Even though the vicar wore a raincoat that covered his white collar, Sherlock could tell his profession right away. It was the proper way he held himself with his hands clutched together like he was in the middle of a ceremony, the faint scent of incense, and perhaps most telling of all was the cross necklace making its shape known through the coat.

It was a pity. Their cases were generally about weeping statues or stolen church funds. And the ones who were looking for him to find the mystery behind the miracle weren't really looking for him to disprove it. They wanted him to say he couldn't prove it and they wouldn't believe him when he gave them a simple scientific explanation. And the ones with stolen funds were often as simple as who handled the money. It was just they couldn't believe Brother Bob or Sister Sally could ever do such a thing. In other words, the cases they brought were utterly boring and not worth his time.

"Sit down, Vicar," he said. gesturing to the chair before taking a seat himself.

The man started to ask him how he knew that but then seemed to remember who he was talking to. He took his raincoat off and folded it in his lap to keep the chair from getting wet. "My church is haunted."

He was slightly amused. "By a ghost? I didn't know ministers believed in phantoms or I was at least under the impression it was unorthodox for them to do so."

"By an angel then or it's an elaborate joke. But many of the parishioners have seen the man. I didn't know what to think until I saw him yesterday. It's starting to spook people out and I'm losing my congregation. I need it solved. The police won't take it seriously. You're my only hope."

It could prove to be a fascinating case or it could prove to be dreadfully dull, but the vicar had one thing going for him: since he'd so neatly wrapped up the Moriarty case and received a pardon, it had been weeks since he'd had a case. "And the church?"

"St. Luke's."

"Ah." Church of England. Catholic enough to believe in the supernatural and Protestant enough to be unsettled by it. "I won't have any answers until I've seen the church."

He was debating on whether to ask John to meet him at the church when the man himself called.

"Perfect timing, John. I-"

"Mary's gone into labor," he interrupted.

"She chose a fine time. There's finally a new case. One you'd probably be interested in." John was more open to the supernatural, praying and whatnot. He would probably enjoy it. Not that Sherlock thought for a moment it would turn out to be anything but a homeless person living there in secret or a case of mass hysteria born from some urban myth.

"Obviously I'm not interested in it at the moment, and I'm not sure a woman exactly chooses when she goes into labor. Are you coming to the hospital?"

"Yes, of course. But I must go by a church first."

"Feeling of a religious bent?" he teased. "There's a chapel at the hospital."

"It has to do with the case."

"Of course, it has." He oddly enough sounded a little sad about it though he had likely known it already. "I'll text you with the dilations to let you know how much time you have to get here."

"I rather wish you wouldn't." But the excited father had already hung up most likely because of the moaning Mary had been making in the background. It was funny really. Sherlock had seen some of the most gruesome murders in England and the thought of a baby making its way into the world made him a tad squeamish.

Suddenly he was more thrilled with this case than ever if it allowed him to arrive just after Baby Watson made her rather messy entrance. "You, Vicar, are an answer to a prayer I didn't know I'd prayed."