A/N;

Okay, just a little warning; I'm not trying to ridicule the church or Christianity (I'm a Christian myself) but somehow I wanted to include such a character. I wasn't intending to offend or insult anyone, but if you do feel like that, please leave a review and tell me.

Chapter is dedicated to IamDoctorWhoLocked. Please leave a review, as they are very much appreciated and stimulate me to write faster. :D

UnBeta'ed and I only read it over two times, so any mistakes, please point them out. Okay, in the next chapter I promise some more old 'friends' of Sherlock's and some more Anna. xD Gosh I already love her.

The next morning, breakfast was spent just like all the other meals John had had the honour of sharing with the Holmes' family. Sherlock bickered and refused to eat, Mycroft bickered and refused to stop eating, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes just ate and John sat in between. And, if he was fair to himself, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

After breakfast, everyone went to their own rooms to get ready for church, and John was anticipating it greatly. He had only been to church once, when one of his fellow soldiers had married, and John had been paying more attention to the girls than to the sermon.

"Boys, we're leaving!" Mrs. Holmes shouted upstairs. John smoothed out some crinkles in his suit and stepped outside the room. He joined Mycroft and his parents downstairs, and the waiting for Sherlock started.

"Good grief," Mrs. Holmes sighed. "Not this again."

Trying to prevent an all-out war, John offered to go up-stairs and take a look. He knocked at Sherlock's door, but when he didn't receive an answer, he slowly pushed it open.

"Sherlock?"

Shortly after, the door to the bath room opened, and Sherlock's mop of curls stuck from behind it.

"What's wrong? We're waiting, and your mum said we're going to be late."

Sherlock sighed and stepped away from the door, allowing John a full look at the detective.

"Ah." John understood.

Sherlock's jacket was crumpled and the buttons of his shirt were only half-done. His shoelaces were loose and the sling wasn't fastened correctly.

"You could have asked me, you know," John said. "Why don't you just wear a comfy sweater like you did yesterday?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"Sher, don't give me the look." John said, stepping closer to help Sherlock to get into his clothes properly.

"I'm going to church, so I need to look 'impeccable', John," Sherlock explained in his don't-you-see-it's-so-obvious-tone.

John, in the mean-time, was busy to adjust his clothes, buttoning-up Sherlock's buttons properly and fastening the sling like it should.

After a minute or five, Sherlock looked fine, and both of them went down-stairs.

"Finally," Sherlock's mum greeted her son. "Come on, let's go. The vicar doesn't wait."

The five of them left the house and walked towards the village. It was a beautiful morning, and because no one said a word, John heard the birds and the wind in the trees, and suddenly he felt excited. He was out of town, in the countryside and it was great. He had his best friend with him, and he was going to church.

Sherlock slowed down, so that John found himself side to side with Mycroft, who had left his precious umbrella at home.

John saw it too, and joked, "You've forgotten your umbrella, Mycroft."

Mycroft lifted his eyebrow but then he understood the joke. "Ah, yes. Well, I listened to the weather forecast and it doesn't seem like it's going to rain."

"Why do you take it with you anyway?" John asked, curious.

"Well," Mycroft started, but Sherlock interrupted, quipping, "Because his suits cost thousands, so he can't allow them to be spoiled with rain, whenever that may occur."

John grinned. "I never had that problem. Jumpers aren't that expensive."

Five minutes later they crossed the square and John followed Mr. and Mrs. Holmes through a small alley, not very far away from the bakery shop. The alley ended in a gravel path, and led towards a small Gothic church. The doors were wide open, and a man dressed in black stood by the door, and a smile of relief lightened up his features when he noticed the small group coming towards him.

He extended his hand and greeted each of them cheerfully. "I thought you wouldn't come today."

"Well," Mr. Holmes said carefully, "We were detained."

"Ah, Mr. Holmes junior," the Vicar greeted Mycroft when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had entered the church. "And your brother I see. How good of you to come. It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

He noticed Sherlock's white sling and winked, "London's a dangerous town, isn't it? My sister complains about it all the time. What happened?"

Sherlock didn't smile at the vicar's jokes. "I got shot."

"Oh."

Even John thought the look on the vicar's face was priceless, but he shot Sherlock a reprimanding glance and extended his hand. "Hello, good morning," John said friendly.

The vicar, happy to be distracted from the Holmes' brother, gratefully shook John's hand. "Welcome at my church. I'm Richardson, the vicar."

John kept smiling, and answered, "I noticed. I'm John Watson, friend of Sherlock's."

The Vicar's happy face fell a little when he made the conclusion many people made, but he recovered quickly and ushered them inside.

"Well, I'll see you afterwards," he said, and left them standing in the cloakroom. Sherlock shook his head and faced Mycroft. "That man never changes, does he?"

Mycroft grinned and hung up his coat, and turned to face John. "John, you can take one of those psalm books, we'll be mainly singing from these. Sherlock, I trust you brought yours?"

Sherlock held up his book as answer after rolling his eyes and walked after his parents inside the church hall. John and Mycroft followed a little behind, and John seized the opportunity to ask, "do you think Anna's here already?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I believe her plane lands over half an hour, so she will be here around lunchtime."

Mrs. Holmes threw the two of them a warning look and Mycroft quickly explained to John, "The service is going to begin."

Richardson climbed the pulpit and waited until everyone was silent.

"Good morning, brethren," he said gravely.

With Mycroft on his left and Sherlock on his right, John relaxed a bit. He had never been at church, and he felt this was going to be a good introduction.

Richardson, in the meanwhile, continued talking, mentioning names and illnesses and births in the congregation, and at last, he said, "we are also capable of welcoming Mr. Mycroft Holmes and his brother Sherlock Holmes, who are both coming in from London. Also, we would like to welcome John Watson, Sherlock Holmes' friend who accompanied Sherlock to this village."

John nodded at the vicar when Richardson looked their way, and expected the man to continue with the service.

But Richardson glanced at his paper and, while his eyes searched the crowd, landed his gaze on a woman in one of the front pews, and nodded friendly at her. "Also, we like to give a warm welcome to Miss Anna Rimmer, who returned from Paris, France just in time to be present here."

John felt Sherlock tense, but the detective didn't look up from his book but instead kept flicking the pages with his thumb. John quickly glanced at Mycroft, but the man didn't move a muscle.

The woman's ginger curls bobbed up and down in answer, and the vicar squared his shoulders. "We will begin this day with Psalm 23, The Lord is My Shepherd. Please stand while singing this."

One hour and almost 45 minutes later, the doors of the church opened and the people who had been inside slowly made their ways into the warm sunlight.

Mycroft and John were the first to walk outside, and waited there until Mr. and Mrs. Holmes joined them.

"How wonderful," Mrs. Holmes exclaimed as soon as she saw Mycroft. "Anna's here already. I'm sure Sherlock is talking to her now. Shall we go home already?"

John wanted to wait, he was rather curious about how Anna would look like, and if he would like her, but most of all he wanted to know how Sherlock would respond to her.

Sadly enough, Mrs. Holmes tugged his sleeve and asked, "what did you think, John, seeing this is your first service you've ever been to?"

John thought for a moment and then said, "I liked it, his speech was rather good, very… spirited."

He thought about how Richardson had gripped the edge of the pulpit with his left hand, and raised his right hand in the air to emphasise what he was trying to convey.

"Ah, yes," Mrs. Holmes sighed happily, "that's our vicar."

"Good morning!" A cheery man with short dark hair interrupted Mrs. Holmes.

"Ah, Michael, how are you?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

"Fine, fine, how is Sherlock doing? I saw he had his arm in a sling. Something bad?"

"Oh, he got shot, but he is doing fine now. How's Samantah?" Mrs. Holmes asked, trying to find the woman she was talking about.

"At home, with the kids," Michael explained, while glancing at John.

Mrs. Holmes noticed. "This is John Watson, he's a friend of Sherlock's," she said. "John, this is Michael Stone, an old friend of Sherlock."

John nodded and smiled friendly at the man in front of him. Mike chatted away with him, asking how he found the village and how London was.

Mycroft and Mr. Holmes were standing a few meters away, not saying anything to the other.

While chatting, the five of them slowly removed themselves from the church to go back home.

When they reached the square, Michael bade them farewell, and promised to come by later that evening.

When the remaining four arrived at home, there was still no Sherlock. Mrs. Holmes made coffee.

They all sat down, drank their coffee or tea and discussed the sermon thoroughly. John kept silent and listened about what they had to say.

Soon after the coffee, John picked up his book Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and started reading. Mrs. Holmes fished her embroidery out of a basket and Mycroft and Mr. Holmes sat down at the dinner table to discuss some important business.

Half an hour later, Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside. "Mum, is there some coffee left?" he asked, sinking down on the sofa.

"How was Anna, Sherlock?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

Sherlock looked up and faced his mother. "Anna?" His brow crinkled. "Oh, I just went to see Richardson to talk about his sermon. It was a very interesting one, wasn't it?"

"Sherlock?" His mother couldn't believe it. "You didn't even talk to her? That's not how we raised you, Sherlock!"

"What? Why should I talk to her? I haven't seen her for years!"

Mrs. Holmes sighed deeply and shook her head in disapproval. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, accepted the steaming cup of coffee and decided to let this rest.

The remainder of the morning was spent in silence, and only after lunch did Mr. Holmes turn on some classical music.

John stretched his arms and yawned. "Sherlock, I need some movement. Shall we go for a walk?"

Sherlock nodded and within minutes both men were outside.

John inhaled the air deeply and sighed contently. "It's good to be able to breathe some real fresh air, don't you think?"

Sherlock only nodded. "Sundays are still as boring as they were when I was just a kid," he sighed.

John chuckled. "I thought I would appreciate some peace and quiet after living with you at Baker Street, but it appears I'm wrong."

Sherlock remained quiet, until he suddenly asked, "that's a good thing, right?"

"Hm-hm," John answered.

After a nice silence in which they just kept walking, Sherlock broke the silence, saying, "I'm not going to talk about Anna now, John."

"I wasn't expecting you to," his friend answered.

"Yes, you were," Sherlock said, adamant.

John sighed. "Okay, I was."

They just kept walking. The gravel beneath their feet made soft noises as they walked on in silence. The sun shone brightly, but John didn't feel as happy as he did just hours before. Perhaps it had to do with Sherlock. Somehow John had to be more cautious with Sherlock here than at Baker Street. Sherlock seemed… depressed and well, a bit gloomy.

John cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Did you, or did you not talk to her?"

Sherlock suppressed a smile. "I said I didn't want to talk about it."

John grinned. "I know, yet I'm asking. Just answer me."

"I did not talk to Anna, I spoke to the vicar."

"About the sermon, I see," John added mockingly. "Look, Sherlock, I haven't been to church often, but even I know his sermon was kinda rubbish. The message was okay, but the man is just pompous. He reminded me a little of Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice."

"What?"

"Never mind," John grinned, not expecting Sherlock to catch the reference. "He just didn't seem like the man you would want to talk to."

"It's not about liking the man, John, he's the vicar. One goes to the vicar with questions about one's spiritual life."

"Oh." John thought Sherlock sounded rather serious. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were thinking about things like that."

"There are many things you don't know about me, John."

That was true, John thought. "Well, I can't just read you, can I?" he asked, feeling he was beginning to get irritated. "It's not my fault. I tried to talk to you about so many things, I tried asking you about many things, but you just keep blocking me out, so of course I hardly know you!"

Sherlock remained silent.

"Well," John tried again, "did you talk to her?"

"No." It sounded curt and tense, conveying a story John didn't understand.

"Why not?"

Sherlock still remained silent, and John gave up asking things. Instead, he said, "look, Sherlock, I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I don't know how you feel about her or towards her, but she was your best friend who came a long way just to be here. You could just talk to her, you know?"

"I know, John."

"Then why didn't you?" John was puzzled. Sherlock's posture was strangely tense, and John felt there was more.

"Because I received a bouquet of flowers when I was at the hospital, don't you see, John?"

ToBeContinued