Disclaimer: All recognizable Elementary characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including, but not limited to Arthur Conan Doyle and CBS. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fan fiction story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No financial gain is associated with the publishing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: There are so many scenes from the early episodes of the current season that deserve fanfic remakes. This is a re-write of the ending to "Enough Nemesis to Go Around" (03x01). Things are strained between them with Sherlock's return to NYC and Joan's new gig as the lone NYPD consultant. In the scene, Joan and Sherlock talk about why he was back in New York. As she left, Kitty followed her out of the house and stopped her. What if it had been Sherlock who followed her instead? Enjoy! -dkc
Belonging
Sherlock hollered for Kitty when the brownstone's doorbell rang, forgetting his test of tying her to a chair in the basement remained ongoing. He abandoned the padlocks he was replacing on the wall and went to the door where he was surprised to find Joan Watson.
"Watson."
"Can I come in?" she asked.
He gestured for her to enter. The days of feeling completely comfortable in her presence seemed ages ago.
"Place looks good," she tried small talk.
"Does it?"
They had never been good at small talk. They had never needed to be. Commenting on the home that she had once shared with him wasn't small talk—it was weighted.
"I wanted to let you know that, uh—" he cut her off.
"Elana March has been brought to justice again, yeah. Heard on the news. You are to be commended, Watson. If not for your doggedness—" she now cut him off.
"I told Cpt. Gregson I was okay with you coming back to the precinct. I'm even okay with Kitty." She pointed upstairs.
It seemed odd to her that Kitty had so easily taken her place where Joan had once resided both in the brownstone and in Sherlock's life.
"Well I'm very glad to hear that."
"We're still not partners. We work on our own cases, of course, but if you ever need a consultation or a set of fresh eyes on something, whatever, I'm available."
"As I am to you."
Their conversation was professional, but awkward in a way that only two people who were once quite close could create. Sherlock was stiff, his words almost robotic.
"I wanted to ask you one thing. Why are you here?" Joan's voice was soft, hesitant to degree.
"I live here," he said matter-of-factly.
"Not the brownstone, New York. London didn't work out, but I know you, you could have gone anywhere. So why here?"
"Isn't it obvious? I belong here. As do you."
She didn't know what to say to him. He had softened in her presence. Joan simply dipped her head and walking past him in the hall and out the front door of the brownstone, him watching her leave.
She made her way down the steps outside when Sherlock bound out the door and came after her.
"Watson!" he called out.
She turned to him, surprised that he had come after her.
"I—" he quite uncharacteristically stumbled on his words. "I owe you an apology for the way I behaved when I went away."
"Sherlock, we both behaved badly," she refused to speak Mycroft's name.
"While I had an obligation to MI6, I also had an obligation to you. As both my partner and," he paused, his words carrying greater meaning, "as my friend, I owed you more than the silence from across the pond that you received."
Joan was unaccustomed to apologies from this man that she had come to know so well. She found herself speechless. His silence had hurt. She felt as if everything they had become together was disposable.
"Joan…" he rarely spoke her first name.
Taking the final two steps down, he stood before the woman who had saved him from himself.
She looked up at him with a vulnerability that she had developed during the case that could have got her killed, the case that exposed Mycroft for what he was and the case that dragged Sherlock away to London. The memory of those days coursed in her blood.
"I came back for you," his words were a whisper, his breath caught in his chest.
Whatever Joan was expected to say in this situation, she wasn't finding the words. Cognitively she knew how risky her next move was, but she listened to her heart, to her soul, rather than her brilliant mind. She stepped forward into the remaining space between them, her hand coming to rest on his sculpted chest.
"And you left because of me," her words were sad, ashamed.
His hand came to her wrist, circling it with gentility that his strength certainly didn't require. His eyes hadn't left hers. The two of them had shared a few moments where their eyes did the talking. After their time working and living together they were often without the need of words. But right now for all the talking in one look, Joan was afraid what she was hearing was being misconstrued.
"I should go," she second-guessed herself.
Instead of releasing Joan's wrist, Sherlock gave it a firm squeeze. As he did so, it was not lost on her that he glanced at her lips. She needn't see or hear anything else to make her decision. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the lips she had thought of often though never touched. Afraid she had misread this man that she once knew very well, she broke off the overture. She opened her eyes and was surprised to find his eyelids had not yet fluttered open. Then his lip curled up in what she knew to be satisfaction, stirring in her all kinds of emotions she could not contain. She captured his lips once again, her free hand coming to grip the back of his neck. The kiss deepened, his tongue lightly tracing her top lip, she nibbled his lower lip and they broke once again.
His eyes were clear. His face had softened. There was something about him now that seemed both absolved and relieved.
"I came back for you," he repeated his earlier statement.
She smiled at this, rubbing the spot on his neck just below his hairline.
"I'm glad."
They heard the faint sounds of Kitty yelling Sherlock's name. The Brit shook his head.
"My protégé has not yet conquered the task of untying herself," he dropped her wrist, allowing his fingers to linger against hers for a moment.
"Not everyone learns as fast as I do," Joan smirked.
And then she heard a chuckle from the man whom she had so rarely heard laugh in their time together. It was beautiful. She hadn't allowed herself to appreciate how deeply she had missed him.
"Goodbye, Watson."
She nodded to him and stepped away.
Just goodnight, she thought. He came back for me.
"Goodnight, Sherlock."
-finis-