TheDarkestShinobi: Review!

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He wasn't trained so much as re-familiarized with the body. It hadn't been that long, John thought as he went through the steps. It wasn't like this though, in the field, wasn't this clean, this quiet. The real test wasn't in here, but in the field as the man you're trying to help is screaming and jerking, bullets flying in the background and blood, way too much blood everywhere.

It was enough for a lifetime, he told Sherlock once, yet he wanted more.

They wouldn't send him abroad again, and he had a feeling that Mycroft was involved with that, he'd be more likely to die overseas. He held the handgun up and lined his hands with the target. He spread his feet, no resistance from either leg.

Sherlock had been in another building that time, and with a handgun like this it would have been considered a crack shot. John pulled the trigger. Bang. He knew he wouldn't miss though, his hand didn't shake; it never shook with a gun. Bang. Sherlock had known it was him right away, despite him trying to hide it. Bang. It wasn't much of a surprise. Bang, Bang. Bang. He dropped quickly, on one knee now. Bang. Bang. Sherlock did get thrills from risking his life. John did too he supposed. Bang.

There was one more target. His eyes searched the field. He stood spinning to the left a bit and locked on to the target.

Bang.

"Well done Doctor, are you sure you were only used in the medical capacity?"

"I've had bad days." He let one side of his mouth raise. "Too many bad days. Yes, I was used in a medical capacity, but I'm there to protect the others, this is part of that."

"You pass. Surprise" His tone indicated it really wasn't "Follow me,"

…

Sherlock knew it was here. This woman was next, this was the place, and he would strike today.

"Hello, Amelia." She opens her eyes at the sound of his voice. Oh, Amelia, the fourth favorite, he smiled at her and she tried to scream. She jerked but the cloth held her in place.

"Shh, shh," he coos. "Don't get yourself all flustered. "I'd have to use more drugs, and I don't want to do this without your permission." She quieted, but her eyes were still frantic. No, that wouldn't do at all. "I would like to talk to you. We should have a dialogue, because I think I can help you see some things more clearly. We can only do this if you promise not to scream. It's unbecoming of a woman of your status." He smiles widely, "do you know who you are?"

Her eyes scanned the room, and his face, took in both of their naked forms. She shook her head.

"No, no" his hand caressed her face gently, "so few people know who they really are. I want you to listen to me carefully. Then we can talk, okay? Nod your head" she did. "Do you believe in God?" She nodded again. Good.

She knew God could save her.

The doors were shut well, and Sherlock couldn't open them himself, thankfully the police force was capable at this.

"Its' no wonder he chose you then. Do you believe he is infinite?" Another nod. "And that he is a God of love?" Yes. "Are you sure?" He trailed his eyes down her perfectly smooth white skin. He had already shaved her and lotioned her up while she was unconscious. She was almost ready, but he had to try and make her understand. "It's one thing to believe in God, but an infinite God of love is another thing. Do you really believe this?" She nodded, a tear escaping her eye. He wiped it away trying not to cry himself. She was scared, oh so scared.

"Do you go to church?" No, she shook her head, but she was praying now. One miracle, that's all she would ask for.

"Then you don't bow your knees with the mentally ill hypocrites, you believe in a loving infinite God." He was happier now. Amelia swallowed and trembled.

"That's very good. Then it will be easy to understand that the love an infinite God has for a person is also infinite. You can't say he loves this one more than that one, or that he can only love someone so much. He can love infinitely many people this way."

Her chin lowered and he felt good about her predisposition to understand. She understood the basics.

Sherlock ran up the stairs two at a time. He was in front of the others, long legs allowing him to eat up the steps faster than the others.

"There is no one God loves more than you, Amelia, do you see it?" She nodded, but he could tell she didn't. "Don't just nod, think, when you love someone infinitely, you can love no one else more. You see everyone is God's favorites, everyone. This is possible because God has infinite love. He can have multiple favorites without changing the meaning of the word. Each one is still truly a favorite; receiving the greatest God has to offer. The point is you are God's favorite."

He wanted to kiss her. His brain buzzed as it did with every bride. He had to leave the kissing to God.

"It means that every power in heaven and earth is perched on the edge of their seats, the tips of their toes just waiting to see what the favorite Amelia will do. Will she respond to her love's call and return to God, or will she spit in his face for another few measly years on earth?" She was soaking it in, speechless.

"You're the favorite, all of eternity past has been waiting for the one God did it all for. Tonight, you can finally join him as his bride." He said it masterfully, fully lost in his own illusion. "Tonight is your wedding night."

He pulled the cloth from her mouth and she coughed. He was instantly hovering.

"Are you alright, would you like some water?" She cried, turning away from him, oh she must be as overwhelmed as he was. Her tears ruined her makeup; he'd have to reapply it later.

"You are a seed; you must fall to the ground and die so you can grow into the beautiful flower you were meant to be."

Too many flights of stairs to not have an elevator.

"You're wrong."

He stepped back in surprise; the others called him crazy and begged for their lives. One tried to convince him she couldn't be a favorite. None had told him he was wrong. Her red hair cascaded all the way down her back as she turned to him.

"God doesn't want us to die now, not by you. God's love for us is so infinite that he lets us decide when and how we go to him." Her voice was shaky. He shook his head, she didn't get it. "You're hurting his favorites and that makes you an enemy of God."

"NO!" He shouted. "Enemies of God get smiteted, I am being praised, I have returned almost half of his favorites to him."

"You think so," she looked fiery, "but God doesn't want a bride against her will."

He punched her then, she fell to the table unconscious and he panted.

Sherlock threw the door open and walked in.

The room was empty, except for the pale woman with the veil perfectly covering her face.