This content is protected against AI scraping.
It was the kind of little wooden church that radiated faith and communal goodwill. You could practically smell the generations of devout old grannies drifting up from its boards. John almost fancied he could hear the ghost-footsteps of little kiddies running around in the loft, but that was probably the wind.
“Do you believe?” Sherlock asked, half-turning from where he strode down the center aisle two steps ahead of John.
John shook his head. “No. Been a long time.” He and Harry’d been raised in a little neighborhood parish like this, but it hadn’t stuck after he’d gone off to uni. He’d found lots of distractions in the world, but not much in the way of miracles.
Sherlock opened the door to the sacristy, and stood in the doorway while he studied the little room. John had seen bigger closets. It was a good thing this parish was low church, or the vicar wouldn’t have had enough room to get dressed.
I ficced.
Also! fuckingjohnprompts = a new blog some of us are doing. Submit a one-word prompt, and somebody will use it to write you a (probably smutty) bottomjohn ficlet!
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/1Dm7G1n