Loving The Sociopath (Johnlock)

Take Me To Church

I fastened my belt and adjusted my shirt. Taking one last look in the mirror, I ran a hand through my sand-coloured hair and grabbed my coat.

I had lost 9 pounds within two weeks, meaning my clothing had started to bag out in weird places. Every item of clothing I had was either too big or too small; however, I didn't mind. I was now getting used to clothing that was too big. After all, I'd been wearing his things for the past fourteen days and eleven hours.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment or two. Sniffing, I slipped my arms into the sleeves of my coat, and eventually made my way out of 221B Baker Street.

***

After closing the door behind me, I turned around and became face to face Mycroft Holmes. He had red rings around his bloodshot eyes and his usually still hands were shaking like a drug addict who had not had their favourite brand in hours.

I glanced behind the heart-broken brother. Two slick, black cars with white roses lining the rear-view window had parked up on the pavement. I smiled a little, knowing that he would have hated this.

I turned back to Mycroft. His bottom lip began to quiver and the next thing I knew he had crouched down and his long, slender arms had wrapped themselves around my shoulders.

It was then when reality hit me. Sucking in a deep breath, I swung my arms around the older brother and buried my head into the crook of his neck. Tears dripped down my cheeks and sobs were ready to spill out of my mouth.

Suddenly, I heard someone cough. Mycroft and I tore apart, and saw a tall, grey haired man with his arms wrapped around a blue-eyed, silver haired woman. It was different this time. This time they were coming...and there was no way that my life could ever be the same again.

Mr and Mrs Holmes looked down at me and smiled softly. They then opened the doors to the vehicle that would lead me to my slow and painful death.

Mycroft looked down at me and held out his arms. I nodded and stretched my arms out to him. Carefully, he bent down and slipped one arm under my knees and the other arm round my back. I snaked my arms around his neck and he gently lifted me out of my wheelchair and into the car.

After being placed into the car seat, I did up my seatbelt and looked down at my lap. Before he left, he always used to do that for me. Sometimes, just for the fun of it, he'd carry me around the flat. There was no need too, yet he still did it. It may have had something to do with the fact that he blamed himself. He blamed himself for my wife and my child's death three years ago, even though it was due to natural causes. He blamed himself for the gas explosion in which I lost all feeling below the waist, even though Moriarty had planned the whole thing. He blamed himself that a piece of metal got trapped inside him after the explosion, even though he knew he would die anyway someday...

The driver started the car and the radio automatically turned on. No one spoke. We all just listened to the gut-wrenching melody that was playing.

Take me to church,
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.
Offer me my deathless death,
Good God, let me give you my life.

Closing my eyes, I turned to the driver and whispered, "Take me to church."