***One day I was randomly scrolling through the "elementasquee" tumblr page when I saw that someone posted a comment saying that when it comes time for Joan to leave Sherlock, Sherlock should give her a jar of honey from his bees as a parting gift. I thought that was a great idea, and it inspired me to write this. Thank you elementary tumblr fan! I recommend listening to the song "Another Life" by NO after reading this.***
It was a cold day in New York City, and that is why Joan walked through the halls of the brownstone wearing boots, a black overcoat, and the knit cap she wears on her jogs. A purse was slung on her shoulder and she dragged a small black suitcase behind her.
"Sherlock?"
She had already searched half of the house, and still couldn't find him. And that is why she worried; it was an important day. One she hadn't wanted to face, but had seen coming all along.
It was time to move on.
"Sher-Oh!" She was startled by the sight of him rising from his chair at his desk in the next room. Of course, case files scattered the desk's surface. Sherlock stood upright, with stiff posture and clenched fists, and was that a tear in his eye? No of course not. It couldn't be.
Joan was slightly out of breath, and dreading the circumstances of the day. She seemed to take much focus in taking out a big square hard-cover book, with a colorful cover, from her bag. Then, slinging the purse back on her shoulder she held out the book to him. He didn't take it though.
"It's a scrapbook," She quickly explained, "Of all the crimes you've solved…the people you helped."
"Well Watson I must say, I didn't know you were one for scrapbooking."
"I'm not…normally…but the sober companion organization highly recommends it, and I thought it would be a nice memento of your adventures."
"Our adventures," He corrected quietly. He looked down at the book, but still didn't take it.
"Look," Joan hurriedly flipped open the scrapbook and flipped through the pages. "Here's a letter of gratitude from that corporation you helped…and another from the police department and the FBI…and here's a picture that the girl you saved from the Balloon Boy drew you. See?"
Finally Sherlock took the scrapbook and stared down at the picture. The word "thank you" was scrawled across the top in capital letters, in multi-colored crayon. Sherlock sadly smiled. Joan smiled back, "You've helped a lot of people. You should be proud. There's no need for penance…not anymore."
Sherlock turned around and walked toward the kitchen. "Uh, Sherlock?" Joan asked, confused. She followed him. In the kitchen Sherlock laid the book down on the kitchen counter and opened up a cabinet, pulling out a glass jar wrapped with a ribbon from a high shelf. With both arms outstretched he handed it to Joan, like a sad child giving someone a handful of picked dandelions.
Joan didn't say anything at first, so Sherlock explained, "Honey…from my bees." He knocked his clenched fists on his thighs. "All natural, no preservatives…You can put it in your tea or smoothies if you like."
Joan sadly smiled at the gold liquid in the jar. "Thank you. That's…very kind." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and Joan stuck out her hand to shake. Sherlock just stared at it. She knew he didn't want to say goodbye. He had grown attached to having her by his side, helping him solve cases. Joan was going to miss him too. That is why she withdrew her hand and said, "A hug?" instead.
"I'm uh, not usually one for such displays of affection-"
Joan hugged him anyway, with the jar of honey still in one hand. Sherlock tensed awkwardly, but soon relaxed in her arms and, ever so gently, hugged her back. Tears swelled up in his eyes.
Days later Joan would curl up in her own quiet and lonely apartment, and drink tea, and think of him. The bitter taste of the Chinese herbs would mix with the sweetness of the honey and combine to taste, surprisingly lovely. Bittersweet. Just like that moment, as Joan hugged Sherlock and breathed in jagged breaths. She finally let go and pulled back. "Thank you for the honey and…it was a pleasure being you sober companion. I know that you are now ready to…reemerge into society and if you ever need anything you can contact your sponsor or me…Congratulations on finishing your rehabilitation and I know that you will stay clean and sober and not relapse." Joan stuck out her arm and this time Sherlock took it. They shook hands. Then Joan turned around, and still dragging the suitcase, walked down the hall, Sherlock trailing behind.
He held open the door for her, letting the biting wind blow into the house and sting his face. As Joan walked out into the cold air he mumbled "farewell" sorrowfully. Joan just nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat and walked away.
It was time to move on.
It was time to let go.
Sherlock closed the door, shutting himself away from the outside, and decided to make himself a cup of that bitter Chinese tea Joan made him when he was sick. She had left him the recipe. But maybe this time he would add extra honey. Make it bittersweet instead.