The majority of each and every day was spent together, side-by-side, together. They lived together ... worked together ... ate together ... shopped together and lately even laundry was being done together ... ...
... you're using too much soap ... why can't you put the remote control back where it belongs ... how about the toilet seat being put down for a change ... what happened to the file I left on that chair ... can you stop bouncing your damn leg for two seconds!
For the sake of their partnership, for the sake of their friendship, Sherlock and Joan agreed - the time had come for them to take a few days and get as far away from each other as they could.
Joan got the brownstone to herself for three days while Sherlock went to New Jersey with Marcus to interview the extensive family of one Mr. Jules Harrison, who contrary to first appearances, had not died of complications from the flu. Foul play by a loved one was strongly suspected in his demise.
Sherlock left the brownstone late on a Thursday afternoon. Marcus picked him up. As she waved good-bye and watched their car merge into traffic, it was all Joan could do not to jump up and down, throw fist in air and holler with glee.
Humming to herself, she practically bounced up the stairs. She located candles, chose music and a book and, after quickly running downstairs to check once more that both exterior doors were truly locked, she exhaled a long solitary breath and took a hot bath ... with the door wide open. It was liberating. It was exhilarating ... no bellowing of her name from downstairs, no fear of being walked in on or dragged out, hair still wet, to the scene of a crime ... nothing but restful, watery bliss. She sighed ... And enjoyed the quiet ... so quiet she could hear the soapy bubbles' light crackle and pop. She turned on the music, and soaked in the heady lavender scented steam. Well, for a little while at least she soaked ... the longer she soaked, the more restless she felt. She picked up her book, stared blankly at the words and set it back down. She closed her eyes, head placed back onto the bath pillow and attempted to visualize meadows ... she saw the blue skies, the green grass waving in the breeze and uhm ... what looked to be a shallow grave up ahead ... Nope. That wasn't working either.
Joan reached for a towel - she was just not used to lounging and the water had turned cold really quickly and even with the music, the quiet was kind of unsettling. Besides, she was hungry.
Joan threw on her blue silk robe and nothing else just because she could and went to the kitchen to make herself dinner. She checked her phone midway through the preparation ... Huh, no message from Sherlock. She'd ask him to text her once they got there. They should be there... Well, no ... They were probably just crossing the Hudson by now. She considered texting him to see how they were progressing but stopped herself. She put down her phone and returned to her task convincing herself the traffic was fine, Marcus would not get them lost, Sherlock would be polite like she had reminded him to be ... Joan chopped more vegetables and smiled to herself ... poor Marcus.
She took her dinner upstairs. A small fire in the fireplace, a glass of wine that she wouldn't have had if Sherlock were in the house, and Joan was able to finally relax and contently enjoy her dinner - just her and Stephanie Plum - her guilty pleasure. The Evanovich books were goofy and frivolous and fun. She had started reading them years ago and would pick the newest one up every so often when no one was looking. Joan had a thing for Joe, although Ranger hmmm...
It was around eleven p.m., when she realized there was still no word from Sherlock. She didn't even try to stop herself. She texted him.
J: [Hey, you there?]
A minute went by ...
J: [Hello - you were supposed to let me know you got there.]
S: [Sorry. Busy. In hotel now. All is well.]
J: [OK have a good night]
No return message ... Just as well she thought. This was supposed to be time to themselves. She took a sip of wine and returned to her book.
It was past midnight when her phone chimed a message.
S: [He snores]
Joan smiled. They must be sharing a room. Poor Marcus.
J: [So do you, just not very loudly thank god]
S: [Its like sleeping next to a bear]
J: [You don't sleep much anyway]
S: [True]
S: [Case is boring. Too simple]
Joan stopped halfway through her reply. She heard a noise from upstairs.
J: [Got to go. Noise upstairs]
S: [Careful. Take the phone. Single stick. Text me]
Joan listened ... There it was again ... A muffled thump. She took her phone and since her single stick was upstairs, she grabbed the fire-iron and stealthily made her way upstairs. The noise was coming from her room. She peeked around the doorjamb and found no one. But she did find the window open and the wind blowing her shutters against the curtains.
Joan shook her head. She must be jumpy being alone in the house. She'd lived alone the majority of her adult life but this was different. Perhaps it was just being alone in the brownstone. It certainly was quiet without him.
J: [No problem. It was the wind] She texted him and shut the window.
S: [So said Hansel and Gretel before the witch appeared.]
She rolled her eyes at the phone.
J: [You read fairy tales?]
S: [A well rounded education Watson very important for our work]
J: [Good night. Get some sleep.]
S: [Doubt it with the bruin next to me.]
Foolish, foolish thing, she scolded herself - two in the morning and she was wide awake.
She reached for her phone. She stopped her self mid-text. What was she doing? The whole point of this was away time. Plus she might wake him; Sherlock might have fallen a sleep. The phrase popped into her head again - "poor Marcus." He had no idea what he was in for. She was used to Sherlock. Joan worried about how much the good detective could take of her eccentric housemate.
Her phone signaled an email. She checked it expecting to see an advert from Amazon, instead she found a message from Sherlock. The subject line read "proof." She opened it to find an audio file.
She listened and laughed out loud and then promptly felt bad for laughing. Joan emailed him back:
"If Marcus finds out you recorded him snoring, he is going to kill you.
He is really loud, tho' ... Sorry."
She hit send and lay back down, a little more relaxed and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Friday morning came early. She had a full itinerary of to-do items starting with breakfast with Emily and a book store visit. Two of the rare books on her must-have list had suddenly shown up in her favorite Chelsea bookstore and the owner could only keep them aside for her for so long.
She met up with Emily in midtown and had a 'nice' time. Even with their best efforts they were drifting away from each other and found little in common to discuss. Joan was really not interested in Emily's kids and Emily didn't care much for Joan's stories about forensics, crime or Sherlock. They said their goodbyes, promised to get together soon but were both relieved to be walking away from the other.
Joan excitedly made her way to the bookstore. A text came through as she turned the corner:
S: [Morning. You up?]
J: [Yup. Heading for the bookstore]
S: [Do you know anything about this textbook?] he inserted a photo of a medical text on toxicology.
Joan studied it for a second.
J: [Thats an oldie. It was out of use when I started med school. Out of print now I think.]
S: [Perfect. Thank you]
And with that he was gone.
Once in the bookstore, Joan lost track of time. It was close to noon when she, with several books in her arms, found her way to the desk to retrieve the books being held for her.
They were lovely, both in excellent condition. She collected medical books from the late 1880's through the earlier part of the 20th century and these two had been particularly hard to track down. Joan carefully examined them. They were perfect but she felt purchasing both was an overindulgence and was having a hellacious time deciding which one to take.
She dialed Sherlock's number. He picked up on the first ring.
"Everything okay?" he sounded stressed.
"Yes, yes. Fine. Are you busy? Have a moment?"
He made time to listen and she explained what was before her, the condition of the books, titles, prices and her dilemma. "Any advice?"
Sherlock answered without missing a beat. "Get both. They are extremely rare, a great resource and you may not get the chance again."
Joan smiled into the phone. That's what she wanted to hear. He understood the value of the works and she just needed a second opinion before spending a small fortune on them.
Sherlock continued, "I'll pay for half. Don't worry about the money."
"No, no. I've got enough to get them. I just needed back up."
"Alright then. I look forward to reading through them when I get home."
"How's it going there?" Joan could hear talking in the background.
"Fine. The case is progressing well. I think we have our lead suspect ... Got to go. The detective is gesticulating rather aggressively in my direction."
"Okay. ... Bye!" Joan knew it wasn't even 24 hours since he'd left but she kind of missed him.
"... Watson? Uhm Uh ... Nevermind ... Bye." She heard Marcus' voice behind Sherlock calling him over.
The rest of the day was given over to errands and appointments long put off by work.
Joan got home to the quiet of the brownstone around 8:00 p.m., put down her book bag, kicked off her shoes, sat down in the library and assessed her day. She'd gotten a lot done. Yes. Definitely got more done without Sherlock. Yes ... She fought off the feeling that was bubbling up and refused to admit it to herself.
Instead, she ordered a pizza, changed into her softest sweatpants, a tshirt that might be his or possibly hers, she no longer knew, and her red cardigan. She fired up NetFlix. He would be back soon enough she told herself ...
Joan was startled out of a dead sleep by the sound of his ring tone blaring from her phone.
"What's wrong?" It was 7:20 in the morning according to the phone. Something must be wrong.
Sherlock reassured her, "No, no ... Nothing is wrong. I apologize for waking you."
Joan considered lying and claiming to have been awake, but she knew he knew better. "It's alright." She lay back down. The library sofa really was extremely comfortable. She adjusted the plaid blanket covering her and waited for him to continue.
"I have a request. And feel free to say no. After all, we had an agreement ..." Sherlock took a few seconds to get the words out. "May I come home early?" He rushed through the rest of his speech trying to not give her a chance to say no. "I promise I'll stay out of your way. I can stay down in your office if you like. I know that wasn't out arrangement and I can find a hotel room if you rather I not come back yet. Totally understandable but I'd really like to come home. We finished early and ..."
Joan kept trying to interrupt him, "Sherlock ... Sherlock ... Yes. Come home. It's fine. Did you hear me? It's okay ... I kind of missed you ..."
She heard the front door open and close and before she had a chance to move, an apologetic Sherlock stood in the archway looking at her, laptop on her stomach, pizza box on the floor, hair splayed out in all directions. His eyes softened as he saw her face. He pulled the phone away from his ear and put down his valise, "I missed you too."