Johnlock AU

It's not only against god, it's against my morals.

John had a tendency to bend the rules of Catholicism. It wasn't his fault, however, he just wasn't set very straight.
John Watson was known for being anxious and jumpy, scared of the dark even. But it didn't stop him from performing his priestly duties. Running a large Cathedral in central London wasn't easy for anyone, let alone this short, scared man. It had it's trials and tribulations but he didn't mind. Sometimes he wasn't even sure if there was a higher power like god but he's always been raised to say there was. What made it worth the time were the sundays. It was always filled to the brim with tourists and happy people searching for solace in a being that may or may not exist. The stained glass murals looked beautiful in the golden hour of the day but he didn't have time to dwell on such small things. The Christmas of 1850 was fast approaching so he had little over a week to decorate the cathedral with festivities and nativity scenes but it was a Sunday. He was to expect a wave of happy people, especially during December, to visit, sing Christmas carols, help the youths with decoration making. It always warmed his heart to know that the community always helped out. His heart sank thinking about how empty the building had been this particular Sunday, however. It was strange to him that London would seemingly just stop in it's tracks. No passerby's or travellers. No regular church-goers or spritely children. Just a dimly lit tall room, shadows dancing in the corners as the candlelight flickered. He decided to pick the candle up and go for a walk around. Just to be sure everything was in it's right place. His hard-soled dress shoes made a steady click with every step he took on the marble floor. His eyes scanned the candlelit portraits of saints. Somehow he found the beauty in falsely painted people. They didn't look like that. People would often ask their painters to doctor the image in their favour. They always came out stunningly handsome or beautiful.
The further into the castle-like structure he ventured the more uneasy he felt. It was like he was the only person in existence. Not even foot traffic from the streets could be heard this far in. However, he kept going. He tried to tell himself that everything was ok, despite his fears of what the dark might hide. His fears would quickly become a reality and the candle light spread further into the hall he was strolling down. A tall, dark figure stood gazing at a painting of an old priest. Johns feet too him closer to the being in curiosity Ime didn't stop until it's head snapped quickly towards him. Oh thank the Lord. It was just a man.
"I don't believe I've ever met you." He said in a deep suave voice. He was dressed in an expensive, fitted suit and a long Belstaff coat. His hair dark, a medium length and curly.
"I don't think i've ever had the pleasure of meeting you either." John spoke out in confidence. He admired the mans face for a moment. Sharp, cutting cheek bones and cold pale eyes. Like I said, John had a tendency to bend the rules of Catholicism. The thoughts he had about this man were enough to make a nun weep.
"My name is Father John Watson. I take care of this- place" he was short of breath. This man was beautiful to say the least and was circling him like a shark, taking in every conceivable detail about him. John had gotten this far keeping his ungodly sexuality under wraps and he wasn't going to break under the pressure of some beautiful stranger.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. I don't exactly... frequent places like this. I'd always seen this place filled with such laughter and love. I just had to see what all the fuss was about."
Sherlock. What a strange name for a strange man. The poor lighting made his face extremely defined and his eyes piercing. It was like he was staring into johns very soul. He just wondered if the rest of him was- no. He couldn't think like this. Sherlock had stopped circling and, instead, seemed to favour dragging his fingers across johns shoulders and the small of his back. Was he deliberately trying to make the priests knees buckle?
A realisation racked John's brain. This was a test from the lord. An "Adam and Eve" situation. Sherlock must have been the forbidden apple and god did John want to bite into him. He was shaken out his thoughts by Sherlock gripping his throat, pushing slightly and restricting airflow, his eyes manic.
"Now, what would it take to get a sweet little virgin Catholic like you in my bed?" He pushes down on his windpipe harder and harder until John was forced against a cold cobble wall.
"I- I can't. It's not only against god, it's against my morals-" he struggled to choke out.
"Who cares what god thinks?" There was pure mockery in his tone. Sherlock grinned but, it wasn't that of a mans. It was practically ear to ear. His teeth stained a deep red and his eyes wide with insanity.
"What- What are you?"
"Something you'll learn to love, John"