John POV: John stirred in a spoonful of sugar to one of the mugs before him before setting the tin aside. Mary was waiting, slouched overtop of the altar, looking quite nervous as the clock continued in the forward direction. Certainly she was stuck between wanting to leave right now and wanting to crawl back into bed, but with this awkward thirty minute time gap she was not in the position to do either. She had to waste time now, and drink coffee with her husband even if she didn't think she could stomach it.
"Don't look so forlorn." John insisted, passing Mary her mug before scrambling on top of one of the chairs and sipping at his own cup.
"I'm trying to be positive, I really am. But you know how it is with new jobs, walking in there and not knowing a soul! Without a routine, without familiarity..." Mary shuttered, silencing her rambling fears with another quick sip of coffee. John nodded his head, trying to pretend he understood such fears. To be honest he had never gotten worked up about transitions, though this was not the moment to share his heroism.
"You're going to be fantastic." John assured. "Besides, it's just the same sort of work you've done before. Accounting is all the same, isn't it? Numbers, spreadsheets, calculators?"
"Of course it's not the same! Where's the water cooler, where's the bathroom? Who sits next to me, what's my boss like, will I be able to put my lunch in a fridge? These are all very important questions!" Mary whined, shaking her feet under the altar and kicking her bare toes against the marble. John nodded again, this time figuring it was better to let the woman go on about her fears rather than disprove them. Perhaps just talking about it helped her anxiety calm, and so John gave her a smile and allowed her to continue about all of her workplace fears. Most of them were irrational, stemming off things she had to have seen on TV and never experienced in real life. For example, John was fairly certain that none of her coworkers would be mob bosses in disguise. The only valid fear that he could understand was Mary's final claim, the worry that the women's bathroom might share a very thin wall with the boss's office. Though for all of her fears, the money would be worth it, and after having taken off work for a couple of weeks to settle the move, both Watsons were ready to be earning some income rather than spending the last pennies in their bank accounts. John sent Mary away with a lunch box full of whatever they could find and a promise that he'd spend the day looking for some jobs that were in the local area. He had already filled out some applications though nothing had stuck just yet. However, now with this extra time he would be sure to get a bit more motivated. Without Mary hanging around the church's appeal might become a bit lessened, dare he even get bored within the many walls! A job would be his only choice, unless of course he would like to take up the remodeling projects by himself.
"Bye honey, you'll do great!" John called from the curb of the sidewalk, waving frantically at the red car that pulled from their small driveway and made its way into the world. Mary gave some merry beeps in return, and before long she disappeared into the mess of morning traffic and was gone. John sighed, alone now and feeling quite silly as he stood out in his bathrobe on the front sidewalk. Traffic was passing rapidly, and here he was looking so disheveled! John grumbled, trying to hide his face from the cars as he turned back towards his open front door. As his attention was caught by some of the suffering flowers in the dry mulch beds he caught, in the very edge of his peripheral vision, a glimpse of a figure passing through his door and into the main church. John blinked, wondering for a moment if Mary had forgotten her phone or something equally important for her first day. That or it was Father Holmes, perhaps woken from a deep nap and forgetting that the church had been sold. Either way he had to confront them, and so John abandoned his flower beds once more and raced up the steps, yanking the church door open to spot a lone figure walking through the entry way and down towards the altar steps! It was a woman, one who was bent with age and entirely unrecognizable, though she was dressed very formally and was walking as if following a very familiar path, staying close to the side wall as she made her way past the stone altar and down towards the main church. She had almost reached the bottom when she suddenly looked up, stopped, and let out a cry of exclamation. John had to imagine this was her first glimpse at the redecoration, and through that surprise alone he determined the whole story at once. She was lost, not only within the building but within time itself.
"Madam, I'm sorry but this is private property." John called out a bit apprehensively. The woman clutched her heart, obviously not expecting to be approached, and turned in her heels to face him.
"Oh my goodness, I am sorry! I hadn't realized the church had been sold already!" she exclaimed nervously, her voice trembling as she tried to look the man in the bathrobe straight in the eyes.
"Yes, it's sold." John agreed. "But what business do you have here at nine on a Friday? I thought church was a Sunday thing."
"Oh, well Fridays are when Father Holmes does confession. And now I'll have to add trespassing to my list." The woman mumbled shamefully.
"Confession? Like the thing with the boxes?" John chuckled. The woman gave him a confused look, her old eyes squinting beneath the brim of a rounded pink bowler.
"Young man, you live in a church but you don't know about confession?" the woman clarified. John grinned a bit shamefully, shrugging his shoulders as if she had summed it up perfectly.
"Never been very religious myself." John admitted. "If I was, well I'm sure eating dinner on the altar would be a lot worse."
"Oh you poor child. I'm sure you have a lot to confess to!" the woman exclaimed.
"Yes, I probably do." John agreed with a little grin.
"Well then come along! We'll find our priest and wipe our souls clean." The woman decided, nodding her head pointedly and beginning her way back up the altar stairs. John hesitated, taking a step back in protest as the woman came to take his arm.
"No, no I don't think I need any wiping." John assured, shaking his hands in protest as the woman snatched his wrist.
"Denial will not get you into Heaven! I suppose it's my job to save you." The woman decided. John gave a groan of protest, though as she dragged him back through the front door he felt as though his compliance had already been assumed. She wouldn't be taking no for an answer, that's for sure. And so he shut the door securely behind him, hoping that he wouldn't have any more trespassers for the remainder of the day, and followed the woman hesitantly down the alleyway, already crawling with other sinners come to declare. John joined the crowd reluctantly, feeling not only out of place but also ridiculous! He was the only one who wasn't taking this seriously, and of course he was the only one dressed only in a bathrobe! All of the others were dressed in their Sunday bests, with rosaries around their hands and grief in their eyes, all waiting patiently for their turn with the priest. John was quite confused about the operation of this confession until he rounded the corner into the parking lot, seeing now that Father Holmes had assembled the confessional boxes right in the middle of the handicapped parking spots. They were two boxes, each with a long red curtain, presumably connected together through one of those narrow windows. John's only experience with confessionals was when he saw them on TV, though as far as in person confessions he was quite inexperienced. His stomach jolted; worried that Father Holmes would recognize his voice straight away! What was he supposed to confess to, considering he hadn't done anything wrong? Would the priest just laugh him away, or would he dig deeper to try to find the more juicy secrets? How far back did John have to confess? Would this count the time he stole an eraser from his seatmate in fourth grade?
"What is it that I'm supposed to say?" John asked nervously, leaning down to meet the woman's ear just so that his words were not overheard by the others who were lingering about.
"Confess to your sins of course. Anything you've done wrong, in thought or in deed." The woman assured.
"In thought? You mean like...like even thinking about doing something? Even imagining it jokingly?" John clarified fearfully.
"Everything, dear. And if you've never gone before, well then you'll have a lot to be telling him. Make sure I get in first, so I can make it to my nail appointment afterwards." The woman insisted, patting him on the shoulder as if she was proud of his curiosity. John winced, slouching his shoulders and staring a bit fearfully at the contraption on the other side of the pavement.
"How long has it been since you've seen Father Holmes?" John asked at last, figuring that he was one of the only ones here who knew what the priest currently looked like. What a shock it would be to these loyal parishioners to see their old priest suddenly transformed! Perhaps it would cement their belief in God, that or give them all heart attacks from the pure shock.
"Not since last Sunday for his mass." The woman assured. "I imagine you're neighbors with him, if you live in the church?"
"Oh yes, we're acquainted." John agreed with a hesitant little grin. Well acquainted, actually. Perhaps already too much so.
"How is he as a neighbor? I imagine fairly quiet, reserved?" the woman presumed.
"Oh yes, he'll go days without speaking to us." John agreed. "But when we seek him out he's perfectly friendly." It wasn't a whole truth, because sometimes the priest got into some grumpy moods, though when excluding the breaking and entering he had been all together a fairly decent neighbor. Needless to say he was already getting better, simply because he was more understandable to the young couple now that he was nearer to them in age.
"I can imagine so. I've always liked him, that's why I keep coming over here. The man is so devoted, to be holding all of his normal duties in the parking lot! I've attended mass with him in the pouring rain, and he'll stand with his Bible covered in a plastic bag, getting drenched as he reads!" the woman exclaimed.
"Certainly a devotion worth rewarding." John agreed, thinking to the strange blessing that befallen the man. Why was he so convinced it was the Devil's work, if indeed he was such a loyal servant of God?
"Oh but I suppose it's all your fault, really. Moving into the church and all." the woman presumed.
"It's not my fault they put it up for sale! I was opportunistic, not criminal." John defended with a little frown.
"Either way, it would have been nice to hold mass in there once again." she sighed, her old head pivoting upon her shoulders as if to try to get her message properly across. John frowned, feeling as though he was being guilt tripped, and was thankful to hear Father Holmes's voice call out for the next parishioner in line. Thankfully, this was the old woman.
"Well then, good luck." John muttered.
"You as well. I hope to see you in Heaven one day." the woman called ominously, to which John recoiled with a fright. That sounded like a threat, more than anything!
"Well I'm sure this will ensure it." he agreed after recollecting his confidence, looking behind him to make sure there were no snipers perched on the roof and waiting for the woman's command. When nothing happened John was able to feel a bit more comfortable, watching as she walked up into the confessionals and hid behind one of the red curtains. John waited a bit uncomfortably, now without his guide he felt especially out of place. He could feel the eyes of the other parishioners, as if they were wondering who he was and why he looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Now without anyone to speak with he did look like some miscreant! All the same, he had much more superiority over the crowd, simply because this was his property and his home turf. So what if he wasn't religious, he could still probably kick them out if he needed to. This ownership high ground was enough to get him into the confessional, for the old woman had only taken about five minutes to say what she needed. They exchanged quick farewells before John was tasked with entering into the box himself. He stepped forward, worried that he would pull back the wrong curtain and expose the priest to the whole crowd. Thankfully, however, when he yanked back the red curtain he was met only with an empty box, save for a small chair and a Bible positioned on top. John looked back towards the crowd, as if already making sure he was doing this correctly. When he saw the look of annoyance on their faces he gave a quick sneer before shuffling into the box and pulling the curtain closed behind him. It was considerably dark inside, though there was a small screen from which he could sort of see a light shining through, as if it wasn't a perfectly closed off environment. Perhaps this allowed their voices to be heard between the boxes, from priest to parishioner.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." came Father Holmes's voice from the other side as soon as the curtain had been pulled shut, as if this was his way of greeting his confessor.
"Indeed." John agreed a bit reluctantly, not sure what to do or if he was even allowed to sit down.
"I'm sorry?" the priest asked.
"I said indeed!" John clarified back, in a rather loud voice. Perhaps the priest hadn't heard him properly.
"You're supposed to say Amen." Father Holmes insisted, his voice sounding almost incomprehensibly confused.
"Amen." John repeated quickly. There was some silence following this, as if the man was trying to figure out just who he was dealing with on the other side of the curtain.
"Alright, good. First time, I imagine?" came the priest's voice again. John nodded, forgetting of course that he couldn't be seen, though he took a seat rather heavily in the chair and repositioned the Bible onto his lap. It was a heavy book, as if it was being pressed down upon his unholy legs with the weight of all of his previous sins.
"Say now, 'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.'" Father Holmes instructed. John repeated the phrase, feeling rather silly. He wondered how long it would take the priest to recognize the voice opposite, and to determine that there was not just a clueless parishioner in the box next to him, rather a clueless neighbor!
"Now tell me your sins." The priest instructed.
"Ya, alright." John agreed, thinking for a moment. He hadn't done anything notable, nothing like murder or anything like that. And so what was there to confess? "I guess uh, well I remember one time I didn't pay the meter and parked there anyway. And uh...oh ya! I did call the telemarketer a rather cruel name."
"You are forgiven." Father Holmes sighed, his voice sounding quite bothered now. Undoubtedly he had finally connected the voice to the man.
"Oh, well that's good." John muttered quickly. "Didn't know it would be that easy."
"I'm sure you forgotten some sins in there. Perhaps some desecration, and some time wasting?" the priest assumed.
"Don't forget impure thoughts!" John added with a chuckle. Once again, the priest sighed.
"I'll deal with you later. For now, go in peace." Father Holmes instructed.
"For sure." John agreed, and with that he hopped out of the box and back into the parking lot, feeling a lot holier already. 

It was around one o'clock that afternoon when the church doorbell rang sharply across the ringing altar, interrupting John's job search at the most opportune time. He had just sat down with his laptop, about to search 'jobs' into Google when he was pulled from his chair and summoned to the side door, the one that only one person ever used. He already knew who was waiting for him when he arrived, though John still tried to look surprised when he opened the door to see the unamused face of Father Holmes. The priest was looking just as friendly as ever, and now that the initial shock of his youth had faded away he was all business once more. His weight was all positioned upon one bent leg in a sassy, drama queen sort of way, and his hands were crossed across his chest. There was a frown deepening upon his smooth face, though the way his curls were arranged it seemed as though something terrible had happened to them. They were lopsided and askew, with some hanging down longer than others, and for a moment John almost had to laugh.
"Did you cut your hair?" John presumed with a grin, interrogating even before a hello. Father Holmes hesitated, finally releasing his stance to poke at his curls where they hung above his eyes.
"You noticed that?" he asked nervously.
"Yes, I noticed." John agreed. "Don't you have a mirror at the rectory?"
"I have a mirror, yes. Perhaps no talent with a pair of scissors." The priest mumbled a bit shamefully, as if he had expected his own hair trimming to have gone perfectly the first time.
"Is that why you're here?" John presumed, figuring that definitely wasn't the reason. He had hoped it would be, because he knew that there was some sort of scolding in store for John's disastrous confession.
"No, actually." The priest sighed.
"Right. Come in then, and we'll find out the true meaning later." John decided, holding open the door and gesturing for the priest to come along inside. The man looked a bit hesitant, as if he was being invited into a strange man's van instead of his neighbor's house, though at long last he shuffled his way into the entry way and stayed fixed on the welcome mat.
"I wanted to talk to you about confession." The priest admitted at last.
"Yes, I figured. Come all the way in, Father. No need to stand on the mat when the whole church is at your disposal. I'm set up at the table." John offered, trotting his way up the stairs and hoping that the priest was following in tow.
"You mean the altar?" Father Holmes clarified. John chuckled guiltily, but refused to correct himself. Certainly he couldn't admit start caving to the Father's sentimental level, lest he begin referencing his couch as a pew, his books as a psalm, and his bathroom the River Jordan. Together they made their way through the echoing church, their footsteps magnified until they were almost deafening to the men's poor ears. At long last John settled himself in one of the high top chairs, closing his laptop lid thankfully and deciding to postpone the job search for another time.