A/N: Thank you again for your reviews, follows and favs :)
Holmes boys came out to play!
Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know.
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Mycroft Holmes was rarely surprised, even less by people not involved in political games in any capacity. When Joan Watson appeared on the daily surveillance report as a potential flatmate to Sherlock Holmes, his team assembled an extensive dossier on her. The woman seemed to be a good medic and a good soldier. Diligent, middle-class background, well-liked, invalid, common and dull. Sherlock must be particularly stubborn this time to even consider this option. But then he took her to a crime scene, a first. Fortunately, Mycroft had been informed immediately and could arrange an improvised interrogation session. Or probing, as he preferred to refer to such endeavors.
The little phone conversation revealed that Joan Watson hid her inherent insecurities behind low-level sarcasm. Not so surprising. It would be easy enough to scare away this pest. Even if she didn't run away screaming after Sherlock undoubtedly done his bout of deductions. Screening his brother contacts could be such a time-consuming bother.
The wait was punctuated by his PA's updates on their 'customer'. Contrary to his expectations, the woman didn't manifest any anxiety or twitchy behavior in the car. She had started texting of all things, but was compliant with the request to stop. "Mild and obedient, but she seems to have fun" was the assessment Anthea sent before the car finally pulled in the warehouse.
Clearly, the mild and obedient part was a sham, as the good doctor blatantly ignored his direct orders and started with amused sarcasm, which was grating on his nerves. But Mycroft wasn't above elegantly pointing out his opponent's low level of intelligence. Then she smiled darkly in return: "Who says it's not plain confidence?"
The question was asked in such a calm and amused voice, that it elicited a small doubt. Mycroft assessed the medical officer attentively. Beyond small and obvious details telling all about her recent occupations and diet, he noted several matters of interest. Her posture was non-threatening, and her face betrayed no worry or anxiety. She was comfortable in a situation specifically designed to make her uneasy. Her commoner's humor could be, of course, attributed to the upbringing and army experience, but it could also be a sign of a person tired of being underestimated and just pushing all the buttons until being taken seriously. A person who craved conflict… No, not conflict, she would be more provoking if that was the case. Danger. He could threaten her all he wanted, she would just bask in the adrenaline and go with the flow. Interesting. And worrying. How did a person like this arrived into Sherlock's entourage?
Any further attempts to rile her up just ended in more sarcastic remarks from the target. It was mildly frustrating to see all tactics fail to elicit the expected reaction. The woman was equally unperturbed by everything, including threats, insults, bribery and false confidences (badly played, admittedly). He thought he was getting somewhere with therapist's notes, and pushed the advantage, but it came out as a bad decision.
The retreating doctor turned around, eyes flaring with tightly leashed anger. She launched a small emotionally charged speech, giving a threat of her own – physical violence, ugh, how pedestrian. But he saw that she was quite confident of being able to follow through with her threat if needed, despite the limp, the broken shoulder and the lack of any weapon. And she wasn't ignorant of two guns waiting patiently in the car either. Or the concealed blade in the umbrella, judging by a quick measuring glance she gave it. It showed an awareness of her surroundings, many attributed to seasoned war veterans, but not usually medical personnel.
Then this worryingly competent woman revealed his family ties with Sherlock, proving that observation capacities weren't limited to the Holmes bloodline. Her face, body and voice were very expressive, letting him read her opinions on the whole situation quite easily, but barely hinting at her level of threat, that appeared to be much higher than expected.
"Now that we're all clear and good, have a nice evening, big brother. Next time, just phone me, alright?"
But then again, she seemed already loyal to Sherlock, and it could be beneficial to have a genuine caretaker at his brother's side, someone who wouldn't flinch away from trouble or give in to bribes and threats. A watchdog.
The black car quietly drove away, leaving Mycroft Holmes to ponder over the meeting. Anthea updated him sporadically for the duration of the drive, giving more pertinent information about the doctor:
"IT indicates your brother was the one texting."
"Dropped by the bedsit. Returned with a concealed gun."
"Complimented my suit before leaving at 221b Baker St."
Dr Watson had been summoned by Sherlock, obviously, for whatever triviality he was keeping himself busy with. His brother must have recognized the adrenaline-seeker the unassuming doctor was, and played on it fully, thus the gun. And despite the supposed pending danger, the kidnapping and the crime scene, the woman still felt comfortable enough to do small talk with Mycroft's employees. Nerves of steel. Remarkable.
The evening had been surprising in many ways and didn't go as expected. But the result was overall satisfactory.
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Sherlock had returned to Baker Street an hour after sprinting out the building in Lauriston gardens with his prize. It took him twenty-nine minutes, fifteen seconds to identify the right bin in the right alley, an adequate result given the initial information. After rummaging through the hideously pink suitcase for six minutes, twenty-four seconds, he came to the obvious conclusion that the phone was gone, most likely kept by the killer for whatever reason.
He plopped down the couch, absent-mindedly sticking nicotine patches on his bare arm. His mind was running over possible scenarios for the case, but part of him was analyzing his almost-flatmate.
The first impression was rather disappointing. Dull. Easily intimidated and manipulated. Struggling to keep up with her own subconsciousness. Could be acceptable as a silent, non-bothering flatmate who would pay her rent and not interfere. He couldn't help his quip about the last place of deployment, though, mentally steadying himself for fear and disgust that were sure to come. And then she just insisted on an explanation, and he had to give it, right? There was no fear in her eyes. She was guarded, yes, but not particularly distressed or confused, pointing out that for a flatshare interview, he could at least give some basic information before running off. Practical.
The visit to 221 had been enlightening. Joan (or John as she seemed to refer to herself) was within socially acceptable behavior, of course (dull), polite and covertly amused. Amused. That was unexpected. He had started to reconsider his initial assessment.
She had done basic research on him, even. Wasn't overly bothered by his eclectic choices in decoration. Paid attention to the surroundings ("Is that a skull?"). He had been almost distracted by the new case (finally!), but the angry outburst in the living room ("DAMN MY LEG") made him turn back. Someone so eager to be of use couldn't be left behind, after all.
The file he created for Joan Watson in his head burst into flames in the cab ("That was awesome."). He still wasn't sure how he felt about the new filing cabinet he put in place for her, but he had to admit that she was not dull. Or easily intimidated, the comment to Donovan was proof enough of this, if he had any doubts lingering. The memory of Sally's face alone made him chuckle.
So - reliable, aware of her own short-comings, has a dry humor, eager for action. Not dull.
And he really needed a phone number that wasn't hanging on his website to continue the investigation.
The first text went unanswered. He remembered that he did leave her at a crime scene with unfriendly Yarders. Wouldn't hold it against him for long, but could be angry right now. The second text went with no reaction too. He needed something to ensure that Watson came to the flat. Eager for action. "Could be dangerous."
Now he all he had to do was wait.