A/N: This was supposed to be chapter 24 of Story of her life, but it devolved into something completely crazy along the way. But it still made me laugh, so I decided to share. It is not part of the main story and can be read as stand-alone, but they are the same characters.
Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. You recognize it, I don't own it.
Warning: Language.
# #
Sally was having a bad day. It had been raining heavily for two days, and even if it cleared up a little, it was still impossible to keep her dress pants clean of the ambient mud. Especially when they were patrolling back-streets in hopes of flushing out the pair of wannabe gangsters that decided to terrorize Southern London. The two men had been responsible for several attacks, starting as simple muggings, but one of the victims died. Then a second one. Then they got vicious, and half of the police force was about ready to rip them a new one.
Unfortunately, they were also good at hiding, and DI Lestrade called Holmes. The Freak took a glance at their files and narrowed down their search zone, despite Donovan's protests. They had been snapping at each other, when Joan Watson calmly came between them. "Sherlock, please explain your reasoning."
"But John…"
"Giving chances, remember?" Sally really didn't like what it implied. The Freak and his pet were not giving them chances, they were tolerating them! It was infuriating. So, Sally was not a happy person, following the search map compiled by the two most irritating persons in the city. Well, Watson wasn't that bad, but the woman kept the oddest company. There must be a couple of screws loose in that blond head.
The radio crackled. Her boss shouted something about being after one of their targets, then an unmistakable baritone gave clipped directions to another back-alley.
Flanked by another sergeant and two constables, Sally skidded to a halt at the alley entrance, only to see a stout man in a leather vest aim a gun at an unarmed Holmes. "Freeze!" someone shouted behind her, but the guy was too far gone. It was like in a slow-motion movie, with blood trumping in her ears, loud, loud, shit, that's bad. She hated Holmes, but it was no reason to wish his death.
But before the shot fired, someone flew from the second floor right on the thug, accompanied by a panicked "John!" from the open window above. Wait, what?! The assembled police officers watched in shocked silence as Joan Watson rolled into a crouch and immediately launched at the shooter, who had fallen to the ground with a grunt. Having an adult human drop on you from above could be hurtful, apparently. There was a kick, a spin, and the gun cluttered to the other side of the alley. A punch, and the guy was wailing in pain, pinned down by Watson's knee to his kidneys and his arm held well up his back.
"YOU CRAZY, MY ARM'LL BREAK! LET ME GO!"
Watson remained royally unperturbed, and just put more weight on his back. The street noise seemed to fade when she leaned forward to say in a matter-of-fact voice: "Just give me a reason." It made chills run down Sally's spine, and judging by how her colleagues shivered, she was not an exception. The 'vengeful god' moment didn't last a minute, though, as Holmes stepped forward. Almost forgot about him, Sally thought, still rooted on the spot.
"That's quite enough, John." He produced zip-ties from his bottomless pockets and soon their killer was bound and ready. Holmes turned to them with a mockingly raised eyebrow. "Are you going to arrest him or what?"
# #
Greg was having a spectacularly bad day. First, he inherited the muggers-killers case. Second, no groundwork had been done on it, so they had to review all reports again, trying to find any clue as to the attackers' identities or at least their hiding spots. Third, the weather was goddamn awful. His wife took the car because "I can't walk to the Tube!", so he had to walk to the Tube instead under the downpour. Without an umbrella, since his kids had the great idea to use them as swords in a school play. Fourth, Sherlock was having another go with Sally about their respective intelligence and overall maturity level.
One day, I'm going to kill them both, I swear…
Joan was a godsend in this situation. How she managed to diffuse the tension was a mystery. Perhaps, Sherlock actually listening to her was a clue. It was still amazing to watch.
Once they were outside, ready to cover the area identified by Holmes, the man himself disappeared somewhere, leaving brief instructions in his wake. "I suppose I'll stick with you for now" Joan said, glancing a little worriedly in Sherlock's direction.
They all split into pairs, one team never being too far away from the other, and started the patrol. Greg watched Joan from the corner of his eye. She looked alert and focused, but now and then her hand twitched towards the phone in her pocket. "He knows what's he's doing" he tried to reassure her.
"That's what you'd think, right?" she smiled weakly back. "But he gets too enthusiastic about things. Underestimates people." It was odd to see someone genuinely worry about Sherlock. The elusive big brother Greg had met a couple of times didn't count.
Suddenly, his phone beeped with an incoming text. "You will find one of them in the building to your left. SH". They exchanged surprised looks, and obediently went into the old building. They were barely past the entrance, when loud crushing noises came from upstairs and a man darted down the stairs and through the backyard.
They ran.
After a short chase, made difficult by various boxes and garbage littering the space, their target barged into another building. Lestrade had time to bark in his radio about having a suspect in sight, before rushing after him. The man wasn't particularly bright, though, as they found him in the middle of an empty room on the second floor, frantically looking around for a weapon. Joan tackled him without breaking her run. His head collided with the wall with a loud thud, and that was it. While Greg was handcuffing the thug, Joan checked her phone. "Where's Sherlock?" She sounded even more worried.
"No idea, why?" he asked.
"We think that one of the guys is just a tag-along. The other is the violent one. This" she nodded at the still unconscious man, "is the follower."
"So, the dangerous one is still out there?"
"Yeah…"
There were loud voices outside, and Joan darted to the window. "Sherlock" she breathed out, hands already unlatching the window. Before Greg could do or say anything, she was perched on the ledge, eyes calculating and very cold. And then she jumped. "John!" he cried out, tripping on his way to the window. There was a scuffle below, and he only saw the end of it, where Joan pinned a grown man to the ground and calmly subdued him into silence. Well, damn.
# #
Sherlock was having a relatively good day. He was called to assist in a case of violent muggings that degenerated into killings. While not very challenging intellectually, it was a welcome distraction and physical exercise. And an adrenaline shot. He needed that.
Still riled up by the argument with Donovan, he decided to go solo on this one. Splitting from the main force, he quickly climbed up to the nearest roof, and started his search, leaving the meticulous checks of every street to the police. He had changed buildings several times when he noticed two things:
i) One of the muggers was anxiously looking out of a window, clearly aware of the search going on.
ii) John had teamed up with Lestrade and they were just under the said window.
He typed out a text, certain that Joan could handle this one.
Fact: The man was fearful. Fact: The two-man team was composed of a leader and a follower. Fact: The leader was the one with violent tendencies. Conclusion: John was currently arresting the follower.
Assumption: Their lair was in this particular building. Assumption: The leader is out, but not far away – the follower was waiting for him / his orders. Conclusion: He is nearby. Conclusion: Chase.
He jumped to the next building, noticing a burly man briskly walking down the street, hands in his pockets and nervously glancing back every ten seconds. Bingo.
Sherlock tumbled down the fire escape, emerged on the street, and started to pursuit. First, it had been a very obvious tailing, then the guy ducked into an alley, and why wouldn't he follow?
Stupid, he scolded himself when faced with a muzzle of a gun. What a stupid way to die. There were general noises from the incoming police officers, but they would not be able to save him.
A window creaked open above them, he glanced quickly to the potential witness of his own murder and froze. On the window ledge was Joan Watson, focused entirely on the armed mugger and clearly ready to jump. From the second floor. Estimating the distance to the ground. Estimating force of impact. Estimating potential damage. He didn't finish his calculations, as Joan launched herself out and onto the attacker. There was a panicked shout from inside (Lestrade. That idiot couldn't stop her?!), as Joan landed feet first on the man shoulders, and bounced to the side, leaving her target nosedive to the ground. She rolled away, but Sherlock noticed the wince when she came to a halt. Despite the probable damage (left ankle, also scrapped her hands), the ex-soldier lunged forward, efficiently disarming the criminal and getting him in a hold. The thug started shouting profanities, and Sherlock was about to intervene, when he noticed Joan's eyes.
They were cold and sharp like cursed sapphires. Her face was expressing a bored contempt, while her body was effortlessly tense, just enough to hold the grown man in place with minimal effort. It was a wrath he had never seen in her before. In response to futile threats, this dangerous, lethal, woman simply stated "Just give me a reason" into her victim's ear. And I'll kill you with pleasure seemed to hang in the air.
This was Captain Watson from bad days. A soldier who killed people. Not John.
Unable to watch anymore, Sherlock stepped forward. "That's quite enough, John." His voice caught in his throat when impassive blue eyes gazed upon him. Bored. That was the only thing that came to his mind. She looks bored of the whole world to the point of violence. And then the coldness was gone, softening her features, and she just half-shrugged, half-nodded to him to proceed.
Sherlock cuffed the criminal on auto-pilot, mulling about the unexpected sight he witnessed. Fact: John had rarely talked about her military career. Fact: John had mentioned the "bad days". Fact: John was trained in hand-to-hand combat and was perfectly able to kill with her bare hands. Conclusion: John was not involved in the army only in medical capacity. Further investigation required. Note: No Mycroft.
There were stunned mutterings somewhere at the entrance of the alley. Oh, yes, the idiots. "Are you going to arrest him or what?" he drawled at the assembled officers, who were now openly staring. Most looked abashed, and started actually doing something. Like hoisting the criminal up and to a patrol car, or starting to process the scene. Lestrade shouted from above for someone to come help him with the second criminal, and two constables rushed away. Donovan was scolding someone on the phone. Sherlock observed them critically, before turning to the main reason of his irritation.
Joan had shuffled to the side, putting all weight on the right leg. Her small ponytail had broken and shoulder-length hair was constantly getting into her face because of the wind, making her huff and run a hand through it. For some reason, she took off her jacket too, standing there in a t-shirt. It didn't go unnoticed by surrounding Yarders, who finally realized that Watson was a woman that could be considered as attractive by common standards. Sherlock noticed at least three of them ogling at the unassuming doctor. Which didn't improve his mood at all.
He marched to his blogger, dark as a thunder cloud, but his rant was derailed by an honest look of concern on Joan's face. She had been biting her lips, something she usually did when slightly embarrassed but not regretful. The loose hair also made her face look rounder and softer. "Why is your hair like this?" he blurted instead.
"My hairband broke" she answered evenly, then frowned at him. "Why didn't you wait for back-up?"
The detective didn't have an answer for that, so he chose to attack. "I had back-up, they were just useless." Take that. "You are not allowed to jump out of buildings ever again, John" he stated firmly. It had been a bad move, since her adorable (Adorable? What is wrong with me?) frown intensified. She raised her chin in stubborn protest, eyes narrowing on her flatmate.
"You. Were. About. To be. Shot." She punctuated each word with a finger jab to his chest. "You, mister, are not qualified to lecture me on dangerous behavior."
He had no ground to stand on, but Sherlock Holmes was not about to give up. "Second floor, John!"
The fleeting look of shame transformed into a reluctant pout. "Let's agree that we were both reckless then" she grumbled, crossing her arms. There were choked whispers from the audience, and a muffled whistle.
Holmes swirled around, glaring. But all eyes were on Joan. Specifically, on her chest that crossed arms accentuated. How trained detectives did not notice Watson's curves before that moment was beyond him. Yes, her usual clothes were far from revealing, but it was rather obvious that she was not a flat-board. And it was also no reason to stare at her like a bunch of hormonal teenagers seeing a mini-skirt for the first time.
Openly enough for even Joan to notice (she remained thankfully oblivious to all signs of interest from the male half of the population… unless she was intentionally ignoring them. Hmmm… to consider), and stage-whisper to him: "What's going on?"
He turned back to her with a raised eyebrow, pointedly giving her an eye-down. Joan answered with a confused frown. Sherlock sighed, and pointedly glanced at her hair, her shirt, then at the assembled Yarders. She didn't seem to understand again, until she glanced at the small crowd that stopped doing their work long ago. The look of resigned horror was just hilarious, and Sherlock stifled a laugh. "Can we go home now?" the doctor asked in a low voice.
# #
Joan was having an interesting day. Instead of going over her notes on the latest case, they had been called in to help. Sherlock looked delighted, until Sally Donovan decided to voice her opinions. The maturity of some people, honestly… The consulting detective was still fuming when they got to the search area, even if it was barely noticeable, and took off on his own, probably to went some steam. She could relate, but it was worrying, given the type of criminals they were up against.
It was pure luck that their man ran into the right building, and Greg and she ended up just above the scene. Hadn't they been there, the other guy would have shot Sherlock. This possibility enraged her to the point she forgot all warning signs, and just acted. The simmering anger clouded her senses enough to ignore pain, and at the same time sharpened them to the point where the whole world appeared slowed and in technicolor.
This bug threatened my friend. He will never do that again. Hurt him, break him, make him cry.
"That's quite enough, John."
The baritone jerked her out of the almost meditative state. Sherlock looked unhurt, but shaken. Realizing what could have ticked him off, Joan shrugged and let him do his thing. Didn't want him to see that. Didn't really want to do that again either…
The pain came back with a vengeance, and she limped to the side, feeling her left ankle slowly swell. Her forearms felt itchy, so she tugged off the jacket to assess the damage. The old hairband decided to snap at that moment, leaving her huffing endlessly to get hair out of her eyes. Oddly enough, only her hands were scratched, thanks to the concrete and the rough landing. The itchy feeling probably came from the jacket itself against bare and sweaty skin. The heavy rain in the middle of May had been accompanied by rather warm temperatures, and Joan never knew whether she was going to freeze or melt outside.
So here she was, minding her own business, when Sherlock marched towards her, as sulky as he could get. He was clearly going to yell at her, but got distracted by something. "Why is your hair like this?" That's what you want to talk about?
"My hairband broke. Why didn't you wait for back-up?" He seemed startled at being reprimanded. Ensued their usual banter about back-ups and careless behavior, leading nowhere since neither wanted to concede the point. Feeling a little drained from the fight, Joan fully prepared to sulk all the way to Baker Street. Unfortunately, her best glare was lost on Sherlock, who was busy scowling at the Yarders. What are they doing anyway? It's not the first time we argued on the scene. "What's going on?"
The underlying irritation was gone, and Sherlock was sporting an amused glint in his eyes. I'm screwed, she decided, not getting the joke yet, but fearing it already. Following the prodding glances, she looked at the police officers again. The realization dawned on her with creeping horror. They're adults, dammit. Why are they drooling. "Can we go home now?"
Sherlock shook his head, amused. "And divest your new fans of your presence?"
"This is ridiculous" she hissed, tightening her arms around herself. "Haven't they seen me before? Even Sally is staring."
"I think it has to do with your flying performance" the coat-wearing pest explained patiently. "They were already fan-boyish when you beat up those thieves in March, now that they realized you are actually dating material… Well, you'll have even more visitors on your blog now." For Christ's sake… This is absurd. I'm injured, sweaty and tired. How the hell is that dating material? Sherlock seemed to read her thoughts, like always: "I might have heard someone mention 'super-hero'." Oh boy…
"I'm starting to wholeheartedly agree with you. People are idiots. Can we go home now?" The whole conversation was in low voice, so that the star-struck audience wouldn't be privy to it. Some Yarders even pretended very hard to not eavesdrop while taking photos of them. Taking pity in her obvious discomfort, the detective nodded and started walking towards the main street. Joan made to follow, but the first step shot spikes of pain up her leg. Damn, the ankle.
"Erm…" Sherlock turned around, surprised to see her on the old spot. "My ankle" she said loud enough for everyone to hear. Sherlock's surprise switched to a disapproving frown. Clearly, he remembered why they had been arguing in the first place. She gave him a sheepish smile before avoiding the sharp gaze. "It's sprained." Perhaps not a smart move, Watson. Several men perked up. Holmes also noticed the eager crowd ready to help their new hero. His eyes lit with unholy glee. Oh dear.
"Why, John, you should have said something" he purred, walking right back to her.
She read his intentions seconds too late. "Wha, wai…" Before she could dodge (not that it was possible with a sprained ankle), Sherlock gathered her up in his arms, bridal style. There was a collective gasp. Ignoring the gaping police force and several photo flashes, the consulting detective started walking back to the main street, looking way too smug. Their progress was somehow slowed by his deliberately languid pace and a couple of younger constables stunned into a statue-like state in their path.
Petrified, Joan stared wide-eyed at his profile, that was very close now. "I hate you so much right now" she moaned in embarrassment, hiding her face in her hands.
She could feel the deep chuckle. Idiot, dumbass, imp, you are so going to pay, she cried internally. "Hold on, would you, John" her tormentor mock-whispered.
Oh, you… Switching on her inner 'Harriet', Joan forced herself to relax and snaked her arms around Sherlock's neck, one hand curling into his soft hair and the other tickling his cheek. Laying her head on his shoulder, she felt the heat creep up his face, and smirked in triumph. "Am I holding tight enough?" she drawled seductively.
His jaw clenched. "I can drop you too."
Amused, Joan blew softly into his ear. Sherlock's coloring progressed to crimson. "I'll stop doing this then."
They had finally gotten out of the police perimeter, and received only a few passing stares from unconcerned passerbys. Gently letting her down on a bench, Sherlock hailed a cab, and helped her get inside without any comments. They spent several minutes in awkward silence, before dissolving into helpless giggles.
# #
Next day, there was a crowd under their door and tabloids were displaying images of their little stint, titles like "Modern Love Story", "Hatman + Robin – New development" and "The Internet phenomenon – Not single anymore" spread all over. Mrs Hudson looked quite ecstatic when she popped up in the flat around 9 in the morning with blueberry scones. Glancing outside through curtains, Joan sighed. "I'm not sure that was such a bright idea anymore."
"Relax" Sherlock called from the kitchen. "They were speculating anyway. And why are you standing?"
Resigned, Joan hobbled back to the couch, tugging on the long sleeves of her dressing gown. "Your brother texted me. Said congratulations. Should I worry?"
"Yes, he tried to call me. Ignore him."
"He also texted me the dates on which your parents are available for a meeting and a list of possible venues for a marriage."
There was a crushing noise in the kitchen, followed by the glass breaking, and Sherlock stumbled out. "He WHAT?!" Joan eyed him dispassionately.
"I can't decide whether he is mocking us or has bought into the idea."
"He told Mommy?!" Amused, Joan watched her friend descend into a minor panic attack.
"Well, now that we're engaged in the eyes of British government, can I request you clean up the fridge?"
He stared at her with a wild look in his eyes, before ducking into his room. Judging by the noises, he was either barricading himself or doing some major interior redecorating. Chuckling, Joan texted this development to Anthea, who had already sent her a picture of the older Holmes browsing bride's bouquets during worktime.
# #
"We are not engaged. SH"
"I presume it is only a matter of time now, brother dear. Congratulations. It was obvious from day one. MH"
"It was a prank to rile up the NSY! Stop spreading this. Did you tell Mommy? And what do you mean by obvious? SH"
"Of course, I told Mommy. It's on National News. MH"
"WHAT?!"
"And you haven't answered my question. SH"
# #
Sherlock emerged from his room, phone clenched in hand, and made a beeline to the telly. After a few zaps, he ended up on a continuous news channel. Curious, Joan shifted to get a better view.
"And on the brighter side, new developments in London" was saying the anchor. "The internet sleuth, Sherlock Holmes, and his loyal blogger, Joan Watson, are confirmed to be in a romantic relationship." A clip from Youtube popped up, showing them whispering to each other, then Sherlock hoisting her up and walking away, with an expression that could be interpreted as content. The video ended when Joan hugged him back and, from that angle, seemed to kiss his ear.
"Oh my" was the only thing she could say. "That won't be easy to debunk."
Sherlock growled, shut off the telly and rushed back to his room.
# #
"While I am not cautioning sentiment, Dr Watson is far from the worst choice you could have made. MH"
"Go to hell, Mycroft. We are not dating. SH"
"So, you are not in love with her? MH"
# #
A loud thud echoed from Sherlock's lair. Joan frowned. That was at least a stack of books. "Are you ok? JW" she texted him. "Fine. SH" came the reply, oozing with sulkiness. Alright, alright… You're the one who started this, anyway.
# #
"This is none of your business. SH"
"Mommy would be so disappointed, though, if you were to back down now. MH"
"You will not blackmail me into a relationship. SH"
"But you already are in a relationship, Sherlock. You both are just very good at denying it. MH"
"Shut up. SH"
"Did you find it? MH"
"SHUT UP! SH"
# #
Joan was busy fending off calls from her own family, when Sherlock reappeared again, this time in a tuxedo. Ok… what? She stared at him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"
He had the grace to blush, but seemed pretty determined. Joan sat up, slightly worried. Still towering over her, Sherlock looked straight into her eyes, dead serious. "The world thinks we are engaged."
She gulped. "I figured."
"I'm quite fuzzy on the concept of romantic love and marriage myself, but I get the gist of it. It is the intention to spent the rest of your life with the other person." Joan listened on in shocked silence. Is he… "For the rest of my life, I would want no one else but you by my side, John." Is he proposing to me?
Joan blanked out, imagining being married to Sherlock Holmes. It is madness. Total, utter madness. Just like it had been since the beginning. The only thing she could see changing was the definitive end of any other romantic prospects. It will be for life. A life with Sherlock… doesn't sound that bad.
She blinked at him, still a little confused of what brought that on. "Are you saying what I'm think you're saying?"
He dropped on one knee with a small grin on his face, producing a delicate golden ring from his pocket. Oh my god. "John Watson, would you marry me?"
"You're suggesting we get married because of a prank?" she weakly tried to clarify. He nodded. Oh my god. Oh hell. Oh god… "Yes." It was now his turn to blink. "Alright. I'll marry you."
They stared at each other, stunned. That was not how I imagined my morning. Sherlock gently took her hand and put the ring on her finger, before sitting next to her on the couch.
"So, we are engaged now." The words sounded odd. "Where did you get a ring, anyway?"
"I found it in the skull when I bought it" Sherlock informed her like it was the obviousness itself.
"My engagement ring is a pirate treasure?!"
# #
"I feel like I was led into it like a sheep. But it feels good. J"
"You were dancing around each other for months now. A"
"Yeah, well, have you met Sherlock? The man is clueless. I never seriously considered he'd be interested, let alone propose. J"
"Mycroft was rather shocked too. He was just nagging him for the fun of it. A"
"He rips what he sows. J"
"So, how's the couple life? I'm curious. A"
"Don't see much difference. We haven't even kissed yet. Not sure he realized that this kind of interaction is expected. J"
"He had some flings, though. In uni. A"
"Really? Huh, I'd never have guessed. Should I talk to him first? J"
"Do whatever you want, just let me know beforehand, so I can snap a picture of Mycroft's face when he sees the footage. A"
"You still have cameras inside the flat? It's stalking, stalking! J"
"It's national security. Go pester your brother-in-law about that. A"
"Oof. You're evil. Anyway, how cool is it, having your ring found in a human skull? J"
"You are a very weird person, John. A"
# #
A/N 2: So yeah. As I said, something crazy happened along the way. I wasn't sure how to finish all this, so it kinda ends here. I might be inspired enough to write a follow-up if anyone is interested (Mycroft's POV?).
The first part (John jumping from high up to stop a criminal and the police being completely awestruck, there was also a thunder storm involved) is inspired by another fic, but I can't for the life of me find it. If you know which one it is, let me know, I'll give credit.
Edit: The fic in question is Scrub456's "fantastically, wildly improbable". Thanks LookAgain for finding it!
If (when) I have any other short and unrelated "spin-offs" like this one, I'll post them here too.
