I do not own Elementary nor the title of this story which is a line from "All About Your Heart" by Mindy Gledhill.
However, every typo, every grammatical atrocity, is all on me, though. For full disclosure, English is not my native language.
It's past 3 a.m. when Sherlock wakes up startled from a nightmare. He looks around and perceives he's in the brownstone. Still unsettled by the oneiric images, he gets up and goes to Watson's room.
They've just finished working on a disturbing serial case in which the psychopath targeted couples who were in love. Once under his domain, he forced one of the parts to watch the other being tortured until the victim's life ran out.
During the investigation, in order to get to their killer, while studying the victims' routines, habits and private life, Sherlock came to a very astonishing conclusion regarding his life shared with his partner as well as his feelings for her.
While sitting in his chair and pondering about his newest breakthrough, he sees that Watson is agitated in her sleep, also that her breath is uneven, and only a couple of minutes later, she wakes up from what appears to have been a dream incited by the same case they've been working on in the past few days, the very same reason that brought him to her room. Not wanting to scare her, he doesn't say anything, waits until his presence is registered by her senses.
He sees it, the moment she becomes aware that she's not alone, the moment she realizes it's him, the intruder. When her vision finally lands on him, he says that all is alright, that he is safe. To what she releases a sigh and it takes no more than a few seconds for what he's just said to register in her mind still fogged by sleep. Joan bows her head to the side once realization hits her, without ever taking her eyes off of him, waiting. Even though she can assume what his answer will be, she all the same asks what is he doing there, in her room, in the middle of the night.
"He had you. Us." He lets it out as he massages his forehead, presses his eyes. "I couldn't do anything to prevent him from hurting you," he adds in a defeated voice.
"I'm right here," she responds.
"I know, now."
They hold each other's gaze for a couple of seconds until she gently pats the empty side of the bed, in invitation for him to join her. He promptly complies. And once in her bed, he reaches for her and pulls her close to him. Breathes her in. His right hand around her midsection, his left flexed bellow her head, serving as a pillow. He sighs and says in a soft yet anxious voice, "I can't lose you."
"You didn't. You won't. We got him."
"There are others, Watson."
"We'll get them too. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you willingly."
"What if he or someone else gets to you first?" She's never seen him this frightened.
"That, my dear Sherlock," responds Joan in a sweet yet forthright tone, in an attempt to lift the mood, "won't happen," she completes as she closes both of her hands around his right one lifting it to her lips, "because we always get in time, we'll always be there for each other no matter the circumstances. And most important, it won't happen because I believe in us."
AN: So, I was writing down notes while studying for a test next week, and the next thing I know, I had been possessed by something stronger than me and I ended up writing an Elementary drabble (?). I have never, EVER, written anything remotely related to fan fiction, or even contemplated writing one. It simply hit me and suddenly I had written, what I believe, you've just read. The original draft was handwritten and later I typed it in my computer and made some edits. Jesus, this is terrifying. I know there are wonderful and brilliant Joanlock stories out there that I have read myself, but I hope you still enjoyed reading this little piece. I'll stop now.