Disclaimer: Property of BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss.
AN: This was an idea that I really liked, and finally had a chance to write about. Feeling successful and productive. (And it's not because I'm sipping Lestrade tea, thanks very much.)
Many thanks to Nattie Finn for her input and ideas. The title is much more coherent now.
Religion - a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects.
221B Baker Street, The Moping Couch
11:22 AM
A Week Before A Scandal In Belgravia
The next surprise comes when John realizes Sherlock has a religion, albeit not a widely recognized one, although that's not for lack of trying.
"Hang on. You've asked the Vatican to recognize deduction as an official religion?"
Sherlock doesn't look up from the screen of John's laptop. "Yes."
The reply is terse, Sherlock hates repeating himself, but John isn't about to let this go just yet. This new piece of information is considerably less shocking than it should be, considering how small John's list of shocking activities has become (the Sherlock section usually encompasses anything that can be considered "strange", "insane", or "socially unacceptable"), but this is still pretty damn out there.
So this is what Sherlock did during his university years. John wonders if this is Sherlock's version of testing out freedom for the first time.
"But why?"
"Because deduction can both act as a religion and successfully fulfill the purposes of one." John hears the unspoken of course, but has gotten far too used to that kind of thing to be offended. He's too torn between dropping his tea in surprise and letting loose wild, chest-aching bursts of laughter to bother with normal reactions anyway.
In the end he does neither and sets his mug safely on the counter (it's one of the rare, chemical-free ones that Sherlock's off-limits to, and he doesn't much fancy having to buy another one) before continuing the conversation.
"So, did it work?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock's already gone, miles away from this conversation and John takes some time to walk over to his chair and seat himself firmly on it. He's found that with Sherlock, physical proximity often does wonders in reminding him that John's still there, and has questions.
"What did the Vatican have to say about that? You asking them to make deduction a religion."
"I didn't ask them to make it a religion, it is a religion, in all sense of the definition. I only asked them to recognize it." Sherlock sniffs disdainfully, and throws a dismissive hand in the air. "They called me a blasphemer, or some such biblical term. I didn't pay attention. How they missed the obvious logic is inexplicable."
John fights the urge to chuckle. Sherlock looks put out at the memory, and the oncoming pout makes the grown man wrapped in a dressing gown seem adorable.
No, bad train of thought. Really bad train of thought. Sherlock might be a lot of things (John could think of quite a lot of colorful terms), but he definitely wasn't adorable. And if it seemed like things have been different after the Pool incident, then that was surely his problem; one he shouldn't involve Sherlock in. But unfortunately for him, living with Sherlock meant giving up certain privileges, like basic privacy.
When he catches Sherlock's curious glance over the top of his laptop, he desperately tries to focus on anything else. Thankfully, something was bothering him about Sherlock's explanation of the Vatican and he desperately switched to that train of thought. It was the laptop that had reminded him – the internet?
Then it clicks in his head.
"So that's why you named your website the Science of Deduction, is it?"
Sherlock is surprised out of his pout. John takes that as a yes. It's hardly mature, Sherlock being petulant enough to name his website something that was sure to piss off the Vatican, but he really can't help the fresh adorable that floats across his mind.
"Deduction was always logic-based, and therefore more suitable for science then any sort of religion."
"Yeah, the website would make a piss-poor Bible. It doesn't have all the different prophets."
Sherlock's lip quirks upwards, just a bit. "And what would the masses do without their different guides, I wonder."
"You'd just have to be all of them. Saves everyone else a lot of time." John gives Sherlock a dry look.
"Hm." The response is disinterested, but Sherlock's answering smirk is undeniable. John sits listening to his ceaseless tapping for a little while, then gets up to retrieve his cup of tea after its clear the conversation's over.
"You'd be one too." Sherlock says suddenly, and John stops for a moment on his way to the kitchen.
They share a glance, one of the special ones that never failed to prompt another misunderstanding, but this time John comes out of it a trifle dazed. And maybe a little red.
It's around this time John understands he might be in trouble. He takes a large gulp of tea.
There are certain things John knows he will never admit to anyone, even certain persons that might already know. One of those things happen to be his feelings for Sherlock, feelings which have somehow stretched beyond his established strange attachment and morphed into something else without his knowledge. Something that makes him want to know what Sherlock tastes like, or if his hair was really as soft as it looked. Things like that.
He tries to keep it as unobtrusive as possible. And it just goes to show how cruel the universe can be that that same week brings a Sherlock dressed only in a sheet (he's worried that he might have actually lost it there, in Buckingham Palace; Mycroft certainly noticed) and Irene Adler. She's beautiful, in an intoxicating, powerful way he supposes - but it's a mark of how far gone he is that he can't take his eyes off Sherlock. Who in turn can't take his eyes off Irene.
He was never the jealous type. No reason to start now, or so he tries to tell himself.
It doesn't stop him from wanting to break the phone everytime another sensual "Ahh" has Sherlock rummaging to find it. He retires for a cup of tea instead, and tries not to feel completely shunted aside.