This one's for the beautiful FrancescaBoscorelli, for her inspiring prompt on Tumblr(elementarydearsherlock). I don't know if I'm going to continue this or not, maybe if there's enough want for it.
Enjoy!
Joan feels completely and totally lost.
It is late at night, and she is walking the streets of New York City alone, scared, angry and sad. The fight she just had with Sherlock was it, the limit, her limit. Inside, she seethes with rage, images of how to torture him slowly racing through her mind. How dare he? How dare he push her aside so easily? He once told her he was better with her, that she'd changed him. How had that ended up meaning nothing to him?
She huffs. She knows how. Once she'd shown up, everything had changed. His attention was solely drawn by her. 'The Woman', 'the one that overshadows all of her sex'. It's pathetic, really, watching him drool over one woman. That is not the Sherlock she knew. That is not the Sherlock she cared for.
Feeling even more miserable, she steps into this little coffee shop, somewhere on the corner of some street she doesn't remember the name of. What does it matter? She isn't a Deductionist anymore. The coffee shop is light. Of course it is, it's open late at night. Only bright lighted coffee shops are open at that time. And dark places she never, ever wants to enter in her entire life. Only three people are inside. A man, sitting by the window, drinking a cup of coffee, his eyes blank as he stares ahead of himself. Poor guy. Probably just lost something – or someone – close to his heart. A woman, sitting in a far-off corner, chatting happily on the phone with her on-and-off boyfriend.
Joan frowns. She has been around Sherlock for way too long. Since when can she tell who people are talking to over the phone? How?
She can almost hear Sherlock in her mind. Going on and on about how to deduce certain things from people's expressions. She is doing it. Without even noticing, she is deducing everything around her, storing that information in her mind. Oh God, she has been around Sherlock for too long. She sits down at the bar.
"Hiya! My name's Eric. What do ya want, sweetheart?" says the bartender, the third person present, cheerfully. Joan internally groans. She does not need this right now. She needs someone who understands her, not a happy asshole.
"A lot less of that 'sweetheart'-crap and coffee. Black," she snaps and adds silently, "Like my soul."
Eric nods, and turns away. But Joan can make out a blush on his face. She cannot help but feel proud. She has never been able to really tell somebody off. Sherlock would be proud.
Whoa! Hold the phone! Do not even go there, Joan Watson! she scolds herself. She doesn't want to think about Sherlock right now, she has left that life behind for good. Like he wanted. She feels tears forcing themselves to the surface and she buries her face in her hands to hide it from the bartender.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
Bam. It takes that much to completely flip the switch. She looks up, and Eric backs up. She guesses she looks pretty angry. Not a hard guess, because she is taking all of her feelings towards Sherlock out on this poor fellow. "What did I tell you about the 'sweetheart'-crap?" she snaps, and he nods fervently.
"S-sorry. Force of habit. I won't do it again."
She takes the cup of coffee from him and takes a sip, smiling politely. "Thank you." Eric practically flees from her, and she smirks. At least there is one thing that can cheer her up a bit; messing with the bartender. Poor guy.
She takes another sip of her coffee, and realizes what kind of crap she is actually drinking. This is distasteful! She shoves it away from her roughly and eyes the bartender – Eric – angrily. "Just get me a scotch." she hisses. He obeys without question. Okay, now she is even scaring herself. What is going on with her?
"Have you ever considered that this might be who I really am?!"
She shakes her head and takes a gulp from the scotch. It burns in her throat, but it's oh so good. It clears her head.
She refuses to believe him. This is not who Sherlock is. She knows Sherlock. Better than anyone. Even Gregson didn't recognize his consulting detective after a few weeks of her in the brownstone. Joan sighs, gulps down the remainder of the scotch and asks for a refill. This is normally not her, but she feels miserable to the depths of her soul. She needs a pick-me-up.
"Are you alright there, love?"
Joan shoots up, startled by the sudden English voice next to her. For a moment, she thinks it's Sherlock, and her heart is clenching her throat shut. But it isn't It is the lonely-looking man she saw earlier. He is smiling politely at her, a hint of understanding in his eyes. Her insides calm immediately. "I'm fine." she says with a sigh, feeling immensely tired all of the sudden.
"You don't look like it." The man has a cockney English accent, and she smiles at hearing it. It is a relieve after the posh Sherlock used to throw at her. Her heart stings at 'used to'. She knows she'll probably never see him again. Whatever they once had, it is now broken.
"I know. Just had a fight with someone."
"That's too bad, love." Somehow, she doesn't mind when this man calls her 'love'. Maybe because there's no double meaning behind it, like with Eric.
Speaking of which. "Get me another, will you?" she asks him, before turning back to the nice gentleman before her. His hair is turning grey in some spots, but you can still see the lovely brown it used to be. His face is slightly wrinkled, his eyes are open and kind, and his mouth is pulled in an infinite kind smile. She feels safe with him immediately. This man looks like he has seen a lot in his life, and despite that, is still a gentle soul. She smiles at him. "I'm Joan."
"Jim." he says, shaking her hand in a polite way. Why aren't there any men of her age like this one?
She blinks. Whoa. Where did that come from? Her mind must be messing with her. Yeah, that's probably it. "Nice to meet you."
They sit in silence for a long time, Joan sipping her scotch, and Jim playing with a ring on his finger. It is a comfortable silence, but they're both okay with that. It's a relieve from all the words she had gotten thrown at her in the past couple of weeks. But the silence isn't just a blessing. Memories come flushing back when it's silent. All the fights she had with Sherlock, all the curses she threw at him. Maybe this isn't all his fault. Maybe she is to blame as well.
There is one person, however, who is to blame above all others. That woman. Irene Adler. Ever since she moved in, everything was different. Sherlock only bothered with her, only talked to her. It was like Joan wasn't even there. And that hurt. A lot. The only time he ever paid attention to her was when they fought. When she'd noticed that, she started fighting more with him. It was the only way she knew how to get his attention.
"You want to talk about it, love?" Jim says suddenly, startling her a bit. "A beautiful woman like you shouldn't be so sad." He puts his hand over hers gently. "Is it a guy?"
Joan starts laughing, a cold, humorless laugh. Quite frankly, she scares herself with it. "Oh yeah. It's a guy alright. And a woman."
"Ah." he says softly. "She took him from you?" Joan nods, and it all gets too much; she breaks down crying. Her heart is aching beyond believe. She has lost the only man who ever truly understood her, who supported her, in his own way. "There, there." Jim pats her her hand soothingly. "You love him?"
Joan looks at him, baffled by her own inability to answer that question. Does she love Sherlock Holmes? That mad, rude, brilliant guy who promised once that nothing would ever happen to her? Does she love that man? "Yeah, I guess I do." She shocks herself with that confession. She never gave much thought to it, because he first was her client and then her teacher. But now that both of them aren't true anymore, she can finally be honest with herself and admit what she's been denying to herself for a long time
"I see. Won't you tell me what happened?" He hands her a handkerchief. "Here, calm down a bit first."
Joan blows her nose, and wipes her eyes. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise for crying, love. It is a very healthy thing. You can keep that." he adds, when she tries to give back the handkerchief. "Now, tell me. What did the bastard do to you?"
Joan laughs softly. "It all started when his long lost girlfriend reappeared. She came to live with us, and he changed."
"You were living together?" Jim asks, confused.
"I was his sober companion." Joan explains quickly. He nods and goes back to listening intently. She decides she won't tell the whole dead-not dead game Irene had been playing. "So, he changed. Started ignoring me. The only time he actually acknowledged me was when we fought. And we did that. A lot. And tonight, I decided to call him out on it." Joan smiles a little. "Did not work out well." She sighs as she remembers it.
-FLASHBACK-
Joan paced impatiently through the living room of the brownstone, waiting for that man to come downstairs. She knew this probably would end badly, their conversations usually did lately. But Sherlock had changed, and he needed to know that. She jumped when she heard the door to his room slam shut and his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.
"Watson." he said, as in greeting, and Joan's heart sank. Normally he'd say more, do more, but now he just walked past her to the kitchen.
"Sherlock, wait."
Sherlock stopped, sighed heavily and turned. "Watson, if you want to fight again, please wait until tomorrow. I have better things to do."
Better things to do. It was like he was trying to intentionally hurt her. She swallowed through her pain. "You're the one picking a fight right now. Do you listen to yourself when you yell at me?" she asked, taking a step closer. "Have you listened to yourself at all lately? You don't sound like you!"
Sherlock sighed. "Listen, Watson, I know it's hard to understand, but I don't need you anymore. Irene is back, she can take care of me now." He said it quite calmly, but it still didn't sound like him. He would never say this to her without a good cause.
Tears welled up in Joan's eyes. "Don't you see? Irene has changed you, and not for the better! Even Captain Gregson and Detective Bell don't recognize you anymore!"
The mood change came fast and hard. Sherlock's face contorted into an angry mask. "Don't you dare blame Irene for - "
-END FLASHBACK-
Joan is interrupted by her phone ringing. Jim is still listening intently, and he shakes his head, as if waking up from a trance. Irritated, she glares at her screen, and her heart leaps and her stomach sinks as she sees the name. Sherlock. Why would he want to talk to her? She presses ignore. No matter why, she didn't want to talk to him.
"Is that him?" Jim asks, nodding at her phone.
Joan laughs hollow. "Yes."
"You don't want to talk to him?"
"No chance in hell. He has hurt me in more ways than one, he can rot in hell for all I care." Jim smiles amused. "Besides, I was telling a story."
His laugh rolls through the coffee shop. "Yes. Yes, you were. Please, continue."
"Right. Where was I?" Joan bites her lip, thinking deeply. "Oh right, he got really angry…"
-FLASHBACK-
"Don't you dare blame Irene for all the fights we have had!" Sherlock shouted, and Joan cringed away from him. It had been this bad ever since Irene came in. "She has nothing to do with all of this!"
"Doesn't she? We have done nothing but fighting since she came here!" shouted Joan, her blood rising to her cheeks. She had more than enough of his antics. She pointed at the case files piling up on his desk. "You don't even take cases anymore! This isn't you, Sherlock! I know you!"
"No, you don't!" he says, pacing up and down the living room. "You have been here with me for nine months, nine months! You know who I was after Irene died, you don't know who I was when I was with her!"
"This is not who you are, Sherlock! For God's sake! Can you please come back? THIS IS NOT YOU!"
"Have you ever considered that this might be who I really am?!" yelled Sherlock. "The one you didn't want to see?!"
"Sherlock…" Tears streamed down her face, but he didn't react to it. He was cold, uncaring. Not the Sherlock Holmes she'd known. "Sherlock, please…"
Sherlock took a deep breath and then said the worst thing. "If you don't like who I am now, you are free to go. I won't stop you."
Her heart broke into a million pieces right then. "You want me to leave? After all we've been through, you're telling me you don't care if I leave?" She knew her voice was thick with emotion, but she didn't care. He had to hear what she felt right now.
His eyes were stone cold as he leaned closer. "I don't. Go if you want."
Her sadness quickly turned into hurt and anger. "Fine. I'll leave. But don't expect me to come crawling back the moment you're in trouble." She ran to the hallways, threw on her coat and buttoned it. "I'll have someone pick up my stuff in the morning." Sherlock watched her with utter calm. Too calm. It hurt her to see him like this. This wasn't Sherlock. It really wasn't, whatever he might say about it. "Goodbye." Then she left, without another word, slamming the door behind her.
As she roamed the streets of New York, Joan felt completely and totally lost.
-END FLASHBACK-
Jim sits, nodding his head. "That's horrible, love. I can't believe he said that to you." He frowns as she downs her fourth – or fifth, she can't remember – scotch, and then takes her glass. "You have had enough of that, I believe."
Joan pouts, but lets him take the glass from her. "Fine."
"How are you feeling now?" he asks.
"Hurt, betrayed. Angry."
"Understandable." Jim says, smiling softly. He takes her hand and pats it reassuringly. "You will find a man right for you, miss Joan. Sherlock is just not one of them."
Joan looks up at him, baffled, her comfort turning into discomfort. Something isn't right. "I never told you his name was Sherlock." Before Jim can answer, her phone rings again, and she sighs, distracted from her discomfort. Sherlock again.
"Take it, love. Make him understand what you feel. He deserves that just as much as you do." Jim says, smiling.
Joan bites her lip, and with a knot in her stomach, she answers. "What, Sherlock?"
"Hello to you, too. Where are you, Watson?"
Joan rolled her eyes. Even after a fight as big as theirs, he was still possessive and nosy. "I'm just drinking coffee with a friend." She snorts inaudibly. Coffee. Right.
"Who?" he prods quickly. She can hear him walking around, hears the honking of cars. Is he looking for her?
"His name's Jim. He has actually been very kind to me, unlike other's around town." she snaps at him. What does he care? "Look, Sherlock…"
He doesn't let her finish. "Jim Who?"
"What do I care, Jim who? Jim, just Jim!" she shouts angrily at him. How dare he prod into her life like that? After all he's already put her through! "The main issue here is you and me!"
"Yes, but what is his last name?" he says, right through her tirade.
Then suddenly, she feels a breath on her ear, and a low, posh English voice say, "Moriarty."
She almost drops her phone. Looking sideways at Jim, she sees his entire demeanor change. The infinite smile disappears suddenly, his eyes darken and the softness of his face vanishes. Before her stands not Jim the man who'd lost someone, but James Moriarty. Sherlock's arch enemy, and the most dangerous man alive. Her heart is hammering in her chest as she tries to speak.
"Joan? Are you there? Joan!" she hears Sherlock shout in her ear, but she's too stunned to answer. How could she have fallen for that? How could she not have noticed before? She should have walked away the moment he said 'Sherlock'. That wasn't right. He couldn't even have seen it on the screen. This man knew all along who she was and what she came here for. "JOAN!"
She grabs her coat and tries to leave, but Moriarty stops her, clacking his tongue. "I don't think you're going anywhere just yet, Miss Watson."
"Joan? What's happening, are you still there?!"
She opens her mouth, but Moriarty grabs her phone from her hand and puts his finger to his lips. "Hush now, miss Watson, and let the men handle this." She narrows her eyes at him. On top of a vicious murderer, he is a sexist as well? He puts the phone to his ear with a vicious smile on his face. "Mr Holmes." He smiles as he hears the reply. Joan inches closer so she can at least hear what's going on. "Good guess, Mr Holmes. Now, to business. I have your lovely companion here with me. Unless you do exactly what I say, she will die. Do you understand?"
"I do." Joan hears Sherlock hiss. She doesn't recognize that voice. He never uses that.
"Good. You have twelve hours to solve something for me. 1 minute after that, and I send her back in a body bag. Do you understand?" Joan looks at the once kind man. She doesn't recognize him. This isn't the man she's been talking to all night. He's torturing Sherlock.
"Yes." He sounds tortured, too. Joan really, truly regrets every word she has said to him today.
Moriarty laughs. "Wonderful! On your doorstep you will find your case files. Twelve hours, Mr. Holmes. The clock is ticking, are you going to be in time to save your love?" And he hangs up, before either Joan or Sherlock can say anything.
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