This is just a little something I wrote after watching "Solve for X" last week. That episode took me right back to "While You Were Sleeping", and I had to let it out. Also, as I was writing this, the quote I used as a summary came to mind and I simply couldn't not use it.
Elementary and its characters don't belong to me.
English is not my first language, so…
"Watson!" Sherlock called not too loud as he entered the brownstone, announcing his arrival. It was past 8 and he wasn't sure if Watson had gone to bed by this time. It had been an exhausting week, more emotionally than physically, he had to admit, and he wouldn't be surprised in the least if she was already sleeping.
"In the kitchen," he heard her shout.
He was on his way to the stairs when he was hit by the aroma coming from down the stairs. It was a rich, spicy odor. It got him salivating instantly.
"Watson, what is that smell?" He could tell she was the one responsible for the luscious aroma since he could feel the heat coming from the kitchen before even crossing its doorway.
"Oh, you're here. Good. It doesn't appeal to you?" The last part referring to his comment about the smell.
"I haven't checked my theory yet, but I think it's secure to say that something with an aroma like this couldn't possibly taste bad."
She sensed his thoughts were on overdrive, though. It was an unprecedented situation. She never cooked, at least not since moving in with him, or for a while before that, if she was being honest with herself. She doesn't even know if he knew she could find her way in the kitchen. So, she answered his unspoken question.
"This is a thank you dinner. We're going to seat and enjoy a home cooked meal."
The table was set. Nothing out of the ordinary on it. There were no candles, flowers, fancy attire or dimmed lights. Just two plates above its respective plate mats, two wine glasses, a bottle of sparkling grape juice, napkins, olive oil, a piece fresh parmesan, a grater, and silverware, Sherlock observed.
"This was my favorite dish when I was a kid, still is. I liked it so much I went to our cook, Amelia, without my mother knowing and asked if she could teach me how to prepare it. It took me a few tries, I was about 10, I guess, but I excelled it." She was telling him excitedly as she pulled a casserole from the oven and carried it to the table.
"Watson, what is this really?" He was still, arms parallel to his body.
"I need to say something to you, this," she said waving at the set table, "is my sobriety chips."
He said nothing more. Just made his way to his designated chair and waited. She walked to the stove and came back to the table with a fuming pan which she also deposited on the center of the table.
"Go ahead, help yourself," she told him in a gentle tone.
And comply he did. He helped himself to a slice of the roasted chicken and a very generous portion of the vegetables that were serving as a bed to the meat. He also served himself a couple of spoons from the orzotto. It all looked fantastic and tasted even better. Watson has proved to be an excellent cook, or at least excellent at preparing that particular dish. Either way, he wasn't going to complain.
She helped herself as well and they ate in silence for a few minutes.
"You remember when I asked you about penance, right after you solved the induced coma case?"
"After we solved the case. Yes, I remember." Sherlock remembered that conversation very well.
"Do you close yourself off to people and deny yourself things that might bring you pleasure… Not because it makes you a better investigator, but because it's some sort of penance?"
"Penance?"
"For what happened in London. Being addicted… I don't know. I guess it just occurred to me that it might be something that someone might do and not even know it."
"Well, you always know it, Watson. If you didn't, it wouldn't be penance."
"I have never told you this, but you were right. And I wasn't talking specifically about you that day. Ty brought it up at dinner that night, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it to him. I couldn't even admit it to myself, honestly. I took on the sober companionship career as a punishment for the accident. Your words that day made me face the reality that I was trying to mask, the penance I was bringing upon myself by using the excuse I needed fresh air, career wise, that I was doing that because I was good at it. And after these past few days, with Joey and the money you loaned me, I finally came to terms with that guilt, and penance is something I'm no longer interested in indulging myself in anymore."
"I appreciate this splendid meal you've prepared for us, Watson, I do, believe me, but you needn't to. As you well know, I already knew that. "
"I know. And thank you," she offered him with an easygoing smile. "That is not all. My parents has tried to make me see it, Ty, my friends at the time, all of them tried to help me, tried to make me go back to medicine, to generalize or minimize the predicament I was in. I know they meant well, but none of them understood me, my reasons, why I couldn't move on, why it shook me to my core. You were the first one who really, really listened to me as I was telling you about what happened with Gerald the other day. You were the first one to listen to me when I didn't say anything about the matter for all the months we've been together. Sure, I took on a new career as a sober companion, but I was stuck, I wasn't moving forward with my life. Every day I woke up and this shadow followed me anchoring me to that day, that moment. It took me you to really make me see things. Your understanding, encouragement and willingness to help me and teach me, even when you didn't agree with my course of action. Working with you as your partner, and even before, is what started to break the chains that were pulling me down. This is friendship, Sherlock. You truly are my best friend. This is not a secret, but I felt the need to reinforce it. So, thank you, for understanding me. Thank you for not rushing me, for not making the situation I was in about anyone else but me, for inspiring me to take a new course in life. I'm really glad to have you standing beside me, Sherlock Holmes."
While she was talking, he didn't take his eyes off of her. And during her monologue he was able to notice that she had this glint in her eyes, like she was finally enjoying life again. Her features were softer, her voice lighter, with a new hue in it. This is what happiness looked like on her, Sherlock concluded, and he was pleased he had part in that.
"So, yes," he was cut off of his contemplative state by her enthusiasm, "I cooked dinner for us because I felt the urge to tell you this and also because that's what friends do every once in a while, they share a home cooked meal. Tonight is about two closer than close friends tightening that bond even more," she said as she poured him sparkling grape juice.
"Penance is a lonely place, Watson, and I am sincerely humbled that I could, can, reciprocate what you've been to me since the day I left Hemdale." He raised his glass in salute and she replicated his action. A sense of deep trust and understanding passing between them as they sipped from their glasses without breaking eye contact, the lines on their cheeks upwards.
"Hey, Oren gave me tickets to the next Mets game," Joan said as they deposited their glasses back on the table, "and you'll come with me," she added as she pointed at him with her fork, "and if you argue-"
"I wasn't going to protest," he interrupted her, "I was merely going to say that if it's next Sunday, I'll have to call Alfredo and reschedule our break in training session."
"Good," she offered a big smile this time, one that warmed his chest. She was happy and so was he. They were Sherlock and Joan, partners, friends, roommates, and so, so much more.