Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot of my story. All goes to CBS.
breakthrough: any major progress, such as a great innovation or discovery that overcomes a significant obstacle. A productive insight;
The first thing that Joan's conscience noted when she was awakened was the soft tickling of a few long pieces of her black hair against her nose. Then her other senses came back to her, starting with her sense of smell, which picked up a slight scent of…bacon. She breathed out, her breath feeling warmer than the other air surrounding her. It was so cold. When she was fully conscious, she forced her eyes open and rolled over. She glanced at the clock. 3:30 a.m. That was a bit early for Sherlock to be making breakfast, and it wasn't like he'd ever cooked before.
Joan pushed the covers off of her body, her legs immediately forming goose bumps from the sudden clashing of the cold air with her warm body. Shivering, she grabbed one of the smaller blankets off of her bed and wrapped it around her, standing up and pulling her hair to one side of her neck. She opened the door and painfully let her eyes adjust to the lighting. She walked downstairs and saw Sherlock, sitting on the floor by a tacky coffee table, staring at a bright computer screen. He was sitting like a young child with his legs crossed, munching loudly on a very burnt piece of bacon.
She'd like to think it was unusual that he was sitting awake at a computer at 3:30 in the morning, but for him, it wasn't. He was most likely studying some kind of case, attempting to make sure that the calculations of the mass of the sun from Planck's constant and the estimated speed of light were correct, or some other extremely weird, extremely complex and controversial problem. He hardly ever slept more than 4 hours.
"What are you doing?" she asked. She thought it sounded a bit dumb after it came out of her mouth, a little too mainstream, something that Sherlock thought he was not obligated to answer.
"FACS."
"Because I know what that is?" she said dubiously.
"Facial Action Coding System," he elaborated with exasperation, not looking up from his screen.
Joan actually did know what he was talking about now. She had almost gone into psychiatry before she decided to be a surgeon, and she'd heard about the program.
"That's the thing that makes you a, uh, human lie detector?" she asked.
"I'd say that's a bit of an exaggeration, Watson. I'm studying the facial muscles and their movements in order to analyze the underlying meaning of the muscle movements so I can make a slightly supported guess about what a person is hiding from the commoners-"
"Just because a person doesn't have an IQ of…Probably a number I can't even say…doesn't make them a "commoner" and you some kind of king," Joan interrupted.
He finally looked up from the computer and at her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.
"Has it ever occurred to you…that other people aren't that stupid, and you're just extremely intelligent?" Joan murmured, walking over to the computer and sitting down beside him.
"I much appreciate the compliment, however I disagree. Other people are stupid and it's their own fault. I agree that I'm much more intelligent naturally than most people, but much of my knowledge is from reading and trying to learn. Other people don't try to learn like I do," he explained, keeping his gaze on her.
"That's not true. I've always worked hard to learn. Valedictorian in medical school, remember? I read all the time. And in your opinion, I'm stupid and it's my own fault, because I'm not like you?" she questioned.
Sherlock looked confused. Finally he spoke, seemingly completely off topic at first. "You know, initially, I was sure that you were somewhat vain. Flaunting your valedictorian status and such. But I now have concluded that you are, in fact, very insecure and have no confidence."
She gawked at him. "I do have confidence."
"You automatically assume I think you're stupid. That is most likely because your mindset is one that causes you to feel badly about yourself," Sherlock retorted.
"I don't feel badly about myself," she said.
"You're lying. Studying FACS, remember?"
"Don't you already know that stuff?" Joan asked incredulously.
"Yes. I'm reviewing. And you just changed the subject."
"It's a dead subject."
"Not quite," he started. "I actually think you're quite intelligent. Just not as much so as me, of course."
She was surprised he didn't think she was stupid. "Then you're contradicting yourself. You said that the reason nobody was as smart as you was because they were stupid because they don't try to be smart."
"But I also said that I do think I'm naturally more intelligent than other people. I meant that most people probably cannot become as intelligent as me, but can at least come close enough that I don't have to condescend. I don't have to condescend you."
"That's great of you to say, really. But I'd say you're pretty condescending."
He shook his head. "You don't know me well enough to tell the difference."
"And I probably never will," Joan commented. She was a bit confused that he was actually paying full attention to her and not distracted or trying desperately to concentrate on FACS. She could somewhat understand why, though. He already knew FACS. There was no way he could conclude the things he concluded, know the things he knew, observe the way he observed, without knowing that system. So it wasn't like she was distracting him from something of much importance. She didn't understand why he felt the need to review something he already knew anyway.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I can't get to know you. You won't let me."
Sherlock went silent, and his look of arrogance faded away. He looked like he actually cared what she was saying, like he was surprised by what she'd said. She knew that this was a good time to talk to him, if any time at all. He was being a little more open, less work-oriented. He was being the way he had been only a few times before; times when he'd apologize or randomly go all soft on her. He could only get so soft…It wasn't like he'd confess all or anything. But he'd occasionally show enough emotion to have a decent conversation with him, and this was one of those times. It was similar to when she'd had a conversation with him soon after she'd met him, when she spoke to him over the phone in his jail cell, with a thin sheet of glass between them.
"I…used to not feel that it was of much importance for you to know me. However, now you seem somewhat…Good."
"Good?" she asked.
"I underestimated you," he replied, turning back to his computer.
Joan could tell that he wasn't just extremely comfortable sharing his thoughts about her. But she pressed on. She wasn't scared of what would happen if things got awkward. They were already awkward and it wasn't comfortable whatsoever, but she liked the awkward times whenever she looked back. The awkward moments were the times that she discovered the most about him, and so she cherished them. No matter how awkward times got, they always just went to bed and when they woke up in the morning and went to work, things were exactly the same as they had been, only Joan had picked up a bit of information. So she didn't mind the awkwardness, even if Sherlock did.
"How so?" she asked.
"You're very talkative tonight," he replied, staring at the computer screen still.
Joan very well knew that even though he was looking at the computer, he wasn't retaining anything he was reading or seeing because she knew that his attention was still on her.
"You know, you can look at the computer screen all you want, but I know that you already know everything on it and nothing you're seeing is being processed," she said.
He looked over at her, a look of irritation on his face. "Now you're underestimating me. I'm exceptionally good at multitasking."
"And this is one of those exceptional times. You hate it, but you know that you're more interested in what I've to say than what's on that computer."
Sherlock looked like he was about to explode. His face was red and his facial expression was pinched together, his mouth in a straight line across his face. He slammed his hands down on the coffee table and hopped up from beside her. He grabbed the computer and stormed out of the room, going into his bedroom and closing the door violently.
He didn't say anything to deny her comment. He did know that it was true. He liked her very much and found her company comforting. It was more comforting than anything he'd been around in a long accruing amount of time. He found himself admiring her because she would put up with him. Nobody else could handle him. Everyone else ditched him soon after they saw his bad side, which was out more often than his good side was. He actually wasn't sure. He wasn't just really interested in himself. He knew he was extremely intelligent but that wasn't really fascinating unless he used it. Nobody had really been interested in him before either. He was too different, to the point that nobody else wanted to know about him because they knew they wouldn't understand or because they just didn't bother to care for him. His father had never understood him, nobody had. But it felt like Watson did. It felt like he could talk to her and she wouldn't leave him or judge him. He wanted to talk to her about everything, but it felt odd. He never talked to anybody, because he felt that when someone got to know you very well then you could be taken control of. He didn't want people to know too much about him because he didn't want anybody to ever have any control against him. That was why he couldn't bring himself to talk to her, even though he wanted to. He knew he gave off the wrong message and she probably thought he disliked her, but he didn't know how to make things right. He got too frustrated when he tried, and wanted to punch things.
Joan was just going to let Sherlock cool off. She couldn't ever maintain a conversation with him, and she was used to it. But she just didn't know what to do about him. She had always been good at connecting with people, she had always been able to get them to talk to her. She had many good friends…had. She didn't have them anymore. After the death of her patient, she had gone to a bit of a dark place. Her thoughts were horrific, and she couldn't interact with other people clearly because she thought so much about her tragic mistake. People would talk to her, and she'd look at them attentively, but her mind was always somewhere else. She'd lost most of her friends after that, other than a couple few friends who were so close to her that they continued to try. But even those people hadn't kept up with her much, because she never called them back or answered their text messages. She felt like after the day of her patient's death, she had to get rid of her life. She had to ditch everything and everyone. All those people, that hospital, all of it reminded her of what had happened. She felt like she didn't have a choice but to leave everything. Sherlock was supposed to be her redo. She was supposed to get close to him, to make a friend out of him. But it was so hard. He wasn't interested. She knew he didn't hate her as much as he acted like, but she wasn't sure he wanted her there at all. She thought maybe she should leave, or at least ask him if he wanted her to go. If he didn't want her there whatsoever, then she really shouldn't be there. She should find some other ex-addict, someone who would like her to be there. Nevertheless, she loved investigating with him. She liked solving felonies and putting criminals behind bars. But she knew it wasn't right to just stay there so she could work cases with him. If she was going to stay, it needed to be for Sherlock. But if he couldn't ever trust her, she really didn't need to live with him.
Joan couldn't confront him now, because she knew he was too angry and frustrated. So she went into the kitchen, grabbed a can of peanuts, and walked back into the living room. She collapsed on a recliner and flipped on the tv and started watching some sort of strange show she'd never seen before. She felt quite cold and thought of stand up and grabbing her blanket off the floor, but her sheer laziness and the fact that she felt very comfortable in this position kept her from getting up. Since it was 4 in the morning, she fell asleep within a few minutes.
Sherlock sat in his bedroom, studying the words on his computer. He knew that he was being pointless. He really did know the Facial Action Coding System like the back of his hand. He didn't need to be reading it. He found it hard to focus not only because he was bored with what was there due to his already-extensive knowledge of it, but mostly because his mind averted back to Watson constantly. It had been an hour or so since he'd stormed off, and he didn't feel awful about it but he did want to be with her. He enjoyed her company much more than he did being alone. He hadn't said anything awful to her and he therefore didn't feel very bad, but he had a hint of guilt still because he knew she thought he didn't appreciate her or like her and she worked so hard to know him. Feeling that he had to make it right, he slammed his laptop shut and left his bedroom, walking to the living room. When he arrived, he had his breath held, ready to speak with her openly and let her know that he liked her being here, but he found her sound asleep in a chair. Quite uncharacteristically, he slightly smiled at the sight. Her head was tilted towards him, and she was shivering. She kept moving around, squeezing her arms, her jaws clenching and unclenching as she grinded her teeth in her sleep.
Sherlock felt sorry for her, watching her frail little body shiver. He flipped the tv off, and then grabbed her soft blanket off the floor. He gently laid it over her, smoothing it out over her shoulders. He had tried to do it quietly so she didn't wake up, but she did awaken.
Once her eyes opened, Sherlock saw her face instantly transform into confusion. She looked down at the blanket, and then over at his lingering hand, still resting on her shoulder. He awkwardly removed his hand, sitting down beside her. She looked over at him, repositioning herself in the chair.
"You were cold," he explained.
She nodded. "Yeah…Thanks."
A long silence followed, and they both just stared forward, neither sure what to say, until Joan finally spoke.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asked softly.
Sherlock looked over at her, giving her a meaningful stare. At least, more meaningful than he usually gave her. "No."
"You sure? Because it really seems that way," she said, glancing at him but then quickly turning away.
Sherlock was quiet a minute, and when he spoke, his voice came out in a new tone, a tone of respect and seriousness. "I know how it seems. I'm difficult to understand. But you'll just have to take my word for it. I really don't want you to leave. I actually find your presence...very helpful and comforting," he confessed, mouthing the words out slowly and carefully. "And that's hard for me to say."
Joan hid a smile. She was actually progressing with him, and it was such a relief.
"I know it is. But I really appreciate it," she assured him, looking directly at him now.
"So you're not going to leave?" he asked, although it was more like a statement than a question.
"No. I probably would have put up with you even if you said you didn't want me here," she said, chuckling a little.
He grinned. "That's what I like about you."
She stood up. "It's 4:15. Let's go to bed."
Sherlock stood up. "All right. Where are we sleeping?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her.
She shook her head. Since when did he joke around? "You know what I meant," she said, wriggling out of his arm even though a part of her wanted to stay there.
"I'm not tired," Sherlock said.
She stared at him for a minute. "Just try?" she suggested.
He raised his eyebrows slightly, considering this concept, and then slowly nodding.
He walked towards his bedroom and Joan started towards hers. She turned around, exchanged a quick glance with him, and then turned back. Everything was going to be so much better with them now.
AN: Please review! (: