The Devil Was Never Here

Sinful Sleeping Beauty

    The Watson household stood where it always did, its roof high above them in the afternoon sunlight. If anyone had driven past they wouldn't see anything wrong, abnormal, or demonic at all. It was just a house, an old house, but a house all the same. It didn't look as if it harbored any sort of demons at all, it didn't look as though there would be a showdown of Heaven and Hell in its very walls. Sherlock climbed out of the car as soon as it stopped, rushing into the house without knocking. Mary and Rosie were sitting on the couch in the living room; Mary looked very tense as she tried to read Rosie a story with a shaking voice. It was no wonder she was so scared, because as soon as Sherlock entered the house he heard the screaming, the yells from upstairs, as John screeched and the Aspiration veered in and out of control.
"Sherlock, thank god." Mary mumbled, putting down the book and rushing to her feet.
"He's up there." Father Franklin said obviously, looking up the old wooden staircase that led to the hallway.
"So I gathered." Sherlock agreed. "What has he been saying?"
"Nothing much, nothing that I could understand at least." Mary admitted.
"Mommy why is daddy screaming?" Rosie asked from the couch, taking the book in her hands and clutching it protectively to her chest.
"Daddy's sick Rosie, I told you that." Mary lied, and Rosie nodded, not looking completely satisfied with her answer. Sherlock sighed, the screams that penetrated the ceiling sending chills down his spine. It was John's voice, it was John's pain, it was his agony. Sherlock had to stop it, but he didn't know how. They had to let the Aspiration take complete control, they had to encourage John to lose this battle and save his strength.
"I'll go upstairs." Sherlock decided, making a move towards the staircase when Mary's hand caught his arm.
"We need to get Rosie safe." She begged. Sherlock looked at her curiously, wondering why she wouldn't want to leave as well.
"Yes of course, you can take her to Molly's." Sherlock decided, easing his foot off of the staircase.
"I'm not leaving my husband." Mary said firmly, and Sherlock's eyes caught Father Franklin's, who wore an expression of pity. She was being loyal to the man who had betrayed her, and that was a tragedy in itself.
"You need to be safe Mary, that's the first priority." Sherlock insisted.
"I need to be there for John, I need to help him." Mary begged. Sherlock sighed heavily, and looked towards Father Franklin once more.
"It's your choice, of course. Just know that this will be dangerous, and maybe at sometimes painful for your husband. It won't be pretty." Father Franklin insisted.
"Well that's precisely why he needs me!" Mary agreed, looking between the two doubtful men as if she were shocked that they underestimated her loyalty.
"Then you can drive Rosie over and return yourself." Sherlock agreed.
"I can do that." Mary agreed with a determined nod.
"Alright, alright, do that. Bring her toys, let Molly babysit." Sherlock agreed carelessly. He didn't really mind Mary's being there as long as Rosie was out of harm's way. He knew that Mary was doing this for the same reason he was, to protect the man they loved. And he wasn't going to be the one to stop her, not again. Mary nodded, dashing upstairs without even considering what lay ahead.
"Mary, Mary don't go up there alone!" Sherlock called, rushing up the stairs as well.
"The door's locked, he's safe in there." Mary insisted, running to Rosie's room and grabbing a princess tote bag, shoving as many toys and dolls as she could into the bag. Sherlock stood very awkwardly near the door, wondering if he should come clean to her about everything he had done to ruin her life.
"Could you grab that tiara from the dresser there?" Mary asked before Sherlock could say something, and he just nodded, handing her the plastic tiara for her to shove into the bag with all of the other things.
"Mary I think, I think I should probably..." Sherlock started, wringing his hands nervously.
"Sherlock!" screamed a voice from the end of the hallway, cutting off Sherlock's words as if he didn't want them said. Sherlock was silent, he couldn't respond, he didn't know what he would say if he did, he just stood frozen on the spot, letting the screams that followed pierce his eardrums like knives.
"He's been calling for you all day." Mary explained carelessly, pushing past Sherlock with the full bag and descending the stairs once more.
"Where's the key?" Sherlock called, remember that Mary had mentioned that John was locked inside the bedroom.
"Above the door, where it always is." Mary shrugged. She said some unheard things to Father Franklin and to Rosie, but before Sherlock could ask any more questions he heard the door open and close, and soon the slamming of car doors and the low growl of an engine. Father Franklin joined him at the top of the stairs just as soon as Mary had left, standing in the dark old hallway and staring at the end, which had a very eerie, evil feeling to it. But Sherlock couldn't help himself, he needed to go down there, to see John one more time, to try to tell him just what to do. It was essential that they pass through the shadows and emerge on the other side. So he took a step, his feet creaking across the old wooden floorboards that hid under the worn carpet. Sherlock walked down the dark hallway very carefully, straying farther and farther away from where Father Franklin stood, immobilized.
"I'll let you have a moment." he assured, looking regretful to even let that happen.
"Thank you." Sherlock agreed, finding himself standing in front of the closed bedroom door and staring at the wood. The screaming had subsided for now, but he could hear low moans from inside, and that assured him that John was still alive. Alive, but fighting, and weak. Sherlock reached up to the top of the door, feeling along the dusty wooden frame until his fingers came in contact with a cold metal key. He brought it down and handled it carefully, taking a deep breath before carefully unlocking the door. He turned the knob and pushed the wooden door open very slowly, the creaking of the hinges adding to the demonic suspense. Sherlock half expected to find John crawling around on the ceiling or something, but when he saw a shape lying peacefully in the bed he found that he was happily mistaken. John was presumably just where Mary had left him. Sherlock turned on the lamp next to the bed, shining a light down onto John's peaceful sleeping form, save for the hideous grimace that played across his lips. He was hissing, spitting, and clenching his fists, he was fighting inside of himself with everything he had, and he was presumably losing. Sherlock closed the door silently, locking it once more just in case John got up and wanted to escape. Sherlock pulled a chair right next to the bed and sat in it quietly for a moment, watching as John started to thrash, mumbling things unheard and letting out screams of anguish. Sherlock didn't know what else to do except watch; it wasn't like he could jump inside of John's body and fight the Aspiration off himself.
"John?" Sherlock asked carefully, catching one of John's hands as it pounded the pillows. As soon as their skin met John's body went limp, and his face relaxed. It was as though both conflicting souls had stopped to see just what was happening.
"John, are you in there?" Sherlock whispered, easing closer to the bed so that John could hear his words without him having to say them loudly. He was worried that Father Franklin was eavesdropping or something, trying to catch their sinning in the act.
"It's Sherlock." Sherlock muttered, lacing his fingers together with John's and feeling his throat close. He looked upon John's face, suddenly gone peaceful in the lamp light, and wondered if he would ever be the same. The idea that the gun in Sherlock's pocket was only there to kill the man in front of him was a horrible one indeed, and Sherlock knew that no matter how much humanity needed him to, he would never pull that trigger. He was not going to kill John Watson, not unless it meant killing himself as well.
"I want you to be in there John; I want you to hear me. Can you hear me?" Sherlock asked. John didn't say anything, which really wasn't a surprise, and yet his silence told Sherlock that he was listening. The moment he started screaming was the moment he lost interest in what Sherlock had to say.
"John I just want you to know that whatever happens from here on out, it's not your fault. It's that thing inside of you John, that monster who is making you do these horrible things, who's making you scream, and fight, and who's hurting you from the inside. We know that it's not your fault." Sherlock insisted. He scooted even closer than before, close enough so that he could look at John's face with extreme concentration, noticing ever little feature on that beautiful piece of art. He wanted to see that face forever, he wanted to cherish it as much as he could, he needed to love John for the rest of his life but he couldn't.
"And I also want you to know, John, that I love you. And I know I shouldn't, and I know it's wrong, but right now, I don't think any morals should matter." Sherlock admitted. He held John's still hand to his lips, kissing it softly and knowing that it was the only kiss he should dare give John in this solitude. There was a knock on the door, and Sherlock dropped the hand from his lips but still grasped it in his own, quieting himself.
"Come in." he called, unlocking the door with his free hand and letting Father Franklin enter the room.
"Have you said your goodbyes?" the priest wondered, shutting the door behind him and looking on John's motionless form. Sherlock also noticed that his eyes caught the two interlocked hands, but obviously he didn't want to say anything, obviously he didn't think it was his place right now.
"I'm not saying goodbye if he's not going anywhere." Sherlock defended.
"To the Aspiration, I mean." Father Franklin corrected, and Sherlock couldn't help but crack a smile.
"I think we'll have plenty of time to say goodbye to that thing later." He decided, giving John's hand a final squeeze before getting to his feet and straightening out his jacket.
"Yes indeed." The priest agreed. They both stood there in a rather awkward silence, looking upon John as he lay still in the bed. It would be a lot more reassuring if he was thrashing around and screaming, then at least they would know that it was time to do the ritual. Right now, however, he could just be sleeping.
"So how do we get it to take control long enough for us to expel it?" Sherlock wondered, looking upon the beautiful form of John Watson doubtfully.
"Well, I assume we can just tell him to give up, right?" Father Franklin wondered, not looking as though he had given this much thought. Both of them had assumed that John would be long gone by the time they arrived.
"I don't think he can hear us." Sherlock guessed. Then again, there was also the factor of the Aspiration hearing, and if it learned their plan it could probably figure out how to stop it.
"You say it then." Father Franklin suggested. Sherlock looked at him doubtfully, his eyes slanted in suspicion.
"Why can't you say it? You're holier, maybe the Aspiration will retreat once you address it." Sherlock debated. Father Franklin just shook his head, looking as though it pained him just to suggest something like this.
"Mr. Holmes, I can only imagine that Mr. Watson shares the same feelings for you. Men who are suffering, and who are all together dormant sometimes will listen to a voice of a loved one. Surely he doesn't love me, but...even though I don't all together agree, he may just love you." The priest winced at these words, blessing himself yet nodding in reassurance.
"I mean, I could try, I guess. All I have to do is tell him to give up?" Sherlock clarified.
"I suppose this is the only way." Father Franklin agreed timidly. Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat rather awkwardly before walking closer to John's bedside and taking a seat in the chair next to him.  John lay there in a very still position, his body so motionless that Sherlock was almost worried he wasn't breathing.