AN: Walking home while listening to Rihanna got me writing these snapshots into Sherlock and Joan's life, based on the song titles that I had on my playlist. They were simple ideas running in my mind and while I apologize for their shortness, I hope they express what I was trying to say. Enjoy and tell me what you think, pretty please?
Rating: T;
Pairing: none. Brief mention of Joan/someone.
To unnamed reviewer, Gerty, Bec, Lady Knight, Zany Zana and everyone who left a signed review - Your kind words continue to inspire me. Thank you for the reviews.
Warning: a fair bit of angst, some mention of suicidal thoughts and alcohol.
Disclaimer – I don't own the Sherlock characters.
Summary: Story 02: Snapshots - Sherlock's and Joan's life caught in 9 song titles. female and psychic!John.
S.O.S. (rescue me)
Nightmare, followed by a brutal waking up.
She's waiting motionless for the crack of dawn before indulging in a cup of tea and an apple. The empty blog page mocks her and the therapy isn't working either. And no matter how long and fast she walks through the city, life seems to rapidly leave her behind.
There's a scream trapped inside of her, gaining power with each mind-numbing day she spends caught up in the routine and Dr. Joan Watson is about to snap. The service gun hidden in the drawer starts to look too much like an answer.
And how appropriate - she'll think later - that the only person to hear her silent plea is a consulting detective masquerading as a high functioning sociopath. One Sherlock Holmes.
...
Unfaithful
Loyalty, according to most, is Joan Watson's defining characteristic. It has gained her Mycroft's grudging approval, Sherlock's complete acceptance and Moriarty's sneering contempt.
Sister. Lover. Soldier. Friend. Partner…Nuisance – loyal roles she's played in the course of her life.
So why - as she checks her discrete make-up for the last time, grabs her coat and tosses a hurried "bye" to the sulking detective curled up on the sofa – why does she feel like an unfaithful wife?
...
Rehab
"Hey." Joan calls, almost invisible in the darkening flat, sitting quietly in her preferred seat. There's a full glass and an opened bottle of Johnny Walker in front of her, but to Sherlock's sharp eyes it's clear that she hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol, yet.
Something must have happened while he was away.
"You've been talking to Harry." Sherlock states, secure in his deduction.
Joan nods, even though that's a lie. It's been her mother who dropped by for a little chat, but considering the woman's been dead and buried for the last five years, the detective's mistake is understandable.
"Something she said made you uncomfortable. Enough to remind you of your father's demise." Sherlock goes on, unaware of the error he made.
"Actually, it got me thinking on the nature of addictions." Joan says, pointing at the still full glass.
"Oh?" Sherlock folds himself on the couch in front of her and then brings his fingers under his chin in classic thinking position.
"It's just that. Being an adrenaline junkie might seem more acceptable than being an alcoholic, yet it's just as likely to get me killed. More so, with the life we're leading." she lets the words trail by the end, as if she has just reached the conclusion.
Sherlock stills, his whole body gripped by an invisible tension."Do you want to stop?" His tone holds almost no inflection.
Joan isn't fooled one bit. She looks him squarely in the eyes for a long moment, unflinching under his hard gaze, then she lets the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.
"Stop? Never."
Tbc...
AN: The next to come are Russian Roulette, Cry and Te amo. Cheers! Para.
