Since that night, the night that started in the hallway, found them the next morning similarly engaged in the kitchen and in truth still continued, their relationship had deepened but not changed. Watson called it becoming intimate. Sherlock called it becoming familiar. Neither called it becoming "romantically involved." Those words had implications of swoons and roses and hyperbole which were not who they were, what they shared or what they wanted. Another layer had been added to their relationship when the physical and verbal manifestations of their emotions were acknowledged, accepted and allowed to become part of their daily existence. They still argued, debated, chided, cherished, worked, lived, loved and breathed as one unit. Partners. Keep your flowery bouquets and fancy dinners, all Watson wanted was a trunk of his cold cases and a fireside breakfast with him. All Sherlock wanted was to be able to be by his partner's side, to teach and be taught, to grow and to share with her.
Within the confines of their home, all freedoms were allowed. Their relationship was private, solely between them. They spoke of their deepened affection to no one and did not display affection in public. For now, this was theirs alone. The few times their relationship stepped out of the private and into the public, it was quickly and discreetly brought back inside before anyone was the wiser. Almost every time...
Coddled
Sherlock and Watson settled into their new-found relationship easily. Watson's bed was their bed, mainly because Sherlock's bed was the couch, the floor, any surface he was near when sleep overtook him. He found sleeping with Joan, just sleeping, eminently pleasurable. Watson also enjoyed having him in her bed, knowing they were safe together. She understood his biorhythms, knew that Sherlock slept as needed and not on any schedule. So that while she may have gone to bed alone, he might be there with her in the morning, or vice versa. Joan loved that, contrary to what you would think about Mr. High Strung Genius, he was a cuddler, a particularly good cuddler, especially after exuberant sex. Sherlock loved how accommodating she was of his comings and goings and tried his best not to disturb her sleep.
This particular morning Watson woke up alone, a little disappointed, she had been in the mood for some "deep under cover, wrap your arms around me" time with Sherlock before the day began. During the work day, they tended to steer clear of physical contact - too distracting. She had a text from him, he had run to the post office and would join her for breakfast. He should be back soon. The shirt he wore the night before was at the foot of the bed. On a whim, Joan picked up his white shirt and put it on and nothing else. His scent enveloped her making her wish all the more he were home. She buttoned the top button as he always did. It made a passable dress she thought as she rolled the cuffs up. Watson heard the front door open and walked out into the hall calling out to him as she headed for the stairs. "Sherlock, you got up too early. I was hoping we could have slept in and cudd..."
Suddenly Sherlock's voice boomed over hers, cutting her off "coddle some eggs? Yes, of course we can still do that." She heard his footsteps bounding up the stairs. Confused by his statement, Joan met him at the top of the stairs. Flustered at the sight of her in his shirt, Sherlock led her back away from the landing, calling down, "We'll be with you in a minute." An indistinct reply came from the foyer.
"You... my um ..." the look of her in his shirt and nothing but his shirt was causing physical reactions in Holmes.
"Who is down there," she asked.
"Oh ... uh ... Alistair. I met him on our stoop. He has something he wishes our .. help ... with." Sherlock was getting distracted looking at the way his shirt clung to parts of Watson as she moved.
"Oh..." The way he was looking at her was making her flush. And then, "Oh!, oh! I need to get dressed... "
"Yes," he said with genuine regret. He quickly pulled her close, slowly ran his hand down the back of his shirt, finding the curve of her bottom and spoke into her ear, "perhaps we can coddle some eggs once he leaves." She could feel him smile into the crook of her neck and she put her arms around his as she melted into him until they heard a noise from downstairs.
Quickly, they pulled away from each other. Watson went off to find suitable attire and Sherlock to tend to their guest.
She came downstairs to find Sherlock and Alistair having tea, engaged in conversation. Alistair stood and greeted her, "Joan, I'm so glad to see you. Coddled egg fan, eh?"
"Uh ... Yes, yes I am." She smiled politely hoping he wouldn't spot the lie. She stood by Sherlock's chair.
"Yes, she loves to line up her toast soldiers and dip..." Sherlock said with too much enthusiasm.
Alistair's face as he looked at both of them told her that he understood a lot more of what just happened than his polite British manner would allow him to comment on, other than to say, "I'm glad you two found each other."
Alistair's ease put them at ease and allowed them for a brief moment to let their guard down. Joan sat on the armrest of Sherlock's chair and put her hand on his back. Sherlock, looking very pleased, asked, "So Alistair, what can we do for you?"
Legal
Bell and Gregson, seated in the waiting room, braced themselves as they saw Sherlock rushing up to the glass doors of the ER. He had not taken the news well. Holmes burst in. "Where is she?" he asked loudly, panic bubbling just below the surface of his voice, afraid of the answer he might receive.
"They're examining her right now. She was conscious when we brought her in." Bell purposefully kept his tone calm. He had had the unfortunate task of calling to tell Sherlock that Joan had been shot. It appeared to be a random drive-by shooting. A full scale investigation was under way.
Sherlock tried to get past Gregson who stood up to make sure things stayed under control. "I need to see her," Holmes bounced and peered around the Captain at the ER main desk trying to find some one in authority.
Gregson stopped him, "You can't go back there right now. What part of "they are examining her" don't you get. It's family only. We're trying to contact her mother..."
Holmes made an exasperated noise, and scrunched his face as if in pain, "Her mother is cruising the Danube at this moment and Oren is also out of the country on business of some sort." Sherlock tried to get past Gregson again. He got louder, "I need to be with her now." Gregson stared at him, crossed his arms and did not budge. Holmes walked back away from the Captain, paced a bit, trying to find a nurse or a doctor he could talk to, getting more frustrated as the seconds wore on and he was no closer to his goal.
Finally Sherlock snapped and blurted out, "She's my partner, life partner, domestic partner, psuedo-wife whatever the hell you want to call it! I have every right to be in there with her." Gregson stared at Holmes like he had finally lost his grasp on reality. The Captain shook his head at Bell and Bell rolled his eyes at Gregson. Holmes took the opportunity to maneuver around both of them and get the attention of the nurse who had just showed up behind the counter.
"Holmes, come on, I realize you're upset, and you want to be in there with Joan but lying isn't going to help anything."
Sherlock fished a folded and tattered paper from his inner jacket pocket. He steadied his tone and attempted to exude rationality while speaking to the nurse. "Joan Watson and I are legal domestic partners." He plunked down and splayed out the certificate on the counter. "Technically I'm not her husband per se, but I have rights, including being with her in there at this very moment ..." He pushed the certificate towards the nurse, he added, "I also have her health care power of attorney, same as she has mine. May I go in now, please?" He was trying to remember all that Joan had told him about courtesy greasing the wheel. The nurse handed the papers over to another and they reviewed them. He was vibrating trying to keep himself under control, until with a twitch of the shoulders he blew up.
"NOW, DAMN IT!" He pounded the desk. They all jumped and stared at him. Bell shot a hand to his shoulder just to keep him from doing something he'd regret. The nurse scurried away, papers in hand.
He stood in front of the double doors, wiped his face with both hands trying to subdue the fear that was beginning to overwhelm him.
Gregson looked at Bell and rationalized quietly, "For practical purposes, for situations like this, it makes perfect sense to become legal domestic partners. On paper they qualify. Joan must have done this for his sake."
Sherlock turned to stare at both men in disbelief, flatly he responded to them "Yes. That must be it ..."
The nurse re entering the ER grabbed his attention, "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson is demanding you be brought to her immediately."
Sherlock exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and murmured softly to himself, "That's my girl." He was ushered into a small examination room where Joan lay on a gurney, flat on her stomach. A spotlight shown on her exposed back. Sherlock almost had to look away in revulsion - a gaping bullet wound marred his partner's back. The doctor addressed him, informing him Watson had requested a local anesthesia which they were administering before they tended to the injury itself.
Groggy and in severe pain, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on the figure in the doorway.
"Hey" she said softly. "Bullet wound to the back. Almost exactly like yours." She tried to sound matter of fact, calm, so that he wouldn't worry about her but he could hear the pain in her voice.
He was shaking like a leaf when he went over to her and tried to calm himself and her with a kiss to her head as his fingers smoothed her hair. Holmes knelt so that his head was at the same level as hers.
"Hey," he said back to her. He looked into her dark pained eyes, and could think of nothing else to say to her except the words he had long refused to utter. He leaned in so that she would be the only one to hear them. "I love you" the words were breathed more so than said. She felt each word caress her face. Tears fell from her eyes. He kissed her wet eyes and leaned his head gently on hers. "I'm here. It'll be alright, luv. It'll be alright."
Gregson approached the ER nurse as she came out to the desk. "Any word on Joan Watson's condition?"
"They are suturing her wound at the moment. She's as well as can be expected. Her partner is with her."
Gregson spoke sarcastically to Bell, "I'm sure that's a big help." Bell shook his head.
The nurse looked at them, "I don't know but I think having someone there to hold your head and kiss away your tears can't be all that bad."
Both men looked at her stunned. Bell spoke up as they walked away, "She must be confused."
