Focus

Joan knew Chemotherapy was difficult. She had read all the textbooks, had dealt with patients who had come to her for the surgical part of their cancer journey and seen the strength they had needed as both the cancer and its treatment ravaged their bodies. She had never pitied them, only ever marvelled at their composure and strength. Now she was in their shoes she felt anything but strong or composed. She felt lost, alone and scared. Rationally she knew she was right to be scared. It was a long and drawn out treatment which, she knew may not have the outcome they all hoped for. She wasn't scared for herself, more what would happen to her son? To Sherlock. She shook her head sadly, knowing her partner had lost his mother at a young age and now it looked as if his son might have the same fate.

"Joan Watson?" She looked up as a smartly dressed woman in her late thirties called her name.

"That's me."

"If you could follow me, the nurse will just take some assessments before the medication is administered." She nodded, feeling Sherlock squeeze her hand slightly before she stood to follow the woman. Sherlock paused for a moment, unsure if he should follow her or if he would be getting in the way. It wasn't until the nurse spoke that he felt his feet begin to move.

"Your husband can come too."

"Oh." Joan turned but the look in Sherlock's eyes stopped her from correcting the other woman. He nodded and smiled before stepping forward to follow her into the treatment room.

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The day had been long and arduous, with Joan wanting nothing more than to get back to her own home and get into bed. She knew Arthur was still a little worried about her going to the hospital but she was determined that he wasn't going to see her in the hospital undergoing treatment. It was bad enough he had to see her at home, with very little appetite, medicines and pills everywhere that she didn't want to let him see her have anything else happen to her.

"Mum." She smiled as Arthur hopped onto the bed next to her. "Did the doctor say you are getting better?"

"No, he said he was very happy with the ways things are going." She let him snuggle into her as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Everything is going as the doctors think it should be. I had my operation. I had my medicine and now I am home."

"You have to go back to the hospital again?"

"Yes." Joan sighed, kissing his hair. "I do."

"That sucks." He sighed as Sherlock entered the bedroom. He smiled slightly as he saw mother and son on the bed. Joan bit her lip as she realised some of her hair had fallen out onto the pillow. Tears filled her eyes as she saw Sherlock notice the same thing. He said nothing, instead sitting on the bed next to her.

"It does." He agreed.

"Mom? Your hair."

"Oh." Joan tried to keep her voice steady, knowing that the chemotherapy had the potential to make her hair a little thinner and probably fall out. The fact it had started to happen in front of her son broke her heart. "Its ok, its only hair. It might all fall out but it will grow."

"You could buy a hat."

"Yes, she could." Sherlock looked away for a moment, hoping the emotion in his voice wasn't clear. He knew Joan had been expecting the side of the treatment but he had hoped that they wouldn't be as severe as the research papers he had read suggested they may be. He knew she spent most of her time between chemotherapy sessions feeling lethargic and nauseated. He also knew she was doing everything she could to hide the fact she felt so unwell. He just prayed the next set of scans brought them better news. Little Arthur seemed to fall asleep as Sherlock sat the other side of the bed. She rested her head on his shoulder as Arthur slept between them.

"I think I might shave it off." Joan sighed as Sherlock fell silent. "Buy a really great wig and some hats."

"If you wish."

"I just." She paused as Sherlock turned to her. "I think."

"What?"

"I just want to be me. I want to be us again. The three of us. Working at the police department with Marcus and Kitty. I want to work with you again. Doing what we do." She hated how frustrated she sounded. "I don't want to be the sick one anymore. I just want to be me. I need something to focus on."

"Ok." Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock."

"I'll talk to Marcus but you have something to focus on."

She raised her eyes to his as she realised he was trying not to cry. "Don't cry." She whispered as her hand came to his cheek, brushing a tear away. "Don't cry." He smiled slightly, kissing her hand as the child between them started to snore. Sherlock looked down.

"I'll take him to bed." He made to move, ready to carry the little boy to his own bedroom. Joan rested a hand on his arm.

"No, let him stay here. With us. Remind me what my focus is." She sighed as he nodded, kissing her forehead before they settled down for the night.