Archive of Our Own ^beta

"John?" he called out softly.

John startled and turned to him hurriedly, a poor attempt at a smile crossing his face.

"There you are. You made me jump. How were the kids?"

"Looking forward to the summer holidays and therefore not at all interested in learning about The Ten Commandments."

John laughed, the sound bereft of any really humour, and pushed himself to his feet.

"The flowers are looking very well," Lawrence commented with a nod to the display John had been working on.

"I just hope we get a bit of rain soon to keep them from wilting."

"Oh, John, don't be wishing the rain back when we've only just seen the last of it!"

John laughed again and nodded his agreement. "Alright, alright."

"Ready for a spot of lunch?" Lawrence asked, turning towards the house they shared.

"Yeah, sure. I'll just tidy up here and get cleaned up, and then I'll join you."

Lawrence smiled and set off towards the house, his smile disappearing in place of a concerned frown. It was coming up to a year since that awful, awful day, and Lawrence worried more and more as he saw his friend withdrawing ever deeper into himself. It was frustrating, wanting to help but knowing there was so little he could really do except wait, and watch John continue to suffer in silence.

****

It had been a beautiful, sunny morning when the news came. Lawrence had been preparing for Confession, when the phone in the kitchen rang. Father Graham had answered, but after a few words, had passed it over.

"It's Father Simon," Graham explained.

Lawrence couldn't think why Simon would be calling him but he took the phone nevertheless. "Hello Simon."

"Father Lawrence, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you. And you?"

"Yes, fine. Thank you."

Simon sounded particularly flustered this morning and Lawrence frowned slightly.

"Is something wrong, Simon?" he asked.

"You haven't heard," Simon said quietly.

"Heard what?"

"About Sherlock."

"What about him?" Lawrence asked in confusion. He hadn't spoken to John in over a week, but everything had seemed to be getting back to normal at the time. John had been relieved, after the problems they had been having.

"He's dead," Simon got out and Lawrence inhaled sharply.

"Oh, poor John," he whispered, the fingers of his free hand automatically dropping to the rosary on his belt. "What happened?"

"They're not sure, but it's all over the news. He fell off the roof of St. Bart's Hospital."

"Fell?"

"Well, they think. He wasn't alone though. Another man was killed as well. Some sort of criminal they said, but I can't remember the name."

"Was it Moriarty?" Lawrence asked, John's concerned voice echoing in his mind.

"Oh, yes. You've heard of him?"

"Briefly. Have you... I don't suppose you've heard from John?"

"No."

Lawrence sighed. He knew only too well what John was probably going through right now.

****

Ten days later, John turned up at the church, looking older and more tired than Lawrence had ever seen him. Lawrence had just happened to be passing through the church when he spotted John about halfway back, sitting with his head bowed. Lawrence moved towards him somewhat hesitantly, but John said nothing as Lawrence sat down beside him.

They sat in silence for some time, until John finally lifted his head, staring out in front of him.

"You heard?"

"Yes," Lawrence said softly. "I'm so sorry, John."

John nodded absently, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"If there's anything I can do..." 

"I know. Thanks." John gave him a tight smile and focused his gaze on the floor once more. 

He fell silent, and Lawrence was considering leaving him alone, but then John looked up again. "Sorry," he whispered, "I just... I don't know what to do."

John closed his eyes, an expression of pain crossing his face.

"I can't... I feel so lost, without him," John got out brokenly, pressing his fingers to his eyes. "What am I going to do now?"

Lawrence reached out to lay a hand on John's shoulder, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

"Right now, you are going to take time for yourself, time to grieve. No-one expects you to do anything else."

"I want... I need to do something, something to keep me busy."

"We always need people to help at Sunday school?" Lawrence suggested dryly.

John gave a choked laugh that sounded a little like a sob. "I... No, thank you."

It was only months later that Lawrence learned exactly where John had been when Sherlock had fallen to his death and he still cringed when he thought back about it.

Lawrence had made no comment at the time, trying to think of something else. 

"How are you at gardening?" he asked suddenly.

John blinked at him, wetly. "I... Well, I've never really done any."

"The cemetery needs a bit of looking after and, with my back, I can't do it anymore. And Father Graham is too busy."

John seemed to be considering it when Lawrence glanced at him.

"Why don't you think about it?" Lawrence suggested. "There's no rush."

John nodded and Lawrence gave him a smile, before releasing John's shoulder and rising to his feet. 

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," Lawrence said. 

"Thank you, Lawrence."

Lawrence smiled again and gave him a nod. "God be with you."

"And with you," John murmured in reply.

Lawrence went back to his work and when he passed through a little while later, John was gone.

****

Lawrence saw nothing of John for about a month, and when he did, John looked almost worse than he had before. He was pale and he'd lost weight, and the smile he was trying to put on for Lawrence's benefit was strained. 

"How are you doing?" Lawrence asked, placing a cup of tea down in front of him.

"Fine, fine," John said.

Lawrence decided not to point out that it was an obvious lie.

"And you've been keeping yourself busy?"

"Trying," John said. "Turns out there's really not much work suited to the skill set of an ex-priest turned detective's assistant." John gave a sad half-smile.

"John..." Lawrence started hesitantly, "Have you ever thought about coming back to the Church?"

John sighed heavily. "I have, actually. But I... I don't think I could commit myself to being a priest again. I still... I mean, my reason for leaving is still valid. Even without... without him," John explained, choking out the last words.

"There are other options," Lawrence suggested. "Lay preaching or serving as a deacon, for example. I'm not trying to push you into anything, I just want you to realise that there is always a place for you here."

"I know," John said softly. "Sometimes it feels like this is the only thing I have left now."

"It's easy to lose faith," Lawrence said. "With everything that has happened, I'm glad yours hasn't abandoned you."

"I think it helps," John admitted. "As much as anything can help."

Lawrence nodded in understanding and took a sip of his drink.

"So..." John spoke up, "You mentioned some gardening you needed doing last time I saw you?"

"I did."

"I'd be happy to help."

Lawrence smiled. "I'll show you what needs doing."

They finished their drinks and Lawrence led John outside and around the graveyard, explaining the small jobs that needed doing. And for the first time since Sherlock's death, Lawrence thought he saw a little bit of determination in John's gaze.

****

Six months passed in the blink of an eye and John, on the rare occasions that Lawrence saw him, seemed to slip in and out of depression. At times he would be almost back to his old self, but at others he was clearly troubled. His mood seemed to dip with the coming of Christmas, but by mid-January he had pulled himself out once more, and when he turned up at the church on a snowy morning, he had an air of determination - of purpose - about him again.

"I have some news," John announced when they were settled in their usual positions at the kitchen table.

"Really?"

"I'm re-taking my vows. As a deacon."

"I'm very happy to hear that, John," Lawrence said with a smile. "And I've got some news for you, in turn. I'm putting myself out to pasture, to a smaller church in Haywards Heath."

"I can't imagine you not being here."

"It will certainly be strange, but I think it was time for me to slow things down. I'm getting old, after all," Lawrence joked. 

John laughed, before sobering. "I'll miss you."

"Funny you should say that... I'll be needing a deacon. I could always mention it to the Bishop."

"I... Leave London?"

"Is there something else you're staying for?" Lawrence asked gently.

John looked pensive for a moment, but then he swallowed and shook his head. "No. I suppose not."

"Think about it then. I'm not going until the end of the month."

John was quiet for the rest of their visit, but only three days later, he rang Lawrence to ask if he had selected a deacon yet and, when Lawrence confirmed that he hadn't, John suggested he would be happy to take the post, if the Bishop agreed. A month later, they were settled in a small cottage next to the Catholic Church of St. Stephen, Haywards Heath.

****

The anniversary of Sherlock's death grew closer still and, although John continued to carry out his duties as normal, Lawrence could see that it was a constant struggle. It wasn't until a few days before the anniversary itself that Lawrence felt compelled to address the issue.

"John?" he started over dinner. "Have you thought about taking some time off? Just for the next week or so."

John frowned, but had to finish his mouthful before he could answer.

"I'm fine."

"John, you are the furthest from fine I've seen you in a long time," Lawrence said frankly, before softening. "I can handle things here if you need some time alone."

John was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on his plate, before he raised his head, his eyes brimming with emotion.

"I can't," he said softly. "I...It's bad enough now, when I have people around me and things to do..." John shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I know I'm next to useless at the moment."

"John, you lost someone you loved. It's only natural that you're still mourning."

"I just..." John trailed off, letting out a sigh before continuing: "I thought it would get easier. But it's been a year and I still--"

John turned his face away, his breath hitching. Lawrence reached across the table and squeezed his hand tightly.

"It's okay to still miss him."

He watched as John swallowed and took several slow, deep breaths. "I do," John whispered finally. "I miss him. So much. Sometimes I dream about him and then when I wake up and he's not there..."

John let out a shaky breath, brushing his hand across his face. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise to me."

John took several more moments to compose himself, and then shook his head.

"Can we talk about something else?" John asked.

"Of course," Lawrence said, and asked John if he had any thoughts on the sermon for this week. As John answered, Lawrence watched as, bit by bit, John built his defences back up again.

****

The anniversary of Sherlock's death was a rather appropriately gloomy day. The sunshine they had been blessed with for several weeks had disappeared in the face of a storm blowing in from the North Sea, which treated them to cold rain and almost wintery winds.

Despite the awful weather, John travelled the seventeen miles across the Sussex Downs to Withyham, and returned damp and desperately trying to keep his spirits up for Lawrence's sake. John spent most of the afternoon hidden away, tidying an already spotless sacristy. He emerged once or twice to share a cup of tea with Lawrence in silence, and Lawrence was happy to leave him to leave him in peace. There was very little he could say, in any case.

The day went on and as evening fell, Lawrence went to close up the church, only to find John sitting amongst the pews. He had his head bowed, his mouth moving almost unconsciously as he pressed the beads of his rosary between his fingers. Lawrence sat down next to him, but when John glanced up at him, he said nothing, reaching out for his own rosary and bowing his head. Lawrence felt John shift next to him, returning to his own prayers, and gave a small smile as he let himself become absorbed in the rhythm of the ritual.

They sat there for some time, until Lawrence felt John shift meaningfully next to him. Lawrence raised his head and John gave him a strained smile.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Just for being here."

Lawrence reached over to give John's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I know it may not feel like it now, but it will get better, John. Trust in God and He'll see you through this."

John nodded, and laid his hand over Lawrence's.

"I know. I know."