"By sinning you have tainted his soul, and now it is so weak that it can hardly fend off the Aspiration." The Father muttered, looking over at Molly as if trying to fill her in on what she had missed.
"So can't you just forgive him again, that seemed to work last time?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"It's impossible to tell which soul I'll be purifying, even though the Aspiration certainly wouldn't want God's forgiveness we don't want to dare to strengthen it in its battle." The Father said glumly.
"Say John loses, how would we know?" Molly wondered, finally inputting something in this conversation.
"I'm afraid we can't truly diagnose until Mr. Holmes here gets a look at him. We are looking for what did you say, black smoke?" Father Franklin asked. Sherlock nodded without a word, not really in the mood to give his opinion right now.
"And if he wakes up and all is normal then the Aspiration is gone?" Molly wondered with a hopeful little smile. Father Franklin couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head sorrowfully none the less.
"Ms. Hooper if this was that easy then I wouldn't be half as worried. No, unfortunately if John wins this battle then the spirit goes dormant once more; this is a battle for control, not territory. There will be more to come, but this will help us prepare for the next." Father Franklin admitted solemnly. Molly nodded, but she didn't seem too pleased with his answer.
"But shouldn't we just want this thing to win?" Sherlock wondered abruptly, to which Molly gasped.
"Morally no." Franklin muttered, but Sherlock new there was more to that sentence.
"You said if the Aspiration takes over completely then we can pull it out cleanly with the ritual. Well, maybe we should just let it take over, and make sure John's soul is nice and cozy, hidden somewhere down in his feet, so we can just let God reach down and pluck our little Devil from his body." Sherlock planned with a little smile. Father Franklin nodded, leaning his chin on his hands thoughtfully and staring blankly at the table. Obviously he didn't like this idea, obviously he didn't like to just sit back and let horrible things happen, but all of them knew that it was the best plan of action. In fact, maybe Sherlock's affair had helped this operation rather than hurt it.
"It's very complicated." Father Franklin admitted, glancing at the thick book that lay next to his elbows on the table. It was the one Sherlock had borrowed from him so long ago, with the ritual in it for him to read when necessary.
"What, we have to be where the Aspiration died, that's the front yard, and just have you chant the Latin and spray the holy water, and we will probably have to hold him down, but other than that, it's rather manageable." Sherlock decided optimistically, looking at his comrades to see if they thought the same.
"Yes, but remember the Aspiration's power is unknown to us. If we have a plan it likely does as well. It's not in Mr. Watson for kicks; it's in there to prove itself to the Devil." Father Franklin warned. Molly gasped silently, and Sherlock just looked over at her passively. She really wasn't taking this well, was she? Her face was very white, and she looked absolutely terrified of what used to be her friends.
"But we don't know what she wants, what would she possibly want?" Sherlock wondered miserably.
"Ms. Adler?" Father Franklin wondered. Sherlock nodded, thinking deeply.
"Well she wants to prove herself to the Devil, obviously, so that must include acts of mass destruction, death, all that fun stuff. We should most certainly keep Mary and Rosie out of that house." Sherlock decided after a moment's thought.
"You too." Molly added nervously. Sherlock just shook his head, but he honestly wished he could just politely excuse himself from that house forever.
"I need to be there, I'm the only one that can see it." Sherlock pointed out. Molly just shook her head, looking as though she needed to swallow her fear before speaking.
"Sherlock ever since it's been here it's been after you, it wants you, not Mary or Rosie. It screams your name in the night, think about it I mean, you're the only one that can really stop it." Molly pointed out. Sherlock stared at the table gloomily, but he knew that Molly was right. However he had to take his chances, he had to be with John in his moment of need.
"It told me something." Sherlock admitted. "The other night, when it took over John."
"What did it say?" the priest asked curiously.
"It was, on top of me...and it called me weak. I couldn't fight back, I don't know why, but my limbs turned to lead and I just let it..." Sherlock took a deep breath, drawing in the warm air and pulling his arms around himself. "And it said that I was from Hell, that...that Satan gave me these powers for some reason, not God." There was a silence that followed his words, and suddenly Sherlock felt a chill in the air, a cool breeze seemingly venting up from the floor, from the ground, from Hell.
"It's just trying to scare you." Father Franklin decided flatly, obviously not knowing how else to respond to a statement such as that.
"If I really was from Hell it would explain the fascination, I'm Satan's creation, his own mold walking the earth, if the Aspiration wants to prove itself to the Devil why not bring back its most prized possession? The man he let see his kingdom?" Sherlock wondered.
"You're saying that John is going to try to kill you?" Molly whispered fearfully. Sherlock nodded gravely, watching the Father to see his reaction to his terrifying theory.
"I suppose, Mr. Holmes, that it's a risk we have to take. Certainly I don't want to have to put your life on the line like that, but we need you for this ritual. Maybe you're wrong, and maybe this spirit doesn't want to hurt you, but to help you. Maybe, if what it says is true, maybe it wants you alive and well, to help it in its own version of Armageddon." The priest theorized.
"So Sherlock, you're definitely a factor here, a big one. But should we protect you and risk you not playing your proper part in expelling this thing, or should we send you to John's bed side and risk you getting killed?" Molly wondered in a weak voice.
"I need to defend myself." Sherlock decided. "Because I'm not sitting this out, I need to be there for him. Father Franklin is right, I brought this on him, I need to help get it out."
"Did you really, you know, have an affair?" Molly whispered fearfully, as if she didn't even want to think about such a thing.
"It wasn't like initiated it, I just, well, I didn't say...no." Sherlock muttered timidly, his guilty eyes flickering nervously towards Father Franklin, who was looking grave once more.
"When?" Molly wondered in horror.
"Let's change the subject." Father Franklin suggested with a welcoming smile, looking very anxious to change the conversation. Maybe the subject of sinning wasn't really up his alley. Molly nodded, and without a word she got out of her chair and rushed up the stairs, leaving the two men sitting in a stunned silence.
"Does she think that change the subject means leave?" Sherlock wondered in amusement, however as soon as he finished his sentence Molly's footsteps could be heard prancing back down the stairs. She burst into the living room with something wrapped in white cloth, holding it very carefully, as if she were afraid to even touch it.
"You said you needed to defend yourself?" she wondered determinedly. Sherlock nodded, backing away a little bit as he made a rather likely guess about what she held in her hands. Molly sat down once more and unwrapped the cloth, reveling a shiny silver revolver, small enough to fit in a coat pocket. Sherlock and Father Franklin looked at the gun in awe, finding a newfound respect for Molly and her right to bear arms.
"What, I need to defend myself too!" Molly defended.
"You're not coming." Sherlock said flatly.
"I know I'm not coming, I'm not going anywhere near that house." Molly agreed with a laugh, as if that was already a done deal.
"But you need this more than me. If killing him kills the Aspiration, well, only use it in emergencies." Molly advised. She pushed the gun carefully in Sherlock's direction, and he picked it up off of the wooden table and examined it. It was fully loaded (that was a bit unsafe, wasn't it?) and had a very clean, unused look to it. Obviously Molly hadn't found much need for her revolver in these couple of years alone.
"I can't kill John." Sherlock mumbled flatly.
"If it means saving the lives of Mary, Father Franklin, and yourself, I think you could." Molly assured softly. She seemed to get more and more okay with this, as though the idea of killing a friend to protect the masses was a rather good idea. Sherlock's stomach twisted nervously, but nevertheless he made sure the safety was on and tucked the weapon in his coat pocket, hoping very much that he wouldn't need to use it.
"Well then, I suppose we should get going. Mr. Holmes, you don't happen to have a rosary you would like to wear?" Father Franklin wondered, getting to his feet and grabbing the large leather bound book. Sherlock nodded, dashing upstairs before anyone could ask him anymore questions and rooting around what little possessions he had. The rosary was buried deep underneath all of his clothes, folded and refolded in the suitcase, along with his Bible and a little plastic jug of holy water. It was rather ironic that someone like him travels with so many holy items, but in all honesty he might just be the man who most needed such things. He needed to keep the Devil on his heels at bay with whatever methods possible. It seemed like ages ago when he had thrown all of his clothes in a bag and started his way over to his old home town, and now here he was, at the climax. Everything that happened from beyond this point was going to be critical in John's survival; to get this spirt out of him would ensure his life expectancy. If they did anything wrong from here on out, John would either die or get his soul accidently cast down into Hell, which was the equivalent of dying anyway. Sherlock just hoped that everyone would be alright. Maybe the ritual won't go smoothly, maybe the Aspiration will be half expelled or not expelled at all, but that wasn't an issue really. As long as John wasn't hurt in the process then everything would be fine. His safety was all that mattered to Sherlock because he couldn't stand to see another man he loved die at his hands. He couldn't bear the loss of John along with the loss of Victor, and if by Sherlock's blunders John's life is lost, well, maybe Sherlock would just have to follow. It didn't matter if he could or couldn't love John the way he wanted to, it didn't matter that they were being kept apart by Mary anymore. Sherlock's feelings were real, and he didn't have to kiss John and let John sin with him to have feelings. He will just love John from a distance, and he would protect him as if he were closer. Sherlock pulled the rosary around his neck, and even though you're not really supposed to use them as necklaces, Sherlock did anyway. He tucked the wooden cross under his jacket and tucked the holy water into his pocket, just in case he needed an extra weapon against the hopeful recruits of the Devil's army. Sherlock walked dismally down the stairs, wondering if he would ever see these stairs again. Wondering if he would ever want to.
"Are you ready?" Father Franklin wondered, nervously twisting some of the beads on his own Rosary. Sherlock pitied him in all honestly, the poor man was being thrown into this mess purely because he was the only priest around, he was working with children who directly defied his instructions, and now he was the one who had to clean everything up. But he looked determined, holy. He knew that he had to act upon the word of God, to help those in need and protect humanity from the workings of the man downstairs.
"Ready." Sherlock agreed. Molly lingered closer, wringing her hands together for a goodbye. She didn't seem certain that Sherlock would return, her face was white and her eyes were watching him as if she were trying to savor the way he looked to store in the back of her brain for the rest of eternity.
"You'll be careful?" she wondered in a weak voice. Father Franklin busied himself with the book, suddenly finding it necessary to read over the ritual instead of watching this goodbye.
"I'll be fine Molly, I'm in no danger." Sherlock assured. Molly just sniffed, shaking her head and taking one of Sherlock's hands in her own. Her skin was very cold, but gentle, and she held Sherlock's hand as if it had been one of her life long goals to do so.
"You can't die Sherlock, alright? I don't care if you kill him, if he's coming after you, you need to kill him. The Aspiration is going to want to take you, I know it will, and you just...you can't let it." Molly pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head slightly.
"You know I'll find every possible way to try to end this without a death, mine included. I don't want to die Molly, but if John dies, then maybe that will change." Sherlock admitted dismally.
"Sherlock I couldn't...I mean, I know it's stupid..." Molly started.
"I know Molly." Sherlock assured, cutting her off before she had to say anything more. Molly choked out a pathetic little laugh, wiping her eyes with her free hand and shaking her head so that her brown ponytail wagged behind her head.
"If you love him then you know how I feel." Molly mumbled in a cracking voice.
"I do. I do love him." Sherlock agreed. "And I know I shouldn't, I know it's impossible."
"Precisely." Molly agreed. "And you know how heartbroken you would be if he died."
"The good of the many, Molly, outweighs the good of the one. I will die if it means saving his life." Sherlock promised. Molly's tears flowed more freely, and she didn't bother trying to wipe them away. She just clung to Sherlock's hand tighter, as if she didn't want to let go.
"Do anything you can to make sure that doesn't happen." She begged. Sherlock nodded reassuringly, holding her hand with both of his own and pressing a kiss onto her forehead, a goodbye kiss, to a friend that had stayed by his side this whole time.
"Thank you Molly, for everything." Sherlock muttered, letting his hands fall away and walking towards the door. "I'm ready Father." He added. Father Franklin looked up from the book, his eyes darting towards Sherlock and then glancing back at Molly, who was now crying openly.
"Yes, alright." He agreed, obviously not wanting to ask what had just happened between the two of them. Undoubtedly he had been listening, there was no way he was that entranced in his Latin that he didn't hear their heartfelt goodbyes.
"Goodbye Sherlock." Molly muttered. Sherlock just looked at her softly, and with that he allowed himself to be willed out of the door by Father Franklin, following in his footsteps into the bright sunlight.

    "Are you nervous?" Sherlock wondered as he took his seat in the passenger side, closing the door and buckling his seatbelt. Father Franklin sighed heavily, putting his hands on the steering wheel yet not turning the engine on.
"I am." He agreed in a low voice.
"You'll be alright." Sherlock assured, not really knowing what else to say. He had half expected the priest to say that he wasn't scared, and that everything was going to be alright. Then again, priests weren't allowed to lie. What lay at the end of this journey wasn't going to be alright, and they both knew it.
"Sherlock I'm disappointed in you." The Father admitted. Sherlock nodded, bowing his head in shame.
"You know I'm sorry." Sherlock insisted in a small voice, feeling like he was once again a child being scolded.
"But you don't regret it, and I think that's what makes this whole action even worse. God can't forgive you until you want to be forgiven, until you ask for it. And I think Mr. Watson shares the same mindset, even now, while he wrestles with his demons." Father Franklin guessed.
"No, I don't regret it the slightest. I love him, Father, and I know you are going to try to invalidate my feelings in the name of God, but I do. To be with him, before the end of it all, I think it was worth every moment." Sherlock decided firmly, looking up so that he could make determined eye contact with the priest, to make sure he understood the sincerity of his words.
"You think this is the end of it all?" Father Franklin wondered. Sherlock nodded glumly.
"I have a hunch." He agreed. The priest nodded, but he only responded by turning on the engine and pulling down the road, deciding that if this really was the end, well, they might as well begin.