Leviticus 20:13

Realize You're Only Human

    As tempted as John was to be productive throughout the day he ended up spending his entire morning tucked in bed, watching as the light began to thaw through the snow on his window pane, illuminating the room and brighter and brighter until he could finally see out the window without getting up from his bed. He only saw snow, snow coving the rooves of the distant houses, snow covering the trees that were planted on the edge of his tiny yard, snow covering the powerlines and making them sag threateningly. John wouldn't be surprised if the power was out altogether, and yet it really didn't seem to be a problem if it was. He had plenty of bread and peanut butter; he could survive for at least a week without the luxury of having a refrigerator. When finally John did make it out of bed he only pulled on his favorite oversized sweatshirt and lumbered downstairs to the kitchen, where he found that thankfully the power was still on. And so he brewed himself a cup of coffee and sat next to the radiator, pressing his freezing bare feet onto the hot metal and watching as the wind blew the snow from the trees in miniature avalanches. There were already children playing outside, bundled up to their chins in jackets, pants, hats and gloves, racing about with their plastic sleds and trying to find the biggest hills in the neighborhood. There really was no distinct change in elevation, however, and so the children were forced to sled down the miniature declines and pretend to have the time of their lives, climbing back up and sledding down a couple more times before finally deciding they wanted to build a snowman instead. John remembered when snow days were days filled with fun and adventure, that tiny layer of snow completely transforming the familiar neighborhood into a large, soft playground. He used to go out with his friends for hours on end, sledding and having snow ball fights and lying down in the snow and blinking away the snowflakes that landed in his eyes. And now what was he doing? Sitting and drinking his coffee, trying to plan around the snow and still make a romantic picnic for him and his boyfriend. John hadn't taken the snow into consideration when picturing their romantic day out, and now unless they wanted to swap the wine for coco and shovel themselves a nice big square of space they would probably have to modify. Maybe instead of the pond they could just sit in their car on a deserted side street, or sit inside john's house by the fireside and swap stories while wearing obnoxious puff ball hats. Innocence was key tonight, and John suspected that the more public the meeting place the easier it would be to avoid any sort of intense physical contact. John ate a very meager lunch, followed not long afterwards by an equally pathetic dinner. As the date approached John suddenly felt more and more nervous, as if somehow by talking to Sherlock he would suddenly lose interest or give away something he surely shouldn't be talking so freely about. He wasn't keeping any secrets of course, however John had always been a very open man, valuing the truth of his words over the lack of common sense he displayed when he said them. What if he absentmindedly admitted to Sherlock his first crush, or his embarrassing childhood secrets, or even worse what if he accidently let Sherlock in on the messy family life he had escaped from? There were somethings that prospective soulmates probably shouldn't know, and the details of your past falling out would probably fall under that restricted category. When it was finally time to get ready John picked out a nice pair of slacks and a cozy yet attractive sweater, looking at himself multiple times in the mirror just to make sure he liked what he was seeing. If John found a flaw in his appearance then surely Sherlock would notice it as well, and John wanted to make sure that Sherlock saw him every bit as perfect as desired to be. Certainly a fashion catastrophe would put a dampener on the night, and John didn't want to risk that. When he was finally satisfied with the reflection he saw staring back at him in the mirror John nodded contently and grabbed a bottle of red wine, heading out to where his car was parked outside in the driveway, hidden under a mound of untouchable snow. John hadn't bothered shoveling his sidewalks or his driveway, and to his disgust he found that the township hadn't bothered plowing the streets either. With his car just about as useless as any of the little children's sleds John muttered a bout of curses before going back inside to fetch his snow boots, digging around in his closet for a while and grabbing one of his heaviest winter coats. The snow was still coming down and so he decided that he best maintain his good looks even on his long trek to the rectory, and so he hid himself under his ridiculous fur covered hood and started off down the sidewalk, following the makeshift path that had been left by the school kids as they ran back and forth from house to house, collecting their friends and their runaway sleds. The walk wasn't far, and however short it felt compared to the other morning when he was toting a ladder to the church it still felt as though the roads stretched on forever. John kept transitioning the bottle of wine from one hand to the other as his fingers began to go numb from the bite of the cold wind, and so as one hand grasped the neck of the bottle the other was defrosting in his snug coat pocket. It was a system that got him through the walk at least, and yet even as he fought his way through the unpaved roads, wincing as the snowflakes blew into his face, he knew that a date at the park was completely out of the question. This was certainly going to be interesting. When John reached the church the bells were ringing, calling out through the ever fading sunlight as a sort of beckoning cry, sending a bit of a chill down John's spine. It was an ominous sound, the bells echoing through the silent streets and bouncing off the heavy layers of snow, however john reminded himself that they were just bells, and so he forged ahead. When he reached the porch of the rectory he was almost reluctant to knock, surely Sherlock wouldn't be the only one in today? However what else could he do, certainly he wouldn't be scaling any rooves today, and so John just raised a fist and rapped against the cold wooden door, his skin cracking at the knuckles as the air absorbed all of the exposed moisture. He was half expecting no one to answer, and however terrified he was of being rejected something told him that he would probably rather no one answer than the wrong person answer. So when the door finally flung open John stood very innocently in his parka, staring into the house and seeing the very confused face of Greg Lestrade staring back.
"Greg!" John exclaimed horrifically, making a move to lunge off the porch before he remembered that Greg was in on this little ordeal, he had been the one to catch them after all. This provided little comfort, however it was enough to make John stay where he was, his boots sinking firmly into the snow beneath him as he tried to think of some sort of appropriate greeting.
"I mean...Father Lestrade. Good to see you." John corrected finally, trying to laugh off his rather embarrassing first reaction. Greg didn't seem to be amused, in fact he seemed surprisingly drained, standing with the door opened merely enough for the two of them to see each other. It certainly wasn't an inviting stance.
"Sherlock's not here, he's at the church." Greg said simply, looking down at John with an almost accusing glare, as if Sherlock's being at the church was somehow all his fault.
"Yes, um...okay." John agreed with a forceful smile, nodding his farewell and turning his back to the priest. Greg didn't bid him farewell, instead as soon as John's back was turned he heard the door close with a determined snap, followed by the impatient yanking of the curtains about the sides of the house. Greg was certainly acting odd, however that could be due to any circumstances, not necessarily John's presence. Maybe he was having a stressful day, or maybe snow depressed him, that or he was deciding that the best way to keep secrets was to not know them at all. Either way John was sure that it wasn't a bad omen, and so with a hopeful heart he made his way over the fresh snow to the where the church loomed out of the darkness, its artificial lights making it glow in an angelic way above the glittering white. The doors were closed however they remained unlocked, and it was only too easy for John to make his way through the poorly shoveled sidewalks and into the bright and cheery entrance hall. The quietness alone was enough to make John realize that the church was empty, and so Sherlock's spending time here confused him even more. Mass wasn't going on, presumably because it was too snowy and cold for anyone to don their best outfits and try to drive their little grey cars through the mounds of snow that were accumulating all over their public roads. As John walked through the little hallway into the church he saw that the office lights were out, Mrs. Hudson was probably having a nice cup of coco and watching the snow fall, while the church itself was minimally illuminated, every other overhanging light shining on its lowest setting to provide a very warm yet uncomfortable setting. John lingered a little bit at the door to the church, watching through the glass as the entire room was coating itself in silence, not a single thing moving in the large and eerily deserted hall of worship. The statues stretched the shadows, their pupilless eyes watching John through the darkness and inviting him to step into their domain, to pull open those glass doors and wander back into their gaze after so long. John realized with a start that he hadn't been to the church since Rosie had died, ever since he had lost his faith he hadn't bothered to attend mass, even though he was technically dating one of the priests. Actually that was just another reason to avoid walking into God's house, almost as if while standing under that sloped ceiling he had all the more chances of being punished for his sinful actions. This was all his fault of course, this whole ungodly affair; he had been the one to bring it on them both. He had tempted Sherlock very knowingly, and because of his flirtatious smiles and his bottles of wine they were now in something of a dedicated relationship, pretending to ignore the watching eyes of God. John almost hoped that Sherlock would see him in the doorway and go out to greet him instead of having John walk back into God's presence to fetch him; however he knew that he was just being superstitious. His faith and belief in God had dwindled substantially, and if God couldn't save Rosie then he certainly couldn't punish John, if he even existed at all. And so with that John mustered up all his courage necessary and pushed open the door, walking into the church and seeing that it was just as empty and just as eerie as it had been from behind the glass, except this time John was more exposed than ever. The ghost of the organ music echoed off of the walls and the candle smoke diffused through the air, the songbooks tucked neatly in their pockets on the back of the pews and the stained glass windows filtering through what little colored light they could through the accumulating snow on the other side. John walked reluctantly down the aisle, taunted by the echoes of his footsteps along the tiles as he searched about the shadows for wherever Sherlock may be hiding. He had made it halfway down the aisle when he began to hear muttering, and with a jump of horror John realized that there was a large black mass on the floor, laying out in submission to the altar before them. The curly head was the only thing that distinguished this lump of black fabric to be Sherlock, prostrated on the dusty tiles with his forehead to the ground, muttering things that John could never hope to understand.