"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. That is not even how the brain works, by the way."
Title: Coco & Butter
Summary: Who doesn't like cats?
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #1: [photo of two cats sitting under an umbrella in the rain]
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Watson put down her tablet, unable to concentrate any longer on the economic geography of New York's subway expansion since 1950. She had already paged to the end of the pdf to see how much of the remaining article was taken up by notes and references: Not enough. Time for a break and a snack.
She headed down to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then went outside to the courtyard for some air. Looking up, she observed that every window of the house directly across from theirs had a cat in view. She was pretty sure the building was divided into at least three apartments, but still. An unlikely configuration.
"Actually, no," Holmes said when she mentioned it to him as they both stood at the stove and watched the teapot while the tea steeped. "I'm sorry to say cats are by far the most common pet in the United States."
"I know that; it's still unusual to see one in every single window when we're talking about that many windows."
"Something like a carnival shooting gallery display, one hopes."
"What a lovely thought." She lifted the teapot lid and pulled the strainer out while he brought over two mugs. "What's wrong with cats, anyway?"
"Hmm? You'll have to be more specific, Watson."
"You complained about Milverton's cat. You're irritated by their very existence nearby. Are you allergic?"
"It's not the animal that irks me; it's the keeping of them. People who keep cats are rarely worth knowing." He set his tea on the table and opened the fridge, eyes cataloguing the contents with dissatisfaction.
"Okay, that's possibly the grossest exaggeration I've heard from you since you claimed your brain is like an attic with limited space for new ideas."
"It is like that," he insisted, closing the fridge door without taking anything from inside.
"Clearly, if you think it's reasonable to condemn everyone who's ever had a cat as beneath your contempt."
"Oh, I wouldn't say beneath. I give them the full measure of it."
She looked at him over the rim of her mug, and he realized what she was going to say just as she said it. "We had a cat when I was growing up, and I had two of my own until just before I started being a wandering nomad of sobriety." She pulled a package out of the cupboard and set it on the counter, stuffing her hand inside to grab a cookie. She looked back at him, defiant. "Coco and Butter."
His eyes grew wide in horror until she couldn't help laughing.
"No, I'm kidding. Harry and Hermione."
He grabbed his mug off the table with a glare in her direction and marched back to his room.
"Princess and Pea. Tea and Biscuit!" He slammed the french doors.
She took her mug back outside and sat on the cinderblock used to prop open the back door, watching the cats across the way and reminiscing fondly of Rosalind and Franklin.
Title: Fun Times
Summary: Holmes develops conspiracy theories and Watson eventually responds as expected.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #2: From A to Z: Use at least two of the following words: abdicate, automaton, allele, Zarathustra, zither.
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"Which sounds more conspiratorial, genetically modifying the 'warrior gene' to cause a natural leader to abdicate? Or modifying it to make someone become an automaton?"
Watson didn't bother looking up from the paper, but she allowed raised eyebrows to signal she'd heard what he said, just wasn't going to engage. The lack of eye-roll was further indication that her silence was intended to be friendly, even amused. Still, he was in the mood for riposte before heading off to his conspiracy theorists. Letting off a little sarcasm beforehand would make it much easier to maintain the earnest and only slightly agitated tone required to cast his bait with success.
He fidgeted at his desk, drafting language to post. Perhaps the conspiracy could offer both possibilities, either according to a variation in the original gene, or as an option, suggesting that abdication and automatonization have some genetic commonality. Alternatively, it might be worth observing how long it took for automatons to be restated as zombies...
Flipping the effect of the gene from sociopathy to apathy might actually not be far-fetched enough for the current group. Zara, his new contact there, tended to prefer promoting complexity over plausibility. Not something he wanted to fault, as a rule, but it might impede the success of this theory, of which he was rather fond.
He was bouncing a pencil back and forth over his thumb while visualizing the allele when Watson came into the study.
"Nobody came out to play?" she asked, settling down at her desk and shifting stacks of papers from one pile to another.
"I'm still preparing my opening salvo. Zarathustra has much higher standards for rhetorical logic than the late lamented Len had."
"Zarathustra. Is the 'z-name' a thing?"
"If by 'thing' you mean community tradition for moderator names, then yes."
"So you're preparing your offering to a Persian god, whose primary tenet is the pursuit of truth, in the form of an elaborate lie." She looked at him over the top of her glasses.
He held her gaze and scratched the side of his head, then the end of his nose, and finally his jaw before heaving a sigh.
"I didn't say that was reason not to do it; it's ironic, is all. Not to mention blasphemous," she said.
"I didn't suggest the new moderator go by 'Zarathustra'."
"No, I am sure you are completely innocent of any manipulation of the social dynamics among your conspiracy nuts."
"Please Watson, the respectful term is theorists. Conspiracy theorists."
"Says the man who goes there to watch them walk into walls."
"Fine! What would you have me do instead? Boredom looms." He started bouncing the pencil again.
She looked around the room littered with boxes and piles and gadgets and monitors and detritus of all kinds, then turned back and looked at him over her glasses again, eyebrows slightly more elevated than before. It was close now, he could feel it. He weighed his options and made his selection.
"You never want to do anything fun," he pouted.
The eye-roll that followed met all his expectations with room to spare.
Title: Horizons
Summary: Watson dreams about wide open spaces.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #3: Sacred spaces: Incorporate the religion or philosophy of your choice into today's story, in whatever manner you choose.
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Walking home over the bridge was her favorite part of this route. There was the sense of accomplishment at completing a long run, and the anticipation of the eggs and strong coffee she'd have at the diner. When a case came in while she was out, Sherlock would already be there waiting for her. More often, though, she enjoyed her breakfast alone with whatever section of the Sunday paper was at the top of the pile by the diner door, left to be shared by customers gone before. But it was atop the span, with the river below, and always a breeze if not strong wind, and the ever changing light on the struts and supports that she loved. A little taste of being in the middle of the natural world.
She'd like to visit Montana or one of the Dakotas someday. See the horizon as a circle of land and sky, no fractal edge of human landscape embellishing the edge. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone to the beach, just sat on the sand, watching the waves and gazing into the space where sea met the sky. Three years ago? Emily's family had rented a house in Ocean City, and she'd joined them for a weekend. She laughed, trying to picture Sherlock spending a weekend in a rental house at the Jersey shore. He'd be off looking for crime on the boardwalk, no doubt, and she'd go along, grumbling about the sand in her shoes. The world of the puzzle was his sacred space, she thought, a virtual experience he carried within and through which the whole world was filtered. Illuminated. She'd already experienced that flash herself and wanted more of it. But she also liked letting it all fall away sometimes to feel more a part of the world by holding less of it inside.
She was pleased to see there was no wait for a table at the diner. Before finding a seat, she searched through the newspaper pile for the real estate section. It was time to test her hypothesis about Sherlock at the beach.
Title: WAT[c]S[dh]O[fmj]N
Summary: Doubts don't deter detectives.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #4: Use at least one alliterative sentence in today's entry - and the more alliterations, the better!
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Weary Watson wants wonderfully worn woven wrappings wreathed around aching arms and appendages. Tantalizing cheese-topped toast chosen to compliment cups containing tea tempts cold consulting trainee currently tasked to trade comfort to test concentration. She shoulders Sherlock's strange schedule, sure she should shield short shrift struggles. Doubts don't deter detectives. Her hunger, however, hovers, having hours of opportunity on obscure old haunts far from forage for fodder. Many meeker mortals might justify juggling niggling needs now; not Joan.
Title: Down South
Summary: Watson got around and would like to get around some more.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #5: 'Three Continents Watson': We know that two of them are Europe and Asia. But what is the third, and why was Watson there? Tell us! A/N: Joan Watson has obviously been to North America, so I'm stretching this prompt a bit to reflect Elementary's spin on canon.
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Once she determined this was not going to be like the dubious excursion to Norway that never happened, Watson was excited.
"I haven't been to London. Or anywhere in Europe, for that matter."
"Seriously, Watson? American parochialism is a a well-established travesty, but I expected better of you."
"I didn't say I haven't travelled; I just haven't gotten to all the continents yet. And while I know there are ways for people to see the world without access to unlimited funds, your personal privilege is showing a bit with that kind of attitude."
"I wasn't speaking generally, I was referring to you, specifically. I am surprised to hear you did not at least participate in a study-abroad program as an undergraduate. Seems like the sort of resume-padding expected of pre-med students."
"And again with the assumptions. I did, in fact." He opened his mouth and shut it again, shaking his head and gesturing for her to continue uninterrupted.
"I considered Semester-at-Sea but their focus is on international studies and the ship didn't have the kind of support for science I wanted. At the time I had a little fantasy of becoming a marine biologist, so being close to the ocean was on the wishlist. In the end, I spent a term in Quito and got to take a research excursion to the Galapagos."
"I apologize for doubting you. I have not made it to South America myself."
"I went back to celebrate after finishing medical school. Ended up rolling another 20K into my student loans to spend a month hiking in the Andes and taking a cruise to Antarctica."
"Consider me impressed."
"Yeah, me too, although it was a truly idiotic move, financially. But I did a lot in my early twenties. I did a lot in the next fifteen years, too, but nothing that involved leaving the country, what with residencies and those loans. The track record is just as poor for the first half of my forties, so that's part of why this trip is important to me."
She paused and stepped toward him, finger outstretched and pointing in emphasis but not quite hitting his sternum. "If there's any chance this is some elaborate ruse to piss off your family, speak now. Because once I renew my passport, I'm going on this trip, whether you come or not."
He backed away from her and sat down at his desk. "I have no intention of canceling the trip. With any luck, there will be no more contact with my father than what I enjoy here in New York; the purpose is purely for work. Although considering that it is your maiden voyage, I will allow some off time."
"Oh you will, will you?"
"In fact, I will get started on an extracurricular itinerary to further your training."
"You do that. Just as long as it includes visits to museums — art museums, that is, not just medical oddity and criminal history ones — theatre, and somewhere at least two hours out of the city by train."
"And an audience with the Queen?"
"Sure, why not? You have a contact in London who can set that up?" She laughed and headed upstairs to her room.
Once she was out of sight, he rubbed the side of his neck and looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, actually...," he muttered.
Title: Solace
Summary: Watson does not seek comfort.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #6:Poem Prompt: Futility by Wilfred Owen.
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He found her sitting on a bench in the neighborhood park two hours later. She steeled herself, praying to a god she'd never really believed in, that this would be one of the times he understood that less was more, that silence was not preferred but fully necessary or she wouldn't be able to bear it.
He was carrying a lunch-sized brown paper bag when he sat down next to her and set it on his knees. He carefully unfolded the top and used the back of one hand just inside the bag to open out the creases. Then he gingerly reached inside and pulled out his hand until she saw his middle finger and thumb, pincer-like, extracting an extravagantly frosted pink cupcake. He extended his hand toward her, and she shook her head, not quite believing what she was seeing.
He wasn't looking at her and didn't see or acknowledge her refusal. He kept his arm out a few moments longer, and when she didn't take the offering, he set the cupcake down on the bench between them. He then repeated the process with the second cupcake, setting it down to fold up the bag into a flat rectangle he slipped into his coat pocket, exchanging it for two paper napkins, also pink. He offered her a napkin, which she took and clutched in a fist in her lap.
They sat in silence until the chill in the air and the warmth of the pink frosting glowing between them brought some order to her troubled thoughts.
"Why?" she asked.
"It was the only food truck still open."
She smiled, laughing a little, and dipping her head down as the tears started again. If they'd gotten to the scene five minutes earlier the boy would have survived. She used the pink napkin to wipe her eyes and nose. If—
"Have a cupcake, Watson." He held one out to her again, and she met his eyes this time and knew he knew.
She put out her hand to share the solace he offered.
Title: The Truth Is Out There
Summary: Watson follows in Scully's footsteps.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #7: The Tangled Web: It's crossover time! Incorporate at least one other character from another fictional universe or from actual history. Crack is just fine for this prompt. A/N: Inspired by this fantastic comic: vilecrocodile dot tumblr dot com / post / 43018009626
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Joan couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Dana. Before she left medicine, anyway. Maybe a year or two before that. Dana would remember. They always had a good time getting together, but Joan was especially looking forward to sharing her news. Given how much had changed in her life over the last three years, she was hopeful hers would be the more memorable story this time.
Dana was always so deadpan, she wasn't entirely sure how to take some of the tales she'd regaled. Global conspiracies to use alien hoaxes as a cover up seemed just a little far-fetched. She knew what Sherlock would say because she'd rolled her eyes through more than one rant on the subject on the days he worked on his hobby.
"Joan!" Dana waved as she jogged down the stairs of the university building where she'd given her lecture.
"Dana, it's great to see you!" The two hugged and held each other at arms' length, smiling before breaking apart to walk along the path. "Any takers after your talk today?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. There's been a steady increase over the last few years. Doesn't bode well for the profession, that more potential doctors are interested in working outside traditional medical practice, but that's a problem for another day. How's your practice going?"
"Well... I'm part of the problem I suppose."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I let my license expire. I'm working as a consulting detective now."
"Okay, we are going to sit down and have a bottle of wine and you are going to tell me everything."
"How's Mulder?"
"Oh god." Dana rubbed her forehead with one hand. "His latest is some sort of international crime lord whom nobody knows but everybody is controlled by. I should be grateful for a reprieve from the extraterrestrials but I don't know; I kinda miss them. At least they weren't motivated by financial and political gain. And they seem only slightly less plausible than this character."
Joan coughed, tucking her arm through Dana's. "Sounds like we do have a lot to catch up on."
Title: Object in Mirror
Summary: Watson doesn't like what she sees.
Notes: Watson's Woes July Word Prompt Challenge #8 Forced perspective: Either use the concept in your story, or find an image that uses this technique and use it as the basis for the story.
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Joan wasn't quite accurate about the mirrors, she conceded, standing in the bathroom in front of exhibit A. The dim hanging bulb deepened the shadows under her eyes and alongside her mouth, making her grateful there was no brighter light to see even more clearly how lost she was. No excuse for an outburst like that; unprofessional at the very least. Unethical, too, but not the worst case of that she'd had to own up to by any means. Not that it didn't add its weight to the burden she carried. This work was supposed to help lighten the load. Help people at risk find a safer path. Life-saving work without the danger and horror of a blade in her hand, under her control. Out of her control.
She ran the tap until the water ran cold, long seconds as it made its way up the ancient pipes threaded through uninsulated walls, carrying the heat of the rooms it traversed. She held the wet washcloth to her face, taking deep breaths and trying to slow her agitated heart. She stumbled, was all. He was an intelligent, angry, frustrated person at a disadvantage. Certainly used to being in control and successful in that control, newly faced with its loss. He did what was expected, and she was caught off guard. That was a mistake, but not a failure. Nobody died. She remembered the walls covered with photos of Amy Dampier, and sighed.