*** Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock Holmes characters or Elementary, the latter of which is the property of CBS.
The room was uncomfortably warm, which was not helped by the fact that their air conditioning was broken. The suspect was sat at the desk, with Captain Gregson and Detective Bell sat on the opposite side. Sherlock was stood behind Gregson, leaning against the wall, arms folded, listening to the man's lies for the third time in as many days.
For the past week Sherlock and Joan had been working alongside the police on a case involving several missing women from across the tristate area. There had been six women reported missing, and very little had been established in terms of the current location or fate of the victims. The only plausible connection between them seemed to be that they had all visited the same free clinic in New York, where one of the women worked as a nurse. At the end of the week, and after much investigation, the body of the first woman who went missing was discovered. She was the nurse from the free clinic. After an interview with her family, including her new husband and teenage daughter, Sherlock realised that the husband was the perpetrator of the crimes. His discomfort, erratic behaviour and the fear his stepdaughter clearly felt towards him led Sherlock to delve further into the man's life. James Talbott had several convictions for domestic violence and stalking, and fit the profile of the man they were looking for. After being taken in for questioning by the police twice before, on the basis of correct assertions rather than concrete and unbreakable evidence, Talbott was finally brought back to the station for what the police believed would be the final time. Talbott was not worried, and refused the offer of a lawyer. Confident that the police had no tangible evidence against him, and that there was no way for them to obtain any, Talbott was sitting comfortably in his seat, his tired eyes watching the police with amusement.
"Mr Talbott, do you still deny any knowledge relating to the death of your wife, and the disappearance of the other five women?" Gregson asked, leaning forwards slightly, and resting his hands upon the desk.
Talbott sighed, leaned his head back, and folded his arms yet again, before looking from Gregson to Bell, over to Sherlock, and then back to his questioner. "As I told you guys already, I don't know anything about my wife's death or those missing women. I don't understand how many more times you want me to say it."
"At least one more, Mr Talbott." Began Sherlock, unfolding his arms and stepping forward a few steps. "It does amuse me enormously, watching you wrap yourself in yet another lie. Although I would strongly discourage you from continuing. You will regret it immensely in approximately sixty seconds' time." Sherlock pursed his lips and bounced on his heels, before placing his hands behind his back and staring intently at Talbott.
"Mr Holmes, I don't understand your fixation with me. You have no proof linking me to the death of my poor wife, or those missing women. So why have you brought me in this time?" Sherlock noticed that Talbott seemed mildly annoyed after finishing this statement, even slightly unnerved. This reassured Sherlock, who was excitedly awaiting how this appalling excuse for a human being was going to wriggle out of the hole which he had dug himself.
"It is the subject of your wife, Mr Talbott, which brings you back here. Indirectly, in a sense." Sherlock began, moving across the room, and standing behind Gregson's chair, staring down at Talbott. "It is your stepdaughter who you have to thank for your current predicament, and inevitable incarceration." Sherlock smiled, before continuing in a lower tone. "That girl is terrified of you, Mr Talbott. I cannot imagine the verbal and emotional abuse she has suffered at your hands, nor would I care to. But she is much stronger than you think." Sherlock paused, and glared at Talbott severely. His cool and collected exterior seemed to falter, and Talbott's eyes fell to the table, before meeting Sherlock's unflinching gaze. "My colleague and I talked with your stepdaughter, told her what we suspected you of, and assured her that we would not rest until you paid for your crimes." Sherlock continued to speak in a low, dangerous tone. "We also assured her that, whatever the outcome, we would personally ensure that she would be removed from your care and placed in a loving, stable household. After my colleague talked to her for a while, reassured her, and made her realise that she could be helped, your stepdaughter remembered something rather interesting." He stopped talking for a few moments, and watched Talbott's eyes shift uncomfortably from face to face, staring across the room and at the glass on the wall at the opposite end, as he took in Sherlock's words. "Your daughter remembered that, on the evening after your wife's disappearance, you shut yourself in the upstairs office for around an hour, and locked the door, which was fairly unusual. However, it was something you continued to do over the next two weeks, which coincided with the dates which the other women went missing." Talbott was starting to sweat slightly, and his blinking had increased rapidly. It took everything Gregson and Bell had not to interrupt Sherlock to illicit their own confession. But they trusted Sherlock, were aware of the success rates of his methods, and the effect of the consulting detective's approach on the suspect was profound. Sherlock unfolded his eyes, placed his arms by his side, and continued to talk. "She said this was highly out of character for you, although she was certainly glad that it meant you were away from her for several hours at a time. So, you can understand how curious my colleagues and I were at these little clandestine sessions." Sherlock leaned back on his heels and reached into the cardboard container on the desk, and lifted out an evidence bag containing a small memory stick, holding it up to the suspect's face. "Before you speak next, Mr Talbott, I must inform you that Captain Gregson, Detective Bell and myself have viewed the material on this memory stick, found in a hidden compartment in the desk in the aforementioned office space, and are, quite frankly, running out of time to listen to any more of your lies." He pursed his lips before placing the evidence bag on the desk in front of Talbott, and placing his arms behind his back. "Tell us where their bodies are, Mr Talbott."
The memory stick which was on the table in front of Talbott contained recordings of the suspect who was discussing, in detail, what had happened to the missing women. Talbott stared at the memory stick for a few moments, his mouth drying. He knew exactly what was on the memory stick, and was completely shocked that the police had found it. He also couldn't believe his stepdaughter had ratted him out. He sighed deeply, leaned back in his chair, and placed his hand in front of his mouth. "Okay." He began, leaning forwards. "Okay."
Twenty minutes later Talbott was handcuffed and led from the interview room, his confession secured, and his over-confidence destroyed. He knew how hopeless his situation was, that he could not hide his crimes any longer, and that he was now facing a very long prison sentence. As he was led through the precinct by Gregson and Bell, Sherlock walking slightly behind them, he paused. He saw his fifteen year old stepdaughter, Katrina, standing near one of the desks, staring at the ground. The woman who was working with Sherlock, Miss Watson, was standing next to her, her arm resting comfortingly across Katrina's shoulders. As soon as he saw Katrina, he felt his temper rising. He held her responsible for his current situation, and could not control his rage. He pulled away from Gregson and Bell and ran towards Katrina, his eyes blazing and his face bright red. Before anyone could react, Joan turned around, and caught sight of what was happening. Before Talbott could reach his stepdaughter, Joan moved in front of her and grabbed her would-be attacker, screaming at Katrina to run. She lost her grip on Talbott, who rose his cuffed hands and struck her hard across the face, causing her to fall to the ground, landing on her right arm. Her face felt as if it was on fire, and before she had time to move, he was leaning towards her once more. As she lifted her eyes up to meet his face, she felt her whole body tense in apprehension of the next blow. Joan could feel the left side of her face burning even more intensely than it had been moments before, and a small amount of blood had begun to trickle down her cheek. Before Talbott had a chance to strike her again, she saw his tall, broad figure pushed past her and slammed against an adjacent wall. It was Sherlock. Sherlock had run towards Joan and Katrina, but had not been able to reach them before Talbott hit Joan. The sight enraged him, and he threw the man against a wall, and began punching him mercilessly in the face. Joan stared, a mixture of pain and confusion etched upon her face. She forced herself up and staggered towards Sherlock, who was being pulled off the man by Gregson and Bell, but with relatively little success.
"Sherlock, Sherlock stop!" Joan yelled, fear and anguish evident in her tone. She sounded much less confident and authoritative than she believed she would. She sounded terrified. It was the tone, her voice, rather than her words, that drew Sherlock away from Talbott. He relinquished his grasp upon Talbott and walked quickly towards Joan, who was stood a few feet away from him. Joan's bright eyes glistened with tears, her face was stained with blood, and she was clutching her right arm with her left hand, and holding it closely to her side. From the look of it, Sherlock judged that it was dislocated. The whole room fell silent as he walked towards Joan, placing one hand on her unharmed cheek, and the other gently on top of her own hand which was gripping her arm. "Watson, I... I'm so sorry." He whispered, in a voice that seemed more pained than Joan's.
Joan stared at him for a few moments, unable to respond to his words. She was in pain, confused, tired and shocked from the escalation of the most recent events. She was equally as shocked at Sherlock's actions towards Talbott. His anger at him for his treatment of her was understandable, but she had never seen Sherlock so angry, so ruthless, and without the ability to stop. For a second, it had frightened her. But the moment she turned to him, and she saw the look in his eyes as he attempted to comfort her, she began to understand his reaction. Not condone it, of course, but she understood. She looked over Sherlock's shoulder and saw the bloodied prisoner being dragged away by a furious Captain Gregson, who was being escorted by Detective Bell and several other police officers. As they left, the precinct became quiet once more, with the silence being broken only by the gently sobbing of Katrina, who was slowly walking towards Joan.
"Miss Watson? Oh God, I... I'm so sorry." The teenager approached Joan, her sad, pleading eyes gazing at Joan's face. Joan was still reeling from recent events, and was only able to nod in response to Katrina's declaration, before the loudening of the girl's cry broke Joan from her thoughts.
"It's alright, Katrina. It's okay. It was not your fault, and it is alright now." Joan took a step towards Katrina and drew her towards her with her right arm, wincing as the girl's body was pressed against her right side. A social worker and a police officer came towards Joan and Katrina, and after a few kind words, led Katrina away. Joan watched her leave the precinct, before turning once more to face Sherlock, who was standing just behind her. She rose her eyes to meet his own, and watched curiously as his eyes surveyed her entire body, checking her for any additional injuries. Before he could say anything, she decided to speak. It was clear that he was shocked by his own actions, and was almost completely overcome by Joan's current state. He needed to be reassured. "Sherlock. Sherlock listen to me" she began, speaking softly as she approached him. "Sherlock, it's alright. I'm fine, just a little sore." She was lying, and they both knew it. Her facial injury was medically superficial, but her right shoulder was most definitely dislocated. "It's over, Sherlock. He's going to jail for a very long time, and Katrina will be safe now." His face expressed sadness, guilt and helplessness, and she placed her right hand comfortingly upon his shoulder, and drew his gaze towards her. "Sherlock, it's alright. You've calmed down now, but I think it's best that we leave."
Before she could continue, Sherlock nodded mechanically, and seemed to emerge from his thoughts by Joan's silence. "You require medical attention, Joan. I'll have one of the detectives drive us." He spoke in a low, subdued tone, and struggled to meet Joan's gaze. He couldn't bear to see the pain and sadness in her eyes. Joan nodded in assent, and he led her out of the precinct, attracting the attention of one of the detectives near the doorway, who drove them to the hospital.
After a two hour wait and one hour consultation, Joan was treated and released. The contusion to her face was painful and bruising, but the numbing agent used by the ER doctor meant that she did not feel a thing. Sherlock had stood by her side throughout the consultation and proceeding treatment, and had been watching the doctor's movements and Joan's reactions intently, though he barely spoke a word. When the doctor moved to relocate her shoulder, Joan reached out and gripped Sherlock's hand, more to reassure him that to brace herself against the pain. He turned immediately towards her, squeezed her hand comfortingly, and felt Joan's body relax at the touch, before tensing as the doctor counted back from three. Joan suppressed a scream as her shoulder was relocated, and Sherlock moved to comfort her as the doctor moved to collect a sling. Joan looked up to face him, and held his gaze for a few moments, as he surveyed her arm and nodded with satisfaction. She smiled weakly at him, which he tried to return, before sitting beside her on the hospital bed. Her arm was placed in a sling, and she was prescribed some pain medication and a sedative, which she claimed not to need and, as such, did not collect from the pharmacy as they left, much to Sherlock's concern and protest. Joan insisted she was fine, and just wanted to go home. The exhausted look on her face and the sadness in her eyes prevented Sherlock from pressing the issue further, and he placed his right hand on her lower back as he escorted her from the hospital. They were met by Gregson, who apologised to Joan profusely, before assuring Sherlock he would not face criminal charges. Sherlock nodded politely, thanked the Captain, and apologised for his conduct. Gregson nodded, before stating that he wanted to drive them home personally. Sherlock held the car door open for Joan, and she eased herself slowly inside. Sherlock walked around to the other side of the car and sat with her in the back seat, the cool air of the late evening soothing and restoring him temporarily.
"I am sorry, Watson." He stated in a low tone as the car drove through the busy New York streets, which were bathed in the artificial yellow lights of the lampposts. "I don't quite know what came over me." He paused for a moment, and even in the relative darkness he was aware that she had shifted her position and was now facing him, and waited patiently for him to continue. "When I saw him rush towards you, and then you fell to the ground, I-" he broke off, sighing in exasperation, and rubbing his face with both hands before continuing. "I lost my temper, Joan, and I am sorry that it happened. And I am even more sorry that you had to see it." Joan nodded in the darkness, which she was sure Sherlock would have noticed. She understood his anger, and was grateful for his remorse for his actions. She was also deeply touched by his sincere and earnest apology. She shifted in her seat, facing him more directly, and placed her left hand over his own hands, which were clasped and resting in his lap.
"I know." She said calmly, her voice warm and comforting. "I know." She squeezed his hands reassuringly, and they remained in that position for the next ten minutes of the journey, until they arrived at the brownstone. Gregson parked the car and got out immediately, walking around to Joan's side, opening the door, and helping her out of the car. Sherlock moved slowly around to join them, and stood at Joan's side, looking from her to the Captain, who nodded to Sherlock reassuringly. Although he did not approve of Sherlock's actions, Gregson understood them completely, and each time he looked at Joan's injured face or bandaged shoulder which was resting in a sling, his understanding broadened. Despite this, he did not agree with Sherlock's actions, and it caused him the same amount of concern as it had Joan.
"Will you guys be okay tonight?" He asked, placing his hands deep in his pockets as the cold air revitalised them, making Joan herself feel slightly more awake.
"Yes, Captain, we'll be fine, I assure you. I will make sure Miss Watson is looked after." Sherlock stated in a calm tone, his voice almost sounding normal.
"Yes, thank you, Captain, for everything." Joan stated, smiling at Gregson as he looked from Sherlock to Joan. The Captain nodded, wished them a "good night", and then got back into his car, before slowly driving away into the darkness. Sherlock and Joan stared after him for a few minutes, before the latter placed his hand on Joan's lower back, drawing her attention from the darkness on to him.
"Shall we go inside, Watson? You must be exhausted." He asked kindly, his tone reassuring her. She walked slowly towards the house, with Sherlock by her side. His hand on her lower back and his close proximity to her made Joan feel safer and more comforted than she realised she could.
"You know, I'm not actually tired any more. I feel wide awake."
Sherlock did not respond immediately to her statement, but slowly nodded his head as he unlocked the front door and held it open for her. "Nevertheless, Watson" he began, as she walked slowly past him and entered the house, "I think you would feel much more comfortable if you were in your own room, resting. It is very late, you have been up for over twenty hours, and you have been through a traumatic incident from which you will need an unspecified amount of time to recover, both physically and mentally." He paused, looking at her kindly as he helped her with her coat and hung it up on the coat stand. "This process will be assisted by rest."
Joan sighed and nodded slowly, before looking up and meeting his gaze. "Goodnight." She stated sweetly, offering him a small, genuine smile. Sherlock watched her walk up the stairs slowly, and remained at the foot of the stairs for a few moments after he heard her door slowly close. He then strode confidently into the kitchen, and began to prepare her some of her mother's special tea, which he was sure would relax her and help her rest. He placed a cup and tea pot full of the tea on a wooden tray, and carried it up to her room. Before he could knock on the door, he heard her hiss sharply in pain, and he pushed the door open quickly with her right elbow, before entering immediately.
"Watson?" He stated, panic evident in his voice. As he stepped into the room, Joan turned to face him. She was stood by her bed, her sling lying on her bedside table, and was trying to undo the buttons of her blouse. She had successfully undone the first four from the top, and had given up on the last button, and was trying to shake the blouse over her hips. She looked up to see Sherlock and gasped, trying to cover herself with a shirt which had been discarded on her bed. Sherlock turned away and stammered an apology, explaining his entrance into her room, and holding up the tray of tea for emphasis. She smiled, laughed nervously, and walked slowly towards him.
"Thank you, Sherlock. Would you put it over there?" He looked over to her and followed her hand, which was indicating the table next to her bed. He moved towards the table and placed the tea tray carefully upon it, before turning slowly to see Watson standing in front of him, still clutching the shirt to her chest. Sherlock felt more guilty than he had before for bursting into her room, and even more so for causing her to feel uncomfortable and exposed. He apologised once more, and she smiled at him comfortingly, assuring him it was fine.
"Don't worry about it, really. Although, as you're here, could you help me with something?" She asked, moving slowly towards him. Sherlock nodded immediately, grateful that she was asking for his assistance. It demonstrated that she was not as angry with him as he had initially feared. In fact, she did not appear to be angry at all. She walked slowly towards him and looked slightly sheepish, her cheeks flushing wish embarrassment. "It's just... I can't quite get this last button undone, and my arm is really hurting. I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind-?"
"Yes, yes of course." Sherlock asked, maintaining a steady and confident tone. He wanted to sound as normal and as professional as possible, in order to make her feel less uncomfortable about her request. He moved across the room to meet her, and she continued to hold the spare shirt to her chest as Sherlock leant down and carefully undid the last button to her blouse, which then fell to the floor. She thanked him, and covered herself more with the shirt. He looked up at her and nodded briskly, before searching for something to say to her before leaving. As he tried to speak, he noticed her shoulder for the first time. It was bruised and slightly swollen, and there was a small contusion to her shoulder blade which was bleeding slightly. He placed his hand in his pocket and drew out a navy handkerchief, before raising it slightly towards her arm. "May I?" he asked in a quiet but gentle tone, which touched Joan deeply.
"Uh, yeah, of course." She responded, uncertain of what he was about to do, but sure that there would be a reason. He stepped closer towards her, until there bodies were just a couple of inches apart, and placed the handkerchief delicately upon her shoulder blade, applying some gentle pressure, before removing it slowly and dropping it on the bedside table next to her tea. He watched the handkerchief for a few moments, before returning his gaze to Joan, who had been silent for the past few moments.
"Watson, I... again I want to apologise to you, not only for my regrettable conduct, but for the events which led to it." Joan watched him intently for a few seconds, uncertain of what he meant. "I should never have let him touch you." Sherlock stated, exhaling slowly as he avoided her gaze.
"Sherlock" she began, drawing his eyes back towards her with her gently voice. "Sherlock, I need you to listen to me really carefully." She paused, and his eyes turned to meet hers. She seemed to be much better than she had been, and was very confident and alert, which reassured him greatly. "This was not your fault, none of this was. He was angry at his stepdaughter for her role in his arrest and incarceration, and he acted out of anger and out of cruelty." As she spoke, realisation dawned upon her, and she looked up into his eyes. "You are nothing like that man, Sherlock. He is a psychopath who hurt innocent women, and wanted to harm Katrina out of anger and misplaced blame. You acted without planning, without intention, and without cruelty. You were provoked in the extreme, and while what you did was wrong, it cannot be compared to his actions." She spoke warmly, yet with compassion and sincerity. He watched her carefully as she spoke, and listened to every word. "Sherlock, you are nothing like that man. You are" she paused, and smiled kindly at him, as she placed her hand gently upon his right arm. "Sherlock, you are wonderful."
Sherlock looked down at her uncertainly for a moment, before being reassured by her kind eyes and sincere tone. He nodded slowly, never breaking her gaze. He looked down at her hand which was resting upon his arm, then returned his attention to her shoulder, before looking at the bruising on her face which was turning a deep purple shade. He rose his hand slowly and extended his fingers, retracting them before they touched her face, and staring once more down towards the floor. Sensing his sadness and his fear, Joan wanted to reassure him. She placed her own hand upon his own hand, entwined their fingers, then released her hold slowly, and drew her hand towards her face, placing his fingers gently upon her cheek. His gentle touch reassured them both, and Sherlock could feel her warm skin beneath his touch, as he ran his fingers slowly down her cheek. "I'm sorry" he whispered absent mindedly as his fingers reached the bottom of her jaw, before he lowered his hand and she wrapped it in her own. "Watson I... I am truly sorry." His eyes were wide, and he pursed his lips as he stared at the floor.
Joan moved one step closer towards him, their hands still entwined, and called his name, causing him to rise his head. Their faces were inches apart. "Sherlock, you have nothing to apologise for. And you saved me." She stated simply, her voice retaining the same kind and gentle tone which defined her. "You stopped that man hurting me any more than he already had. And for that, I should be thanking you. And so I do." She paused, and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Thank you, Sherlock." She stated, barely above a whisper.
Sherlock returned her stare and gripped her hand tightly, not blinking as their eyes held each other's gaze, and he felt something. And so did she. Without warning and without immediate explanation, Sherlock and Joan leaned forward at the same time, their eyes closing, and kissed each other gently upon the lips. Sherlock placed a hand gently on Joan's un-bruised cheek, and exhaled slowly, before they opened their eyes at the same time. They stared uncertainly at each other for a few seconds, before they both closed their eyes and began to kiss again, more passionately and more deeply than before. Sherlock kept his hand upon Joan's cheek, and moved his other hand to her lower back, drawing her closer to him. She responded immediately, raising her uninjured hand and placing it on his neck, pulling him closer to her has they kissed. Slowly, Joan opened her eyes, and paused their kissing for a few seconds as she moved her hand slowly down his back. Her eyes were bright and wide, and she exhaled deeply as they shared a deep, loving look. She ran her fingers down his back and across his side, before placing her hand in his and entwining their fingers. She turned slowly, and led him towards her bed. He followed her willingly, albeit slowly, and they both sat on her bed, turned towards each other, and began to kiss again. He placed his hand on her uninjured shoulder and ran it gently down her arm, tilting his head and kissing her more passionately and more intensely than before. Joan moved closer to him, and began to slowly unbutton his shirt, with the same gentleness and slowness as Sherlock had adopted when he helped her with her blouse. She undid all the buttons before brushing the shirt off of one of his shoulders, and Sherlock shrugged off the rest, causing it to fall gently onto the ground. Joan opened her eyes for a moment, and drew her face away from Sherlock's as she traced the tattoos on his chest with her left hand. She smiled gently, looking back up towards Sherlock, whose eyes were following her every movement. Without speaking, and without hesitation, Sherlock drew Joan close to his chest, before easing her gently onto the bed, ensuring her head was supported by her warm pillows. He kissed her gently on her neck as he rested a few inches above her, running his hand down her side, and being careful to avoid her right hand side. For the next few hours, they remained together, slowly removing more articles of clothing as the darkness deepened and flooded the room. Sherlock and Joan held each other close, kissing passionately, entwining their hands and wrapping their legs around each other, drawing them as close to each other as they were capable of being. They never once spoke, they had no reason to. The words they wished to say, the feelings they wanted to convey, were revealed by the glances they shared. That night, Sherlock and Joan slept together for the first time, and lay in each other's arms until the morning light flooded the room, revealing their entwined bodies covered in a thick, white blanket. For the next seven hours they slept, peacefully and dreamlessly, in each other's arms.