A/N: I don't really know what this is, to be honest. I wrote this last night after I watched episode 2x02 ('Solve for X') of Elementary. I just saw this little moment and needed to write it out. For anyone wondering, the title is Latin and translates to 'truth through caring' (I thought it kind of fit).
Also, keep in mind that I am a fourteen-almost fifteen year old girl, not a thirtyish-something intelligent woman, and I've never written anything for Elementary before. So yeah.
Disclaimer: I don't own Elementary or the characters of Joan Watson and Sherlock Holmes, and nor am I in any way affiliated with CBS. (Also, the cover is by sowecanturn off tumblr.)
Joan Watson has learned many things whilst being in the company of one Sherlock Holmes—the most prominent and most currently relevant of these things being when to pick up on the aforementioned man's cues of dismissal. It's there in the movement of his shoulders as he twists around, clearly dropping the conversation from his mind, in the set of his eyes as they unfocus only an infinitesimal amount, and in the way his eyebrows draw together and furrow.
She takes it in stride; after all, it's been somewhat of a good few days: the case, of course, was cracked, but Watson also finally made a good decision about one of the Castoros and just had one of her are-we-actually-bonding-or-am-I-just-imagining-thi s moments with Sherlock, leaving the both of them feeling slightly awkward and unsure and Watson just not really wanting to push anything any farther lest Sherlock close up again.
She's starting to turn, her frame twisting and rotating away from the doorframe, her feet moving away from the drawing room.
"You know, uh… I'd, uh—I'd quite like to go with you next time."
Joan freezes mid-walk, her heel slightly lifted off the floor and the arch of her foot tensed. She turns again, slowly, like she thinks somewhere in the back of her mind that she's just going to turn around and have just imagined him saying something entirely.
But she doesn't. When she finally faces Sherlock again, her face no doubt holding some mixture of shock and surprise and astonishment all at once, it's clear from the expectant look in Sherlock's eyes that he had indeed spoken.
"To the cemetery," he elaborates after a slightly strained pause. Joan watches as he looks at her, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down nervously. He's fidgeting—his eyes obviously fighting to keep connected to her own, and his fingertips twitching erratically at his sides—and, Joan realizes with a surprised jolt, clearly anxious.
Over her years spent as a conscious observer of the world, Joan Watson has learned many things. One of these things is that Sherlock Holmes is a very eccentric man with very eccentric habits and an equally eccentric personality. He hides the majority of his emotions behind a façade carefully constructed to look Kevlar-grade bulletproof; the only time this had really faltered when Irene Adler/Moriarty was in the equation. He has very few friends and in turn has absolutely no social skills, relying purely on his brilliance to keep people from wanting to shoot him on a regular basis. And somehow, that seems to work for him.
But now there's something different about him. He's awkward in a way that's a far stretch from his usual social gawkiness, and she can see it in the twitchy, third-grade nervousness of his stature, the way his head cocks to the side slightly as he carries on talking, his feet shifting his weight from side to side and his hands gesticulating wildly throughout his words in jerky movements. "Obviously the mistake you made, uh, changed the course of your life. The man seems to have left quite an impression on you as well. I'd just like to pay my respects."
A second thing that Joan Watson has learned about Sherlock Holmes is that he often doesn't do things for people if it doesn't serve a purpose; but that all changes when he's trying to do something for someone he cares about— he'd move Heaven and Hell for someone he cared about (figuratively, of course, not that Sherlock wouldn't physically try to if it was possible). A prime example of this was the Euglossa Watsonias.
Well you've sure got a funny way of caring about people, Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson thinks dryly, feeling her head move back and forth in a small shake of wonder. And it's true: this eccentric, brilliant and more than a little insane British man in front of her cares in the only way he knows how to and in the same way he exists—shyly, awkwardly, and only slightly brokenly. Maybe his walls are made of Kevlar, but he's showing her the chink in his armor, presenting it to her and leaving him vulnerable again—vulnerable to have Irene happen again.
His hesitant words are the metaphorical olive branch, held out to Joan as a sign of his kinship. And maybe it's not much, but Joan'll take it. "I'd like that," she says, and is rewarded with the crooked and just-barely there view of Sherlock's answering smile.
Fin.
Please favourite and review if you liked it! Also, if anyone's interested, I have a tumblr. I also use it a bit more often than this site. The url is abundantmetaphoricalresonances if you'd like to take a look at it (link is in my profile). Be warned, though: I have many, many fandoms.
~Alex (aka dontforget2live) :) xx