A small fire crackled in the fire place. They sat crosslegged, side by side on the floor with the current case's assorted files, documents and photos spread out in front of them. The brownstone was dark and quiet except for the rustle of papers and the occasional comment from one to the other. Photos of Queegie stared up at them in various poses and settings and costumes.
"This is a waste of time," Holmes said as he started putting his stack of documents in a pile. "We'll do a physical investigation of the area tomorrow. I'm sure we can ferret out where the little bastard is hiding. Surely there must be murders and more nefarious activities that we can turn our great intellects towards, hmmm?
Watson looked up at him a little surprised and looked down at her stack of documents. He had included her in his comment "our great intellects." She was not used to complements, real complements, not the ones aimed to appeal to female vanity. Watson looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to form the words, to communicate...
"What's wrong Watson?" He broke into her thoughts. "Out with it."
She looked directly at him, unsure how to begin. Sharing parts of herself with others had always been a problem for her. "Do you remember the fight we had the other day, about the car..."
"Parts of it I remember exceedingly well and in great detail," he raised his eyebrows, flashed his eyes and gave her a mocking leer.
She tapped him on the knee as she said, "Stop it! Not that part," and stopped to straighten a file before she continued. "I'm talking about the argument, the yelling match. ... At one point you said that I don't allow myself to be helped." She got quiet, again looked down causing a veil of black hair to shield her face.
Sherlock sensed this was difficult for her and waited quietly for her to continue. He moved his knee slightly so that it gently brushed hers. She tucked her hair back behind her ear and gave him a sidelong look and sadly smiled.
"I've always taken care of myself. Even as a child. My parents loved me. It's not like I was neglected ... but they knew I was a smart girl and expected me to take care of things for myself, and when I did, there was little praise for it. She sighed. "It's really is not a big deal." Watson looked up into his eyes and got lost in them.
Sherlock was usually made uncomfortable by this level of communication with anyone but Watson. He didn't fidget or move away or make a smart-ass remark - his usual ploys when faced with intimacy. He wanted to hear more. "It is a big deal." He almost whispered the words.
Still engulfed in his eyes she continued. "I've always taken care of myself and taken care of others. I'm responsible Joanie who needs to be in control." She tried to lighten what she was saying by bobbing her head a bit adding a small fake laugh. "It's why I had such a difficult time with my friends questioning why I was working with you and it's why I blew up at you for fixing the brakes on the car. I don't know how to accept help. I feel it diminishes me somehow."
He was immersed in her words and while she spoke his hand had quietly found hers. "You have allowed me to teach you, to aid in your investigations... You have accepted help from me."
"From you ... I can sometimes, accept help, ... allow myself to not be always in control ... difficult to say why really ..." She smiled and her voice trailed off when she realized she was echoing his words from the night he had asked her to be his partner.
Sherlock also remembered and he finished for her, "perhaps in time we'll figure that out as well." With a faint smile he tugged at her hand. She scooted closer to him and allowed him to put his arm around her as she laid her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.
