"So when can we do this ritual? When can it be performed?" John wondered.
"When the spirit is feeling the strongest, when it has full control. This ritual is dangerous, you see, because your human soul is a risk as well. One soul is expelled, and if we somehow expel the wrong one then the Satanist has control of your body and your own soul is condemned." The priest muttered.
"So this is the last resort?" Sherlock wondered nervously.
"Well, not the last resort." The priest admitted.
"Killing me is an option as well, Sherlock told me." John agreed.
"If you kill the vessel then both spirts are expelled, and they are both dragged to their destination of choice." The priest agreed. Sherlock sipped his tea just to give himself something to do, his hands were shaking nervously, he knew that this was going to be difficult, but he was happy that there was a possible cure for this demonic disease.
"So what do we do until then? How do we prevent it from taking over again?" Sherlock wondered. The priest sighed, closing the book and looking at John carefully.
"I'm afraid all we can do is wait, and try to suppress its control for as long as possible." He decided.
"Suppress it? That hasn't really worked so far." John defended doubtfully.
"Well you probably weren't suppressing it well enough, were you?" Franklin pointed out, and John shrugged innocently.
"We're going to plead ignorance here Father." Sherlock interrupted, making sure John didn't say something idiotic again. The priest just smiled at John almost tauntingly, and John couldn't help but frown in return.
"The spirit finds it easier to control the body when the human spirit is unconscious, or asleep. That's why it's mistaken as sleep walking." The priest pointed out.
"That makes sense." Sherlock agreed with a pleased smile. He liked it when the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly.
"So you suggest just staying up? Not sleeping?" John asked nervously.
"Yes." The priest agreed. "And if you do sleep, try to do it in daylight, sometimes that discourages the spirit."
"Sounds like fun, an all nighter." Sherlock said with a little laugh.
"How do we know when it's the right time to perform the ritual?" John wondered anxiously; obviously not ready to leave this priest and all of his wisdom.
"You'll know, trust me. And only you will know, you'll notice that it's becoming harder and harder to hold onto control of your own body, when you feel like you're slipping away, call me." Father Franklin insisted.
"Well then, that should be fun." John mumbled nervously.
"You'll be fine Mr. Watson, if all goes well we should have this all cleared up in a month or two." Franklin assured.
"That sounds like a long time." John decided.
"It shouldn't be too bad; at least we're all in it together." Sherlock said with a smile, trying to keep things optimistic. He was feeling especially giddy now that his head wasn't in a permanent cloud of confusion.
"You have my contact information, right Mr. Holmes?" Father Franklin asked. Sherlock nodded, tapping his pocket to make sure his phone was still there.
"We'll be in touch. I'll keep you updated on everything that happens, and when the time comes when we need to do the ritual, you better be ready." Sherlock insisted.
"I certainly will be. I am honored to be part of such a unique event, and my only goal is to get you two safe." The priest assured.
"Well we're more than happy to comply. I'll do anything to keep my family safe." John agreed. The priest looked at him curiously, as if wondering if he had misheard.
"You have a family?" the priest wondered. John looked rather confused, but nodded all the same.
"Yes, a wife and a daughter." John agreed. The priest looked over at Sherlock, looking almost guiltily, as if he had jumped to conclusions too quickly.
"Oh." He muttered simply. Sherlock wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.
"What did you think?" John wondered, looking over at Sherlock as if accusing him of putting thoughts in the priest's head.
"Nothing, nothing." The priest muttered, blushing a little bit and collecting everyone's empty tea cups. John and Sherlock exchanged confused glances, but nevertheless Sherlock looked down rather longingly at the old book.
"Do you mind if I borrowed this?" he wondered hopefully.
"Certainly Mr. Holmes, as long as you return it in its current state." The priest agreed from across the room at the counter. He was cleaning out the cups with water from the sink, not appearing to do a very good job.
"Thank you sir, I'll do my best to protect it." Sherlock assured, scooping the book up protectively in his arms. John was still looking rather lost; obviously his brain was having a hard time deciphering the Father's words.
"I'll walk you two out then." Franklin decided, leaving the cups water logged in the sink for someone else to deal with. Obviously he wasn't an expert dish washer. He lead John and Sherlock to the front of the church once more, walking through the empty building down the aisle with the two following obediently behind. Sherlock almost felt like he had the Holy Grail in his hands, the book of all knowledge, at least of all knowledge he was lacking. It was a book on the supernatural, of everything he specialized in. If he read it and memorized it maybe he could use this information down the road while helping other people with their paranormal problems. When they reached the entry way Sherlock tried to think of some closing remarks, trying to say something that expressed the thanks he had for this man.
"Father your information has been invaluable, without you I doubt we would've gotten far in clearing this mess up." Sherlock muttered with a smile.
"Anytime Mr. Holmes, I aspire to help all men, and try to lead astray souls on the path back to God." Father Franklin assured.
"Yes, thank you a lot." John agreed, feeling the need to throw in a thank you while they were all going around.
"One final thing Mr. Watson, heed the Ten Commandments. The sinning of the human soul will only give the possessor more power over the vessel." Franklin warned.
"Well that's alright, I'm sure I'm not going to kill anyone while Irene is present." John assured with a passive little laugh. Dispute John's attempt at humor, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.
"That's not the one I'm most worried about." Franklin muttered, looking between them both once more with a very nervous expression. "Nevertheless, go on home; tell your wife that everything will soon be alright."
"Will do Father, thank you again." Sherlock agreed, deciding that he best get John home. They walked out the wooden doors and back into the blinding light, hearing the church bells start to ring above them, as if in farewell. They headed down the steps in silence, their brains buzzing with the new information.
"Well that was helpful, to say the least." John decided, clambering into the passenger seat while Sherlock walked around the back of the car towards the driver's seat. He got inside, handing the book over to John to protect while he turned on the car and started down the road, back towards the Watson's house.
"Yes, very helpful." Sherlock agreed, lost in thought as he stared absentmindedly at the road in front of him.
"Are you alright?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock next to him.
"Yes, fine." Sherlock agreed quickly. "Just...heed the Ten Commandments. What could that mean?"
"Well it means don't sin, that's obvious." John pointed out.
"Yes but why would he just mention that now? Obviously you're not supposed to sin, just because you're possessed doesn't make it any different than a normal person. Why would he think you're in danger of breaking one of the commandments?" Sherlock wondered. John just laughed, shaking his head as if wondering why that was the only thing Sherlock took out of that meeting.
"Sherlock I don't know, I don't even know the Ten Commandments." John admitted with a laugh.
"Didn't go to Bible School then, did you?" Sherlock wondered.
"No, I didn't." John assured. Sherlock sighed heavily, trying to rack his brain from what he remembered. He didn't go to Bible School either, except his parents were extremely religious. Their first reaction to finding out about his relationship with Victor was trying to shove the Bible down his throat, for a moment he had remembered all of the holy rules he wasn't supposed to break.
"Well they're the easy ones, don't kill, don't steal, all that jazz. Something about go to church on Sunday...something about adultery." Sherlock mumbled. For some reason John's eyes immediately strayed from Sherlock, he looked down almost nervously at the book that lay on his lap.
"Well it's a good thing I haven't done any of that, right?" John wondered. Sherlock could only glance in his direction nervously, his cheeks blushing although he didn't know why. Why would Father Franklin find John's family to be a surprise, why would he try to emphasize the Ten Commandments? Sherlock sighed heavily, but apparently there were some secrets that the universe didn't feel like sharing, at least not yet.

                Entry #5, October 25, 2017: It was scary to learn what was inside of me, what was truly inside of me. We took to calling this particular breed of want to be demons Aspirations, because they aspired to be a demon. I came up with the name at first; I thought it was pretty clever. When we met with that priest I was feeling unnecessarily optimistic, I left that church feeling like we had a game plan, like we actually had a light at the end of the tunnel. I thought that since there was a ritual that I would get cured, it didn't matter how difficult. But we never considered that maybe the ritual might go wrong, we never stopped to remember that this world wasn't perfect, and impossible things tended to stay impossible. I should've listened to that priest; I should've been more careful. Part of me blames myself for what happened in the end, I let it gain control, I let it get more powerful, churning inside of me. I broke down, I sinned. End Entry.

                Four Weeks Later: Sherlock handled the book as carefully as he could, sitting at Molly's kitchen table while both Molly and John looked over his shoulder, trying to read the small writing as best they could.
"I can't read Latin." John said obviously.
"Well of course you can't, it's a dead language." Sherlock insisted, shooting him away and squinting at the drawings once more. It was startling how accurate the drawing was, almost as if a seer like Sherlock had been the one to draw it.
"Is that what you saw Sherlock, when you looked at him?" Molly wondered. Sherlock nodded gravely, turning the page and looking at the rituals and all of that.
"What are they called?" John asked, pulling out the chair next to Sherlock and sitting down in it stiffly.
"Doesn't have a name." Sherlock muttered, turning the page and trying to see if there was any sign of a name. It was odd that it would have a good three pages to itself and not even a name.
"I don't know; make shift demon, Soulful Satanist? I'm not good at naming anything." Sherlock mumbled, shutting the book carefully, and looking up at his companions.
"Well, they want to be like a demon, but they're human. How about, weirdos?" Molly suggested, laughing a little bit to herself but seeing that her humor wasn't returned.
"Maybe not." She muttered shamefully.
"How about...Aspirations?" John suggested. Sherlock turned his head to look at him, a sense of prideful curiousness in his gaze.
"Aspirations? Why so?" Sherlock wondered. John looked a little timid in this sudden spotlight, but he just sat up a little bit straighter in his chair.
"Well, it sounds kind of like apparition, and that's a ghost, right?  And they aspire to be a demon, Aspirations. Anyway, since I'm the one with one of these things inside me, I think I should be the one to name it." John decided. Sherlock smiled a very small smile, and nodded.
"Aspirations it is." He agreed. "We need to call the publishers of this book and tell them we have a better name."
"I think the publisher is probably dead by now." Molly guessed, obviously taking Sherlock's poor attempt at a joke a little bit too seriously. Sherlock just groaned, getting to his feet and checking his watch.
"Well then, I best be off, it's nearly six o'clock." he decided. Molly sighed heavily, but didn't protest.
"What, do you have a dinner date with someone or something?" John asked rather accusingly, as if the idea troubled him a little bit.
"And if I did?" Sherlock wondered with a little gleam in his eyes. John just shrugged, getting to his feet a little bit defensively.
"Well I wouldn't argue, of course." He assured. Sherlock nodded, turning away and grabbing his coat from the coat rack. John followed, however, standing in the entry way and crossing his arms.
"Where are you going?" he wondered curiously.
"The bar, hopefully. Or a club, which ever one you have more of." Sherlock admitted. John's frown deepened.
"And why are you doing that?" he wondered. Sherlock sighed guiltily, pulling his coat on and checking his hair in the little mirror above the mound of shoes next to the door.
"I'm lonely John, I've spent too much time wallowing about in death, I need to remind myself I'm alive. It's a problem I tend to have." Sherlock admitted. He was acting very casual about this, but John seemed to be very disturbed at the fact that Sherlock was going to go drinking. He seemed to be almost jealous.
"Well, maybe I could go with you." John suggested. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head in a sad sort of way.
"Sorry John, but I don't think you'll like me much when I'm at the bar. I'm a very different man." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm sure it won't be a problem." John shrugged. Sherlock just laughed, walking up to him for no reason at all and flicking his finger against his chin.
"Maybe another time John, but for now I need a night alone." Sherlock admitted, smiling down at the jealous little man next to the staircase.
"Well...alright then." John agreed. "I just thought that we could you know, hang out. Like friends."
"Is this an attempt at an apology?" Sherlock wondered with an accusing little smile. John just shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. He looked like a pouty little kid who wasn't getting what he wanted, it was actually quite adorable.
"Maybe." He muttered. Sherlock just laughed, turning away and pulling open the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning Mr. Watson, until then, try not to go to sleep." Sherlock said with a smile, and then, making sure his pockets were filled with cash, he left, leaving John standing next to the stairs alone. Sherlock wandered around the streets for a little while in his car, honestly a bit lost. He had only grown up here; he really didn't know where the best bars were or where the clubs were hiding. But he just kept driving, around the town until finally he found himself on the edge of town, stopped on a road that led out of the mass of buildings and towards a very familiar set of woods. Sherlock blinked a little bit, wondering why his subconsciousness would lead him to such a horrible place of his past. But nevertheless his foot eased onto the gas, and he started down the road. He knew exactly where the tree line was interrupted, he knew to look for that old brick mailbox and turn right after it, down the old muddy road with tire tracks permanently indented into the earth. He drove very slowly, easing his way down the driveway so that he had plenty of opportunities to turn around and go back. He knew exactly what was waiting for him when he arrived in the clearing; he knew what it would look like. But when he finally broke through the trees he saw that a magnificent house was standing before him, just like the one from his high school years. The sides were intact, the roof was shingled and whole, the swing on the front porch was rocking slightly in the breeze and there was smoke coming out of the chimney. Sherlock could only stare, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. His mouth was hanging open when he saw the house completely the same, whole again, redone.

"Victor." Sherlock whispered very quietly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear. He could almost sense the boy's presence inside of those walls, if the house was restored, maybe Victor was too, maybe it had all been a dream...
"VICTOR!" Sherlock screamed, unbuckling his seatbelt and basically falling out of the car into the mud, running up to the front porch and jumping onto the first stair. He had to get inside, he had to see his childhood boyfriend once more, if Victor was still here then he would know what to do, he could help. Sherlock only needed to see his face once more. But just as his foot hit the step it crumbled into ash, charred wood giving out and letting his foot fall back into the charred mud. Sherlock stepped back, away from the beautiful house, away from the door. That was when the first piece of ash rained down on him, fluttering through the air and landing not far from where his foot had fallen. Ash from the fire. Sherlock stumbled back as the house started to disintegrate before his very eyes, the smoke from the chimney turning to black smoke from a house fire, the roof and the walls crumbling into ash, floating around him like a sickening snow storm. Sherlock held his hand to his mouth to stop himself from screaming, falling back onto the hood of the car as he blinked rapidly, trying to push this horrible image from his mind. He could almost smell the smoke; he could almost hear the screaming...
"Victor." Sherlock whimpered, leaning up against the warm engine and shuttering in horror. He looked up at the house once more, and saw that it wasn't a house anymore. It was the charred framework of a once magnificent house, blackened wood holding apart a crumbling ceiling, ash getting carried off by the wind as the scaffolding creaked dangerously. And it was silent once more, it was only him in these woods, there was no Victor, and there never would be again. He was alone.