A/N: Thanks for reading the last one! I received a suggestion to do a Joan POV and thought that would be fun...so here goes nothing :)
Sleep is Joan's drug. She knows that it's in exaggeration. She's worked with enough addicts to know she shouldn't make such comparisons. But still, it's the closest association she can find. After all, at many points in her life it has been forbidden, denied.
You can't make it as a surgeon without forgoing it. You don't get into a good medical school without losing it night after night, pouring over your books. And when you've had your share of personal trauma, there are nights you lie awake restless without it.
For Joan, it is so much more than the time required by the human body. Her sleep feeds her mind and her soul. And she thinks she has earned the right to indulge in it.
Unfortunately for Joan, she lives with Sherlock Holmes, the world's most effective human alarm clock.
Joan is dreaming. She is floating through the air, flying maybe. The clouds feel soft as she brushes by them. But something is pulling her down. There's a soft sound, a whooshing which becomes slowly more comprehensible. She listens and hears it again. The syllables are becoming clear.
"Watson." Barely a whisper, but someone is calling her. She hums an unspoken query in response. "Watson." She frowns and listens again, each time the sound becoming clearer. "Watson."
Joan blinks awake, her eyes coming to focus on Sherlock's face. She realizes she is still frowning as she looks up at him, ensconced in her plush, down comforter.
Sherlock blinks at her. "41."
"Huh?" Joan squeezes her eyes closed. She's not sure what time it is, but she's certain it's too early for this.
"41. The number of times I called your name before you awoke. Or rather, whispered it."
"Why…?" Joan doesn't bother to finish her question as she pulls her comforter over her face and plunges herself back to darkness.
"It was an experiment. How quickly can one be woken with minimal stimuli? Physical stimuli is of course the fastest method to wake a person. Shaking being the preferred method. And naturally most people use sound, a blaring, screeching alarm. However, many would prefer something gentler, would you not agree? Gradual lighting of a room has proven effective. The same is true of sound. But what of something more personal? Such as a name. Could that not be most gentle?! What do you say Watson, to your experience?"
Despite her desire to sleep, Joan can hear his voice coming from the same steady spot above her head and finds it impossible to drift back to her peaceful dream. She groans but does not answer his question.
"Well, you can ponder it during our ride to the crime scene. But we must go now. You took far longer to wake than I had hypothesized and now we have five minutes to be gone!"
Still she doesn't stir. She considers telling him to leave without her, but it's too soon in their roles as recovering addict and sober companion to be encouraging too much time away from her. She wishes now she had been warned about this particular client. He's not exactly the ideal person to be sharing living quarters with. Among his many other eccentricities.
She feels a weight flop onto her torso on top of the comforter covering her. "Five minutes!" She hears Sherlock yell as he trudges around her bed and out of her room. Joan sighs, pushes the comforter away and sits up, looking down at her comfiest pair of jeans and her softest sweater, ready to be worn. She allows herself a small smile. He may be more than a little nuts, but he has his charms.
"Oh!" Joan sits up, her back going stiff and straight, bringing her face to face with the source of her alarm: the bees. "Ah!" Watson falls back against the couch, moving back away from the box of bees. Her eyes draw to the hands holding the box, up the arms, to Sherlock's delighted face. "The children wanted to wake you! I tried to stop them!"
Joan tilts her head and squints up at him, wondering if he's finally cracked under the pressure of their current case.
Sherlock scowls at her expression. "They're just children Watson! They cannot help their excitement!" He intones enthusiastically. "I decided I needed some fresh energy." He nods to himself as he turns the box of bees in his hands and stares down at the buzzing creatures. "They are here to help me crack this case."
"I suppose that is why you woke me as well?" Joan gets up, stretching her hands above her head as Sherlock watches her.
"I gave you two sleep cycles before I woke you. You should now be refreshed and ready with new insights!" He tells her as if this is entirely for her benefit. But she has noticed that he needs both his time alone and her own interest to break a case open. Somehow her falling asleep seems to provide him a bit of both. And the fact that she will make tea and listen attentively are certainly incentive for waking her.
She turns away so he won't be privy to her marginal smile and take it for its indulgence. "I'll put the kettle on and you can catch me up." Joan tells him as he follows her to the kitchen, bees in tow.
"AAAAHHHHHH! You are the most inconsiderate, insufferable, BUFFOON of a flatmate!" Joan huffs as Sherlock stands over her with a face of studied consideration. When he continues to stare down at her Joan expresses further displeasure with a loud grunt, swiping her hand over her wet face. Sherlock nods at this and tosses her the towel he is holding in his left hand. His right still holding the empty water glass he had drained on her face.
Joan begrudgingly uses the towel to mop up the water which has slid down her chin and back into her hairline. She swears she might kill him. And really, who would blame her. "Sleep! Just a little sleep! Why is that too much to ask?!" She half shouts at Sherlock as he turns away from her and faces back towards his case collage, tacked haphazardly upon the wall.
Joan drops the towel on the puddle of water where her head once lay and gets to her feet, walking over to Sherlock's side and glowering at his profile. "What is wrong with you?!" Joan practically screeches. As she stares him down she sees a flicker cross his face, a stiffness in his shoulders which is unmistakable, and that's when her anger truly flairs. "If you think this is funny I will HAVE YOUR HEAD." The last few words drop to a dangerous note. Without her heels she doesn't quite reach his shoulder, but her anger and bravado is more than enough to make up for her lack of height. The tone is sufficient for the rigidity of amusement to drop out of his shoulders.
He turns cautiously towards her. "You would not wake, Watson. What was I to do?" His eyes round with artificial innocence.
"The next time you do that you'll find out what I do." Watson informs him seriously.
Sherlock gives a curt nod. "Understood. Won't happen again. But! You'll be pleased to know I solved the case!" Sherlock adds a raised finger and a wide grin which only slackens slightly by Watson's apparent lack of delight. Nevertheless he leaps into his story, ignoring the glare burning a hole in his temple as Watson continues to regard him angrily.
Joan's mind hovers in the space between sleeping and wakefulness. Her lungs fill, but the weight across her ribs stops her mid inhale. Still half asleep, Joan freezes, aware of the heaviness of an arm thrown across her middle. Her mind comes alert, taking stock of where she is with her eyes still closed. She doesn't recall drinking last night. And she's very sure she is in her own bed.
Joan opens her eyes slowly, her gaze coming upon her bay window and she slowly exhales the breath of panic she was holding.
She turns her head slightly and from the corner of her eye she sees the dark ruffled hair. She nearly laughs, but she doesn't want to wake her companion. After all, she can count on one hand the number of times he has been asleep while she was awake.
She can feel his scruff brushing her shoulder, his breath whooshing down her arm. She can't see more than a peek of his face from her angle. But she watches his right eye and brow as they twitch slightly. She wonders what he's dreaming about, although she is relieved to think it seems peaceful enough.
She's not all that surprised that he is wrapped up in her bed, coiled around her body. She's sure it isn't the first time he has slept in her room. Only the first time she has actually witnessed it. Probably the first time he has landed in her bed. She thinks she should find this disconcerting, but instead there's something oddly comforting about it.
At any rate, a rested Sherlock works in her favor as well, so she wasn't going to raise any objections if this is what it took.
Joan turns her head from her human alarm clock to her digital one. There was no reason to be awake and she doubted Sherlock would sleep much longer if she got up now. With a small smile she buries her head back into her pillow and drifts back to slumber.