Elementary: Slant in Observation
Some nights, Joan Watson still has nightmares of that horrific day. The day she made a mistake that cost a patient his life.
The day her hands were stained with irrevocable streaks of crimson blood. The first day of her new life and the last day of her old one.
The dream is a chaotic blur, the commotion dancing around her, mocking her as the room seems to grow smaller and smaller.
Right before it is about to cave in on her, she startles awake, hands clenching desperately at the blankets. She forces desperate gasps of oxygen into her lungs.
In and out. Inhale. Exhale.
Her eyes trace the perimeter of the room she resides in at Sherlock's brownstone, scanning cautiously for any imminent signs of danger. Darkness permeates the room in the early morning hours and deafening silence is all that greets her.
She lies back down, shutting her eyes against the overwhelming darkness that threatens to consume her being. With a few deep breaths, she drifts off to sleep again.
…her legs can barely carry her as she runs in the direction where the patient has been whisked away.
"Wait… Stop… Please…"
But the persistent ache in her legs prevent her from moving forward as a fellow colleague whose face is blurred holds her back.
Now she stands immobile, trying to process the enormity of what just happened, crimson blood still spread in an indiscernible pattern on her gloves.
She awakens again, with sweat-drenched skin and a ferociously beating heart. She cannot calm herself down enough this time to even begin to think about sleeping now.
So she waits. She reflects.
She reflects on how she came into Sherlock's life, the vulnerabilities he'd seen in her since the beginning. Memories flicker in and out as she recalls her early times with Sherlock as his sober companion, how she's witnessed his uncanny ability to not only solve a crime, but also solve people.
She knows that most people would find his level of insane genius highly intimidating or even downright obnoxious, but she sees him differently. She sees the very fruition of his sometimes manic tendencies come into focus by way of deduction. By solving.
Now as a consulting detective working alongside him daily, she's gotten to know him in more intimate, alarming ways than she ever thought possible. This intimacy is not a prelude to romantic entanglements, but rather a deeper insight into the core of Sherlock's intelligence.
The very core of their shared intelligence because he now sees her as his equal, his confidante, his trusted companion.
She views situations through his eyes as well as her own, the slant in observation allowing her to examine greater possibilities from unique angles.
Suddenly, a light flickers on in the hallway and the inviting glow creeps underneath her door. Taking a deep breath, she carefully maneuvers out of bed and opens the door, moving closer towards the welcoming stream of light. The light in the hallway leads her downstairs and into the kitchen where Sherlock sits, waiting, and messing with his phone.
Something piping hot sits in front of him and another mug of the hot concoction resides beside it, the empty chair next to him an unspoken invitation.
"Sherlock, it's past 2 AM. What are you-…" she says, pausing as she approaches the table and sees the mugs full of a steaming hot liquid. "Did you make tea just now?"
"Chamomile. Helps promote the essential function of sleep."
Another question lingers on her tongue, but she resists as she sits down and takes a sip of the tea instead. As the warmth of the drink suffuses through her body, she reflects on how fortunate she is to know him and learn from him every day.
Unnoticed by Sherlock, a small smile forms on her lips.
Fin.
Author's Note: My first Elementary fic. Hopefully I did the fandom and this wonderful friendship justice!