Here's my new series! I hope you enjoy it!
Joan Watson sat behind the mahogany desk that Sherlock had obtained for her, paging through part of a case Sherlock had told her to look into. She flipped through it for what seemed to be the millionth time and still saw nothing that caught her attention as to being suspicious. Joan yawned and shut the manila folder. She placed it down on the desk and rested her head on the desk for a few peaceful moments.
Sherlock entered the room holding a tray with two mugs of tea and rolled his eyes as he observed his partner slumped over her desk out of exhaustion. Did she not realize that you don't sleep until the case is solved? He could tell that she sensed him watching her because she let out a sigh. She knew that he'd be waking her any moment now and was trying to savor the rest.
Joan groaned as she lifted her head and reopened the case file.
"Sleepy?" Sherlock set down the tray and offered her one of the mugs.
She took the mug and cupped her hands around it, relishing the heat and letting the current of warmth travel through her hands and up her arms, eventually warming her entire chilly body. "More than you know." She sighed and took a cautious sip of the steaming tea. She swallowed the warm tea and let it tingle in her stomach and warm her interior.
Sherlock grasped his mug and took a large gulp, ignoring the blistering heat and the burning of his gums. He eyed his partner fixedly and sighed. "You know that the work that I –that we–do requires full attention and a sense of acute alertness. If you are this exhausted, Watson, how do you suppose you are ever going to be competent enough to decipher a complicated case like this one?"
Joan shot him a glare. "I'm not like you, Sherlock. I can't stay up for days on end; I need my sleep." She blew on the still steaming tea and took another drink. "How can your mind still be attentive enough to function? I mean, I've been awake for…what? Twenty-six hours now? And I can't even focus anymore." She set the mug down and rubbed her eyes.
"Now you see why drugs were deemed helpful to me." Sherlock smirked, showing her it was merely a joke, not a sign of a looming relapse.
Joan frowned. "Not funny." She crossed her arms and stifled a yawn. "I may not be your sober companion anymore, but I am your companion. I still feel it is my obligation to make sure you stay on the right path and not fall off the wagon again."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Watson. I will not relapse, not ever again. I will never, as you say, 'fall off the wagon', not as long as you're with me. Even if there comes a time that we drift apart and go our own ways, I will never stray from what you have taught me."
Joan was surprised about how much emotion Sherlock was displaying to her. "And what exactly have I taught you?"
Sherlock took a moment to reflect. "You have taught me that I am better without the use of narcotics and alcohol. I do not require them to function any longer. You helped me through the hardest points of my life, and for that I am grateful." He paused and polished off his tea. "You've seen me at my worst, you've seen how far and hard I can fall, and through it all, you've stayed. You've stayed beside me, supporting me and helping me through it. I, truthfully, believe that if I hadn't had the pleasure to be blessed with you as my companion, I would be still an addict today…or worse, I may have been dead, killed by my own addiction."
Joan found herself suddenly not feeling tired anymore. "You know I'm never going to leave you alone, Sherlock. Whenever you need me, I'll be there." She smiled to let him know that she was appreciative for the deep conversation.
Sherlock kept eye contact with her for a few more moments before he cleared his throat and got back to the matter on hand. "So has anything revealed itself to you as being suspicious?"
Joan left the conversation behind, knowing that it would be awhile before they shared another moment as serious as that one had been. She opened the file and tried to run through all the documents and records she had read in the previous hours, but nothing presented itself as being 'suspicious'. "I didn't find anything incriminating in this case. Did you uncover anything on your end?"
Sherlock stretched and stood up to begin pacing. Somehow, pacing helped him clear his mind and focus on minuet details that may have seemed irrelevant before, but actually turned out to be important. "I found details that would suggest that Moriarty had played a part in this transgression."
Joan arched her brow. "Moriarty? Why do you think Moriarty had something to do with this?"
Sherlock continued to pace and his hands began to fidget. "I know that this does not follow his usual profile, but I just…feel that it's him. Something I can't place my finger on…"
Joan followed his movements with her eyes. "You're going to need proof if you intend on presenting this case to Gregson, Sherlock."
He stopped and scowled at her. "Well obviously, Watson."
Joan huffed and rested her head on her hand, her exhaustion returning slowly. "Do you have any kind of proof?"
"Like I stated previously, I do not. I have a gut feeling." Sherlock began to pace again.
"You also said there was something else. Something you couldn't put your finger on." Joan added.
Sherlock nodded.
"So if you find what it is that is making you feel like Moriarty is involved, maybe you'll get your proof." Joan continued.
Sherlock laughed. "Genius. I never would have thought of that." He spoke with a hint of sarcasm.
Joan grimaced. "Shut up." She stood up and picked up her mug. She made her way out of the room and began to ascend the staircase to her room.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock followed her in suit.
Joan paused on the foot of the stairs and put one hand on her hip. "Bed. And you should too."
Sherlock smirked. "Joan Watson, are you inviting me to follow you to your bed?"
Joan laughed. "You wish." She climbed the stairs and left the night-owl consultant at the bottom of the stairs.
Sherlock watched her disappear into her room and yawned. Maybe some sleep would be beneficial…for the both of them.
…
Sherlock woke to a strange silence. The brownstone hadn't been silent since before Joan had moved in. Ever since Joan had made the brownstone her home, there had always been some sort of noise, whether it was a shower running, the low hum of her iPod in her ears, or even the soft padding of her feet upon the hardwood floors. He sat up and began to move through the brownstone, trying to figure out why it was so quiet. He came back into the room with Watson's desk and found her deep in thought, hunched over papers splayed across the top of the desk. He cleared his throat to alert her to his presence and made his way over to her.
"What's this?" He asked, confused.
Joan yawned. "I couldn't sleep, so I came back downstairs expecting to find you still obsessing over the case, but instead I found you passed out on the couch. I decided that I'd take another look at the case and study your part of the case. You know what you always say, 'fresh eyes on a case can be just as helpful as a new lead'." She smiled.
"Why, Watson, I believe that I am finally rubbing off on you." He grinned proudly.
Joan's smile faded. "I'm pretty sure that's not a good thing."
Sherlock ignored her comment. "So, have you found anything?"
"Actually, I have. I can see why you think Moriarty did this…At first I thought it was because you planted the thought in my head, but after awhile, I had the same suspicion. Though this is not his usual murder profile, it still has his name all over it…" Joan placed a picture down. "See this?" She pointed to a dark figure in the shadows, behind the two people pictured in the photo. "This man is in every photo of the couples who died." She placed three more photos down on the table and looked up at him.
Sherlock observed the photos and nodded. "I see…Very good, Watson. I'm impressed."
"I just feel like…I don't know…that man is familiar somehow…" Joan stared at the mysterious man in the photos.
Sherlock squinted at the photo and he felt the same way. The man was familiar…they had definitely seen him before, and recently. Sherlock thought back a few weeks and thought of every face he'd seen recently. Sherlock almost jumped as he suddenly remembered. The man from between the train…the one who had told him that he could tell Sherlock why Irene had been murdered. John Douglas.
He retrieved the photo of Douglas and held it up to Watson.
She took the photograph and compared the photo the other photos of the mysterious man stalking couples. "That's him…but, Sherlock, Douglas is dead…"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, he may be dead, but we have our proof. John Douglas is an associate of Moriarty, he worked for the man. If Douglas was involved, that means Moriarty was too."
…
Captain Gregson had received the email from Sherlock an hour ago and he had immediately dove into the case. He called Sherlock and had asked for any further information on the case, but they had only scratched the surface. Sherlock promised to call with anything else that was relevant to the case at hand. Meanwhile, Captain Gregson did some research of his own about the case.
He had found a record of unidentified fingerprints at the scene of one of the couple's murder and he had sent them to the lab to run them through the NYPD database. He was now waiting for a call, whether it was from the lab or from Sherlock.
His phone rang and he answered.
The information he received from the lab had shook him to his core.
He needed to tell Sherlock.
…
Sherlock sat, cross-legged on the floor with papers encircling him. He was studying every documented movement of John Douglas, while Joan sat, pursuing further into the murder of the four couples.
As Sherlock's phone rang, Joan picked it up and answered for him, knowing Sherlock would've told her to ignore it.
"Hello?"
"Joan, I need to speak to Holmes." Captain Gregson spoke quickly, his voice trembling.
Joan sensed that there was something wrong and tossed the phone to Sherlock, who was now staring at her questioningly.
Sherlock caught the phone and turned speaker on. "Whatever it is, speak quickly. We need to get back to solving the case."
"Sherlock, listen. I found fingerprints and I sent them to the lab-"
"We found fingerprints too. I assume that they are Douglas'?" Sherlock rubbed his face.
"No. They are not."
"Then, whose are they?" Joan spoke loudly, so Gregson would be able to hear her from across the room.
"Sherlock, I need to know…when did you say Irene was murdered?"
Sherlock's jaw locked. "A year and a half ago…why?"
"The fingerprints were hers."
Sherlock almost dropped the phone. "No…no, this case is from six months ago…she's dead."
"Sherlock, the fingerprints would suggest that she is not."
"What are you saying?" Sherlock was gripping the phone so tight that he was surprised it didn't snap into pieces in his hand.
"What I'm saying, Sherlock, is that fingerprints don't lie. Irene is alive."
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