Title: Do Not Go Gentle, Use the Force
Author: Kasey
Rating: G
Summary: Watson and Sherlock during a blackout.
Special thanks to Forensiphile for her beta and her encouragement.
"It's amazing how much we depend on electricity. That was the second time I tried to put the light on in the bathroom," Joan Watson said gingerly making her way back to the couch. Sherlock Holmes was sat on the floor nearest the fireplace. If it wasn't in the dead of summer, the fire would have illuminated the brownstone magnificently.
"It is in the shadows where our deepest fears linger," Sherlock spoke as he maneuvered the flashlight from ceiling to floor, from wall to wall. "In the light we can mask them but in the darkness they hide. They taunt us. Never knowing where they may pop out."
"Wha—," Joan gasped as Sherlock focused the light on something moving just beyond the table. "CLYDE! Why is he out of his terrarium?"
"I was measuring his visual acuity against mine."
"Is there some reason for this?" Joan asked curiously.
"Boredom?" Sherlock crawled over to Clyde, picked him up and went over to place the turtle in his habitat. "You know Watson this would be a particularly exhilarating circumstance to continue with your self-defense training."
"I can think of three reasons why that would not be a good idea. One, I can't even see my hand in front of my face. Two, it's as hot as Dante's Inferno. And finally, why do you always call me 'Watson'?" Sherlock had appeared to move on from his fascination with Clyde's night vision and was busy looking for something in the hall closet. Joan called to him.
"A-ha," he said pulling out a large hat box. He brought the box back over to his spot and sat down.
"No comment to anything I said?"
"Well, Watson, in response to your list as it were in order. You of all people should be well aware of how important one's other senses are in combat. A person's sight can deceive them hence the cliché of one's eyes playing tricks on them." Sherlock had opened the box, and with the smaller flashlight in between his teeth, he searched inside.
"I'm sure we could spend a lengthy and rather heated discussion on all nine rings of Dante's Divine Comedy. No pun intended," he breathed out from around the flashlight. Removing it from his mouth, he added, "but let us save that for later, shall we? I have found the items that will serve our training quite nicely." He jumped up having thrown the hat box aside. He walked over to Joan.
"Here, Watson, take this and come join me in the middle of the room." Joan took the tube and felt around the handle as she heard Sherlock pushing furniture towards the edge of the space. She found a button and pushed. Suddenly a green light illuminated the room. She laughed and quickly searched for Sherlock's face.
"A light saber?" She saw Sherlock nod his head in the shadows. "From Star Wars. You want me to use the force to what seek out and destroy the Empire?"
"Sword fighting or what is now commonly known as fencing has been used throughout history by the greatest armies. Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, the Romans were artfully skilled in the use of a sword as a weapon. It teaches one balance, defense, how to anticipate your opponent's moves, to use your instincts. Skills that you have not quite mastered yet." Joan frowned. She had been a tenacious student since they formed their partnership, and she did not like it when he implied otherwise. She let it go, though, feeling too tired to rebuff his statement.
"These authentic props from the original movie will be of greater use to us now than using swords," Sherlock replied taking his stance.
"But if I am to use my instincts then lighting these up would cause me to focus on the light and would give me the ability to see my opponent reflected off that light."
"But as you well know, Watson, it takes the eyes seconds to adjust to the changes in light. Since neither one of us will be standing still, shadows and blind spots will be created and force us to use our other senses." Sherlock started his lunge toward her.
"Perfectly displaying the 'eyes playing tricks on you' cliché," Joan replied moving back against his advance. They moved around in an awkward dance until Joan started to feel her rhythm. She soon found herself anticipating Sherlock's moves with greater ease.
"You are getting much better at this Watson. I see my throwing of tennis balls at you indiscriminately has paid off. " He lunged at her again but she rebuffed him. "Your reflexes have become much more reactionary."
"Apparently the dozen or so welts on my back and arms have given off a Pavlovian response," she replied making a series of lunges. She continued her forward momentum until she had him straddling the arm of the couch. "I guess the force is strong with me."
"Under my tutelage you have made remarkable strides," he replied pushing her slightly back. They stared at each other a moment as the light saber illuminated their eyes. Joan was the first to break contact and move away. She found the couch and sat down. Feeling for her water bottle, she took a long sip and then leaned back. She was convinced that all the training in the world in solving crimes and mysteries would never give her enough knowledge to figure out the mystery that is Sherlock Holmes. Yet sometimes she found that all the more intriguing. Listening to him reposition the tables, she asked him again the question he had avoided.
"You never answered me on why you call me Watson instead of Joan."
"In our line of work calling colleagues by their last names cuts out the mass confusion that always seems to accompany when you have a large number of people named 'Joe' in a room."
"But you still call me Watson here at home."
"A mere habit I suppose," he replied nonchalantly.
"Or a way to keep me at a distance. Calling me Joan would be too intimate for you." She got up and used her small flashlight to guide her into the kitchen. Thank God they had a gas stove to prepare tea. She filled the kettle and positioned it on the stove.
"There is not always a cosmic reason for why I do something, Watson," Sherlock said walking into the kitchen. Joan smirked.
"There is ALWAYS a definite and cosmic reason why you do everything Sherlock. From what socks you wear to what you call people."
"A sensible statement. The truth is that if there were fifty people standing around you and all called out 'Joan' you could not distinguish the voices clearly. Yet I calling out Watson, you would know it was me in a split second. It is part of our connection, Watson. An aspect I find satisfying as I would hope you do also." He did not wait for a reply, but made his way back into the living room. Joan stared at the kettle and smiled.
Yes, this man was captivating.
End