Joan held Alex's hand while they walked into the school, but she was also keeping one eye on Sherlock. He was bouncing around a bit as he walked on Alex's other side, trying to keep himself from speeding up or falling behind. He'd never admit it, but Joan could tell he was nervous. He was out of his element. She smiled to herself. He could face down serial killers without batting an eye but talking to a bunch of kids unnerved him. When Sherlock nervously glanced over at her, Joan did her best to give him a reassuring smile.
It was career day at Alex's school. Despite their initial protests (or, in Sherlock's case, outright refusal), Alex had convinced Joan and Sherlock to come to school with him today and tell his class about their job. But convincing them hadn't been easy.
Alex had worn his mom down first. It didn't take him too long. Alex knew his mom's weak spots and how to convince her. All it had taken was a sad puppy look (which Joan noticed Alex had mimicked from his Uncle Sherlock's "I want something and I'm about to guilt you into agreeing" look) and a plaintive "all my friends' parents are coming mom," and Joan had caved. She reluctantly agreed to help him try to convince Sherlock.
This was an altogether tougher task. Sherlock had been completely against the idea from the start ("murder investigations are hardly an appropriate topic for nine-year-olds, Watson!") and thus had taken more convincing. Joan had repeatedly tried to convince him that it would make Alex happy if he came, but it had been to no avail.
Eventually, however, Alex and Sherlock had spent an hour in the media room "hanging out" together, and when Joan had called them down for dinner, she was amazed to hear that Sherlock had agreed to come to career day. Joan demanded to know how her son had convinced him, but Alex just gave her a smug smile and Sherlock merely shrugged. She still didn't know.
Now, watching Sherlock pace around as Alex ran off to greet some friends, Joan realized the real reason he hadn't wanted to come. He was nervous. Him, Sherlock Holmes, intimidated by a classroom of nine-year-olds. Joan chuckled to herself.
"They're just kids, Sherlock," Joan told him when she finally caught his eye. Sherlock grimaced at her but said nothing and kept pacing the hall. Grabbing his arm to stop the pacing before someone noticed, joan asked "what's the matter? It's not like you to be nervous about public speaking."
"It's not the speach I dread, Watson," he protested quickly.
"Then what is it?" Joan asked. "Don't tell me you don't like kids. Pretty sure Alex could tell you that's not the case."
Sherlock shook his head, annoyed at having to explain himself. "Of course I like kids. But a whole classroom of kids, watching you, judging you... That's different. Kids are observant, Watson. They see you in a way adults fail to. And talking to a whole group of them at once.. Talking about ourselves..." He paused, looking at her curiously. "This doesn't unnerve you at all?" He asked, completely serious.
Joan stifled a laugh. She knew laughing would only incense him. "No, of course not," she said, then repeated "they're just kids," with a shrug.
Sherlock grimaced again and turned away. He kept pacing until Alex returned and led them to his classroom. The room was crowded. About 15 kids had brought their parents today, so the teacher had set up chairs along the perimeter and back of the room to accommodate everyone.
As Alex took his seat near his friends, Joan heard one little boy ask him, "are those your parents?" while pointing back at Joan and Sherlock.
Alex laughed, shaking his head. "That's my mom and her partner, my Uncle Sherlock." The other kid took another look at Joan and Sherlock, then he shrugged. The two boys fell silent as the teacher started talking and the day got started.
As the other parents gave their speeches and kids asked questions, Joan alternated between watching Alex exchange glances with his friends and Sherlock silently judge all the other parents. At one point, Sherlock leaned over to Joan and whispered in her ear, "shall we tell the teacher that the man currently talking is a raging alcoholic?" Joan shot him a glare and lightly slapped his arm, mouthing NOT NOW. Sherlock grinned and looked forward again, clearly entertaining himself by silently deducing the man's other vices.
Too soon for Sherlock's taste, it was their turn. Joan gave him a reassuring glance as they headed to the front of the room.
Joan did most of the talking, explaining what they did and how they worked with the police. Sherlock just added a few comments here and there, still mostly engrossed in silently investigating the other parents. When their little speech was done, the teacher asked the class, "Does anyone have questions for Miss Watson and Mr. Holmes?"
One of the boys in the back of the class raised his hand. When the teacher nodded for him to talk, he asked, "do you guys have police badges?"
Joan started to answer, but Sherlock's hand on her arm indicated he'd fence this one. She looked at him in surprise, but his smirk indicated he was getting more comfortable talking to the kids. Looking back at the boy, Sherlock shook his head. "No, we're not police so we don't have badges. As Miss Watson said earlier, we merely consult with the police."
The boy seemed disappointed, but the teacher moved on to the next student, a girl who asked "how many dead bodies have you seen?"
A bunch of kids made "eeeeeeeew" sounds, and Joan laughed. "Enough," she said, "but we don't keep count."
Sherlock smirked at her, but didn't contradict her. God, Joan thought, he probably does keep count. She was instantly glad she had answered the question.
Another boy piped up and asked, "have you ever killed anyone?" He got an angry glare from his teacher for that, who looked at Joan and Sherlock apologetically. Sherlock started to answer, but Joan stopped him with a glare, afraid of what exactly he might say.
"You don't have to answer that," the teacher said, a little embarrassed. Joan looked grateful. The teacher turned back to the class. "Anyone else?"
The boy Alex had been talking to before raised his hand, and the teacher called on him. He looked at Sherlock quizzically and asked, "if you're Alex's uncle, how come you're Brittish?"
Sherlock pursed his lips and made a confused face at the boy. "I'm British because I was born and raised in England..." he said, clearly not understanding the point of the kid's question. He glanced at Joan for assistance, she was much better at deciphering "kid-speak" than he was.
Sherlock was surprised to find Joan's cheeks had turned red. Curiously, she was embarrassed by the question. That's when Sherlock realized what the kid had meant to ask. His mouth made an "ohhh" shape before he turned back to the kid and started to say "technically speaking, I'm-" Joan grabbed his arm and cut him off.
The teacher, who had no doubt been made aware of Alex's "unconventional home situation", realized how they were floundering and turned red herself. Before either Joan or Sherlock could say anything more, the teacher said "let's keep the questions about their jobs, kids." Glancing around the room to make sure they understood, she asked, "anyone else?"
When no one else raised their hand, Joan and Sherlock gratefully ceded the floor to the next parent.
When they returned to the Brownstone together that evening after school, Alex was beaming. He had really enjoyed getting to show off in front of his friends, and Joan was glad they had gone. Secretly, Sherlock was glad too.
"Thanks for coming today, guys," Alex said, giving Joan a huge hug which she returned equally. She dreaded the day when he would reach the age where hugging your mom was no longer "cool".
Alex turned to Sherlock, sticking his hand out for their traditional fist bump. Sherlock knocked his knuckles, grinning. Alex said, "my friends all agreed, your job was the coolest out of all of them today. So now I'm the coolest. You guys rock!"
Joan laughed, taking his coat and hanging it up. "I'm glad you had fun, she said before ushering him toward the stairs. "Why don't you go to your room and work on some homework for a bit while I get dinner ready, okay?" She asked.
"Alright," Alex agreed, grabbing his backpack and trudging off.
When he was gone, Joan turned to Sherlock. "Seriously, thanks for going today," she said with a genuine grateful smile. "I'm sure it meant a lot to Alex, having us there."
"It was no problem," Sherlock assured her, secretly pleased that he had made both Alex and Joan happy.
"By the way," Joan said as she started ruffling through the pantry for food, "how did Alex convince you to go?"
Sherlock gave her a mischievous grin. "Watson, the things that are discussed during our man time are between us. Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it." He shrugged.
Joan laughed. "'Man time?' Really?" All that got her was another shrug. "So that's how it's gonna be now? You two are gonna have secretive man time that I'm not invited to?"
Feigning disinterest, Sherlock picked up his phone to look busy. "It's like a brotherhood, Watson," he said. "What is discussed stays between the members."
Joan shook her head, still laughing. "So do you two have a name for this 'brotherhood'? Or should I just keep calling it 'man time'?"
Sherlock didn't reply. He merely smirked at his phone silently. Joan was enjoying this. Inwardly, she was glad they had "man time". Alex needed an older man he could go to, someone with whom to discuss thing that he would never want to talk about with his mother. Once again Joan was struck by how lucky they were to have Sherlock in their lives.
"Anyway," Joan said. "Thanks again for today."
Idly scrolling through his inbox, Sherlock muttered, "As I said, it was no problem." Still looking at his phone, he added as an afterthought, "I enjoyed it more than I expected, actually."
Joan saw right through his facade of nonchalance. She could tell he was pleased at how the day had gone, and she figured he had probably enjoyed bragging about himself to Alex's friends.
After a pause, Sherlock set his phone down and said, "However, we probably should sort out the whole 'uncle' thing. I suppose Alex has reached an age where his friends are intelligent enough to realize his 'uncle' talks funny, and they're old enough to start asking questions."
"Yeah," Joan sighed, sitting across from him at the table. "I guess you're right. We're probably going to have to come up with an easy way to explain it."
"Or," Sherlock said, "he could just call me something else..." he grinned mischievously across the table at her.
Joan, knowing what he was suggesting, returned his grin and rolled her eyes. "Don't think for a second I'm going to let him call you 'Detective'."
They both laughed, and when Joan got up to finish making their dinner, Sherlock stopped her, motioning for her not to bother. He took over at the stove, finishing the cooking for her. "Well, one way or another," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder, "we'll figure it out."
Joan walked up beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her waist. "We always do."