Elementary doesn't belong to me.
More Than Meets The Eye
Joan Watson looked at the man standing half-dressed infront of the TV screens. He wasn't anything like she'd expected from what his father had told her; but then she knew better than most how deceptive appearances were.
"You must be Sherlock," she began.
"Shh," he interrupted her and turned off the TV. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked her. Joan was too shocked to reply. "I know what you're thinking. The world is such a cynical place and I must be a cynical man." He was looking at her very intently. "And a woman like you couldn't fall for a man like that." His father hadn't said anything about Sherlock being out of his mind. What was he talking about?
Sherlock took another step closer to her. "Thing is," he paused and then added, "It is not a lie. Please hear me when I say this, I've never loved anyone as I do you in this moment."
What?
Joan had heard some bizarre things in her life but this certainly took the cake. He seemed so earnest but she had just met him about sixty seconds ago.
She was helpless to stop her bag falling to the ground when Sherlock turned on the TV and she heard the actor repeat the exact words Sherlock had just said.
This was obviously not going to be one of her usual cases. On top of being a recovering addict Sherlock Holmes was also obviously suffering from some sort of mental illness.
000
A few days later Joan came to the conclusion that she had been hasty in her assessment of her new 'companion'. Sherlock Holmes had more control than any other addict she had ever known. He was rude and offhand and very short with people and the most insensitive man she had ever met but she doubted she would ever met a more brilliant fellow. His attention to the smallest details was astonishing and he was very tenacious. He was also quite fun to be around.
Living and working with him for the next few weeks was going to be an education.
The sound of The Marriage of Figaro drifted out of his room and filled the whole flat. He played the violin very well and she wondered again why he had ever given it up, she would probably never know why, certainly not from him. She had never met such a closed-mouth man in her life.
000
"There you are," Sherlock told her when entered the dining room the next morning. "I was starting to think you'd never wake up."
It was 6.00 a.m. When she'd drifted off to sleep at 1.00 a.m. he'd still been playing the violin.
"Are you going to write about everything we do?"
He was reading her journal.
"Sherlock," she held out her hand for it. "We agreed to keep our private lives private." She could imagine what he thought about her writing about him in her journal.
He didn't hand back to her but closed it and put it in his pocket.
"Better get ready, Watson, we have things to do."
000