father Franklin laughed. "I hope this helped repress it a bit more."
"I hope so too. Maybe I can actually go to sleep tonight." John agreed with a nervous little laugh, eying Sherlock as if hoping he had a little bit of humorous input to the topic at hand. But Sherlock didn't really have anything to say, so he just nodded and let John go on, thanking Father Franklin once more before leading Sherlock out the wooden doors and back into the startling sun.
"Did you tell him?" John wondered, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at Sherlock curiously.
"Yes, of course I told him, did you?" Sherlock asked, daring a look up at his companion before climbing into the car. John waited to buckle up before answering, sitting snuggly in his seat and sighing heavily.
"I felt like I had to, yes." John agreed heavily.
"He didn't seem too happy with me." Sherlock admitted with a regretful sigh.
"No, me neither. Of course he wouldn't be happy, but he went on and on about the sanctity of marriage and all of that stuff. It's rubbish, all of it, everything that's going on." John decided flatly. Sherlock didn't really know what to say to that, so he simply started the car and pulled out of his rather poor parallel parking space.
"What is? Your marriage?" Sherlock wondered, not daring to hope for such a thing.
"No, you, us, I mean...whatever this is. Like I said before, it meant nothing." John insisted.
"Of course it didn't." Sherlock agreed quickly, saying what he thought John would want to hear instead of saying what his brain was telling him.
"I thought you had said it did mean something?" John asked quickly, turning his head so that he could stare directly at the side of Sherlock's face.
"No, no I never said that." Sherlock defended, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
"You were saying how I couldn't blame Irene for my feelings, and that I was in love with you!" John pointed out, talking about this as if he were wishing these statements upon Sherlock, as if he wished they would come back to the table. Maybe he wanted to act on them, to finally take them into account.
"Well, I mean, I never said that directly." Sherlock defended, trying to keep his eyes on the road dispute the feeling of John's eyes on him constantly.
"Well good, because it's not true." John finished, sitting back in his seat and tapping his foot against the floor of the car quickly.
"I know, I thought we had agreed on that before." Sherlock agreed.
"It wasn't even a kiss, it meant nothing, it was just...drunkenness." John decided finally, thinking out loud as he tried to make himself seem more pure. Sherlock nodded in agreement, feeling as though all he could do was agree. Let John ramble, whatever he said he said just to get it out, to put his inner qualms to rest.
"It meant nothing." John repeated again, as if that was going to be his new mantra. Sherlock hummed in agreement, looking over at John with a small, curious smile on his face.
"Would you do it again?" Sherlock wondered casually.
"Oh god yes." John agreed unintentionally, and as soon as those words came out of his mouth he covered his lips with his hand, as if he could possibly shove the words back down his throat. But Sherlock just laughed, that had been the answer he was expecting this entire time. Then again, John didn't seem to find it that funny, and he turned a ghastly shade of white.