Sherlock POV: It was may have been a strange sight to see a priest with a baby stroller, looking so poised and professional as he made his way down the long stretching sidewalk around the other side of the church. He was used to onlookers in his usual days, not only because he was conventionally attractive but also because he had that priest's collar to give him away. Today it seemed as though each one of his admirers were taking a different angle, not only appreciating the priest's looks but also his rather enigmatic pastime. How could he explain to al of them that this baby was not his own, that he was just looking after it for a friend? It turned heads in all directions, forcing Sherlock's own gaze to settle upon the sidewalk and pretend not to notice the constant attention. Usually he felt comfortable in people's eyes; though this was the first time he had ever felt judged, in the spotlight when he would rather cower behind in the darkness. It was rounding four o'clock now, and his shift with Hamish was supposed to end on the hour. John and Mary had pawned the baby off to the priest in the search for some added peace and comfort, though it was less of a chore and more of a privilege to have Hamish trusted within his care. Sherlock had to admit that the situation was becoming strange, not only with his own involvement with the child but the seeming absence of Hamish's mother from the stages of his upbringing. Sherlock and John had been there to watch him roll over, they had been there to watch him giggle and laugh, and certainly both would be present to hear his first word or watch his first step. It was a process that should be witnessed by the mother as well, though Mary seemed to be perfectly absent from her son's life. Whenever Sherlock was around it was either himself or John who was taking care of the child, and if Mary wasn't at work she was usually slumped over somewhere, wordless and rather quick to anger. It was unlike her, for the woman he had known before Hamish's arrival was always so happy go lucky and pleasant to be around. The only thing that had changed was the delivery of the child, but what could that have to do with her strange mood swings? It wasn't something that had been mentioned in his parenting book, though Sherlock figured he should investigate on Google when he got the free time. He had made a pledge to be there for the family, and that didn't just mean Hamish. Sherlock had a responsibility to Mary as well, the woman who might be suffering from forces she couldn't hope to understand. Turning the stroller carefully at the end of the sidewalk Sherlock headed back, pushing the wheels against the slightly graded hill in an attempt to give himself a workout and give the baby some sunshine. It had said in his books that children often enjoy the outdoors, and some fresh air would help with their upbringing and overall mood. Hamish was quiet within the stroller, presumably asleep by the way he neither cried nor gurgled. Usually he took up some kind of noisemaking when he was awake. Though it was no bother, Sherlock was perfectly happy allowing him to breathe some fresh air, even if he wasn't around to notice. As they got halfway up the sidewalk Sherlock's arms began to tire, for Hamish was a lot bigger now than he had been in weeks past. He was quite the burden to be pushing up hills, and for a moment the poor priest felt as though his arms would break under the strain. Finally he stopped, applying the stroller's brakes and seating himself on one of the park benches that the city had set up along the sidewalks, perhaps for this very reason. With Hamish well in his view the priest shook out his tired limbs, feeling quite silly to be out of breath after merely twenty steps of exercise. For a moment the man dug at his collar, pulling the plastic away from his neck in an attempt to get some more airflow down his shirt and onto his sweaty chest. There was a bird hopping around on the sidewalk opposite, and for a while Sherlock was perfectly content with watching it eat crumbs and poke at the urban trash that had been left along in the flowerbeds. It was a wonderful pass time, interrupted only when his view was obstructed by a large black shape, one which was moving rather quickly down the hill. It was only until Sherlock blinked that the details of this strange object became clear, and with the recognition of Hamish's stroller he jumped to his feet frantically.
"Hamish!" Sherlock exclaimed, racing after the stroller as it began to pick up speed, heading towards the end of the sidewalk and therefore one of the busiest intersections in town. Sherlock had never run so fast in his life, opening up his stride and practically flying down the hill. He was sure that his feet had only touched the ground a couple of times before finally he caught up to the stroller, grabbing onto the plastic tray table with a dramatic and almost exaggerated reach. His hand would have reached if he took one more flying leap, though in his frantic efforts to catch the baby he nearly dove across the sidewalk, landing on his knees and scraping across the gritty surface as he steadied the stroller nearly ten feet away from the edge of the road. Sherlock didn't have time to feel the pain; instead he scrambled to his feet and threw back the visor, examining the baby to make sure he wasn't upset by the episode. Hamish was still safely snuggled within his seat, wiggling his arms through the air and giving screeches of laughter, as if he had enjoyed the ride and would like another. Sherlock was still sticky with sweat, only now noticing that his pants had been torn and his knees scraped. Blood was only just beginning to seep through the wounds, though he would have to make quick work of this hill if he wanted to get back to the church without a passerby calling him an ambulance. Sherlock grumbled, still getting over that wild rush of fear but only just beginning to realize that he had to put in just as much effort in on the way back up. All of his progress from before had been wasted by the stroller's escape, and now with that flight he felt even more exhausted than before. At long last the priest settled himself behind the stroller, taking up the handles and pushing with all of his might back up the hill, cursing those seemingly faulty brakes as he made it up over the crest in time for the baby's safe delivery. When he arrived at the church he let himself in, pulling open the side door and pushing Hamish up the handicapped ramp for one more effort on his part. Once they arrived on solid ground the priest grumbled, shaking out his trembling arms and examining his wounded knees spitefully. His pants had been shredded, ruined now beyond repair, and by now there was a steady stream of blood oozing out of his fresh wounds.
"There you are! We were worried you'd taken the baby and made a run for it." John arrived from behind the swinging doors of the main church, strolling up towards where the priest and baby lingering within the entrance hall.
"Not exactly." Sherlock chuckled, figuring it would be best not to mention the little fiasco lest he never be put on babysitting duty again.
"Mary's on duty tonight, she already said she wanted to spend some time with Hamish." John announced happily, settling his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and giving a rather excited smile towards the priest. Sherlock cowered behind the stroller, keeping his bleeding knees out of sight of the man and trying to give his best look of enthusiasm. It was certainly good to have Mary going out of her way to spend time with the baby, though the idea of the woman alone with Hamish didn't give him a very good feeling.
"That's nice. Gives you some time to relax I guess." Sherlock offered.
"No, no. I have no intentions of doing that." John sighed. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, wondering what on earth could be implied by that.
"Alright." Sherlock muttered quietly. "What are you going to do instead?"
"I'm taking you out." the man announced at last, to which Sherlock's face paled and his hands gripped upon the stroller in an uncontrollable sign of anxiety. It wasn't his fault that such a sentence brought upon the fight or flight response, though with such connotations those were the priest's only two options at the moment! Here it was again, temptation! The last time the two men had been alone together it had ended in disaster, in a moment where Sherlock had almost dragged John Watson on top of him in a mad fit of passion! All that saved him then was the paralysis of pure shock, but what would happen tonight if he allowed himself to be dragged out of the house and to some crappy bar?
"No, sorry John but I can't." Sherlock said instinctively, feeling that he should both bite his tongue and pat himself on the back. John's face fell, though he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the priest with his usual suspicions. He had every right to suspect a lie, for now Sherlock could hardly tear his eyes away from the floor.
"What are you doing instead?" John wondered.
"I'm...I'm ironing." Sherlock announced desperately, the only answer that could come to his mind in that split second. John's face fell doubtfully, but for this small moment he dared amuse Sherlock into a farther investigation.
"Oh really? At five o'clock?" John presumed.
"Yes well it's...it's part of my schedule." Sherlock whispered nervously.
"Fine, we'll go out after that." John suggested at last.
"No, no. After ironing I mop my floor." Sherlock announced.
"You've got carpets."
"My kitchen floor!" Sherlock protested.
"Every night?"
"No, just Thursdays."
"Today's Friday."
"And Friday on every other month." Sherlock corrected anxiously. John sighed again, walking up towards Hamish and unstrapping his seatbelts to heave him up into his arms. This was obviously an action used to buy himself some thinking time, for he was presented now with an obviously falsified argument and a hesitant priest, afraid of the world. In the meantime Sherlock still gripped the stroller, wanting desperately for John to just force him out of that church and into the real world. He wanted to go out; he wanted to explore the town with John Watson at his side! But what choice did he have in the matter? Certainly this would involve drinking, and along with alcohol came some bad decisions. He was on such thin ice as it was, what use did he have for John Watson jumping?
"You don't want to go out with me?" John asked at last, to which Sherlock slumped his shoulders. He wasn't going to deny it, for that would imply that he could go on his merry way.
"I admit I'm nervous." He muttered. "Where would we be going?"
"I don't know, maybe a bar? Get some dinner, get some beers. A man's night out, to forget about our babysitting duties for a while." John offered, presenting this like it was some idealistic adventure for two friends. Of course Sherlock knew there had to be some other intention along the line, whether or not it be explicitly romantic or not. After what Victor had told him of John's indifference it seemed strange for the man to be so agressivley inviting, though the process of time changed even the most stubborn of hearts. The demon had told him that John found Sherlock to be attractive, was that not the tip of the ice burg, the tip of one that could go much farther down?
"Well...well I'm not sure. I don't think I should show my face in the bars, being as though I'm sort of a priest. Supposed to be a good role model." Sherlock pointed out.
"No one cares who you are at a bar. Besides, you don't look very familiar any more. Most of your parishioners aren't going to be looking for a twenty year old." John insisted.
"They know what happened. I've been preaching ever Sunday just as before!" Sherlock defended with a stomp of his feet, as if this was supposed to help his argument at all.
"Oh really? Claimed that you were a miracle of God?" John presumed with a grin. Sherlock bit down on his lip, realizing that he had just backed himself into an unavoidable corner. He hadn't expected to have to explain this situation to John, considering he had made some impromptu mistakes in covering up his identity.
"Well not exactly. I told them that I was a new priest come to take over for Father Holmes because he retired. I figured they wouldn't ask too many questions, and none of them would remember me from before." Sherlock explained truthfully.
"And who do you claim to be now?" John wondered with a raise of his eyebrow. Sherlock sighed heavily, thinking it rather ironic that the very question he feared just had to be brought up. It was almost embarrassing to admit it.
"Father Watson." He admitted finally. "It's the only name that came to my mind in time!" he added loudly, trying to block out the sounds of John's abrupt laughter.
"God, why don't you just marry into the family? Father Watson! I don't think I'm going to let that one go so easily. Get your coat, Sherlock, we're going out." the man declared, spinning around with the baby and marching into the church to deliver him to Mary. Sherlock was left standing in the entrance hall, rather dumbfounded with the embarrassment of his false name and the abruptness of John's demands. What could he do now, especially when John seemed to make his decision for him? Oh well, it seemed a lovely excuse to just go with it. If he had to explain this to God later on down the road he would say his hand was forced, which in all actuality it kind of was. To deny John now would be taken as a personal offense, and he didn't want to be rude. He couldn't afford it at this point, for it would seem as though he had already embarrassed himself enough for the evening. Sherlock's only detour was to go and wash up his scraped knees, something that he had thankfully gotten away with throughout their conversation. That would have been the last straw for his dignity, though thankfully he was able to meet John under the awning of his front porch, holding his coat under one hand and sticking one of his arms out to feel the slight drizzle that was beginning to fall onto the parking lot. The smell of wet asphalt erupted from the ground, though the rain was not warm enough to be considered pleasant. As it was still spring there was a considerable chill in the air, though Sherlock hadn't thought enough to put his jacket on rather than just hold it slung on his arm, looking more like a butler than a man ready for an evening on the town. There was a very strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he knew this was a set up for disaster. As he watched john's car pull up alongside of the porch (he was a gentleman of course, and didn't wish for Sherlock to go trotting about in the rain) Sherlock felt a very strong urge to turn around and run straight back into his house. This urge was being summoned from the heavy rosary which was slung around his neck, the cross beginning to feel very heavy as it weighed down on his shoulders. This was the weight of his guilt, trying to keep him in one place. To get into that car would be to accept all of the consequences of the night, whatever mistakes which might be made on either of their parts. After the situation in the bedroom not days before Sherlock knew John's mind was beginning to adapt, beginning to realize that Sherlock may end up being more than a friend. If that was his intentions for the night, well of course Sherlock would not raise a hand in protest. He wanted this more than anything in the world, which was precisely why he was so afraid. Priests weren't allowed to want things. Priests were supposed to be content with what they had. Nevertheless, Sherlock stepped out from his porch and scrambled through the rain into the passenger side of the car, collecting himself upon the leather seat and throwing his jacket like a blanket over top of his lap. The car's heating was on, a nice feeling when compared to the chilled air outside, though the windows were beginning to fog. It began to feel more like a trapped elevator rather than a car, and while they sat parked in the lot Sherlock was wondering if they were ever supposed to make it to the bar at all.

"Well then, got your ironing done?" John chuckled.
"I postponed it for tomorrow." Sherlock snarled, to which the man gave a smile of doubt before shifting into drive and starting slowly out of the driveway. The radio wasn't turned on, though the sound of the vents was enough to add some background noise to their hesitant silence. As they drove through the narrow alley both men turned their attention to the church, as if wondering what was going on inside of its walls.
"Will Mary be alright with Hamish?" Sherlock wondered a bit hesitantly, remembering the strange feelings he got when he saw the two alone. John sighed heavily, as if that was exactly the question upon his mind.
"They'll be fine." He assured, though there was not nearly as much confidence in his voice as Sherlock would have preferred. Sherlock nodded, figuring there was not another comment that could pass as casual in the topic of that conversation. Instead he dropped his gaze, taking a sharp breath as he began to pick at the buttons upon his discarded jacket. For a long while it was silent, save for the occasional blinker clicking as the car maneuvered through the streets of town. Sherlock wasn't aware of most bars around the area and so he couldn't fact check John's directions, though it seemed that they were headed farther out of town rather than deeper into the city.
"Where are you planning to take me?" Sherlock wondered a bit apprehensively.
"You'll see." John grumbled.
"A bar, right?" Sherlock clarified; a bit worried that he was on his way to some lonely barn to get slaughtered like the rest of the men John had tricked into his vehicle. The man seemed to be very focused upon the roads, with his hands clenching nervously upon the wheel. It was as if he was nervous, as if he was doing something unprecedented.
"Ya, something like that." John agreed. Sherlock took to hugging his coat upon his chest, looking towards John with his eyes widened in fear.
"What do you mean? I thought you said.."
"Ya, I know! Don't freak out Sherlock, I have no bad intentions." John assured.
"Well that doesn't make me feel better!" Sherlock wailed. "You're being so secretive!"
"I'm just driving!" John defended.
"Without telling your passenger the exact destination? What if you're going to sell me?" Sherlock whined.
"Sell you?" John chuckled, at last a smile breaking upon his face as he looked over to his very anxious copilot. Sherlock hesitated, but shuffled within his seat all the same.
"Well ya. I'm beautiful, I'd make a great slave." He muttered quickly, his face growing a bit tense as he began to think about the true meaning behind his words.
"Wow, okay." John chuckled, but remained silent from then on.