Having sat under that tree for what felt like hours, Joan finally conceded that enlightenment was not to be found there. Her head was spinning. She knew exactly what her decision would be if she could trust her heart. But the strident voices of past failures taunted her, pointing out every dark pitfall in the path before her, shining a light on every broken trust and shattered heart that lay strewn behind her. Joan needed a third party, the voice of a friend. Emily, Hope, Jen would be of no help. They lived too much of a normal life to understand what she had been through and hoped to go through. She needed to talk to someone who understood complicated relationships. She needed to talk to Ms. Hudson.
Sherlock paced the brownstone, unsure of what he had just done. He hadn't given her an ultimatum, had he? Would she perceive it as such? Truth be told, he would stay by Watson's side even if she were to marry a boor and bear him seventeen children. Sherlock was used to being kept on the outside of his desires. In some fashion, though, in his heart, he knew Watson would always be his.
He needed to keep busy at the moment, keep his mind occupied on other matters or go mad. This, this is what he hated about human emotions. They clouded the brain as much as any opiate, stymied clear thought. He should have steered clear of that confounded tree. The thought occurred to Sherlock that Watson might still be there, under that tree, not wanting to come home and face him. He texted Watson and let her know he was going to be at the precinct for the duration of the day, possibly into the evening, rifling through cold cases.
Upon receiving the text, she thanked him and told him she wouldn't be back home until later in the afternoon and reminded him to feed Clyde before he left. The formality of their texts, without the use of "Lock-Speak," as they had fondly termed the cryptic shortcuts he invented, concerned them both.
-. -. -. .- .- .-
Ms. Hudson greeted Joan at the door with a hug. Joan hadn't told her the purpose of her visit, but she sensed Joan's need. Her home was reminiscent of the brownstone, an extremely clean and organized version of the brownstone. Every wall was hidden behind bookshelves and their respective books, all in proper order. Joan had no doubt that Ms. Hudson could lay her hand upon any volume requested in mere seconds. The teapot, under its blue and white cosy, sat next to two white porcelain cups on the coffee table; a small plate of shortbread kept them company. Ms. Hudson took the cosy off the teapot and asked Joan how she was. That question served as sufficient prompt for Joan. A rush of words poured out from her, explaining the choice she needed to make and her uncertainty as to how to proceed. She did reserve the details, the meetings underneath the tree, the private moments between her and Sherlock, to herself.
Ms. Hudson sat across from Joan and listened. If there was one thing she understood it was the quagmire that relationships between complicated people could become.
"Truth be told, I've seen this coming." She slowly turned her gaze to the curtained window, considering her words before continuing, "If you want advice as to what is the wrong or right thing to do, well, I can't give you that," she sighed. "It's not that simple." She took a sip of her tea and looked at the normally placid Joan sitting on the sofa, her body twisted like a pretzel, legs crossed at the ankles and knees, arms folded tightly in front of her as she leaned forward. Ms. Hudson was not a detective but she knew exactly what she was looking at. She had been there on more than one occasion.
"Joan, you already know what your answer is. You are holding yourself ba ..."
Ms. Hudson's phone rang, she looked at the screen and pursed her lips. "Do you mind if I get this?" she asked. Joan nodded her on to answer the call.
Sherlock was on the other end. "Ms. Hudson, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had time this afternoon for a brief chat?"
She smiled as she answered, "Well, at the moment I'm having tea with a friend, but if you want I can call you back when we're through?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Watson." It was more a statement from him than a question to be answered.
"Yes, that's right." She replied.
"Is she alright?" he asked trying unsuccessfully to keep emotion out of his voice.
"Yes. Just fine." She answered trying to reassure him with her tone. "I'll call you back later." A soft thank you was his reply and he hung up.
Ms. Hudson turned her attention back to Joan whose body language had loosened up a bit. "Sherlock," Joan said with a tiny smile, again more of a statement than a question.
Ms. Hudson beamed at her. "What am I going to do with the two of you? Do you know what I would give to find a relationship like you two have, do you both understand how special it is?"
"Exactly," said Joan, her eyes glistened, "I don't want to ruin this. I don't want to lose this."
She gave Joan a sympathetic look and sighed. "Call me an in incurable romantic but you two are soul mates, if such a thing truly exists. No matter what you choose to do or not do, you will always be in each others lives. I'm not saying it will be easy either way, but the working to stay together is what makes relationships worthwhile."
By the time their chat ended, Joan was sitting back on the sofa and feeling much more relaxed. Ms. Hudson regaled her with stories of her alliances with men in need of muses that had Joan laughing and shaking her head in disbelief.
"I don't know why anyone would seek my counsel when it comes to love," she sighed, "I have failed so much, but I suppose, I'm also not afraid to keep trying."
Ms. Hudson walked Joan to the door and left her with these words, "Trust yourself Joan. Don't let fear keep you from living."
Joan walked out into the mid-afternoon sunshine and started walking. Surrounded by the noise of traffic and the push of people jostling by her, her answer, unbidden, presented itself to her ...
-:- -:- -:-
Bell was unsuccessfully trying to talk to Sherlock about the case they closed a few days ago. Sherlock sat on the file room floor, in the middle of a smaller version of the data nests he made for himself at home. Bell leaned on the room's table as he talked. 'At least his prattling provides a distraction' thought Sherlock.
His phone which lay on the table by Bell chimed. Sherlock jumped. Marcus picked up the phone to pass down to Sherlock.
"It's from Joan. Huh, all it says is "we are."
Sherlock was on his feet taking the phone from Bell's hand before his words were finished. He stared at the message with open mouthed awe.
"Holmes, ... Holmes! Is everything okay?" Bell couldn't get a response from him.
Sherlock finally turned to Bell, "Detective, could I trouble you to put away these files. There's something I need to attend to right away."
Bell normally would have refused but whatever had just happened involved Joan and he acquiesced to the request for her sake. "Sure. Is everything okay?" he asked. Sherlock nodded yes and made his way quickly out of the room.
Walking out of the station, Sherlock placed a call. "Alfredoooo! Yes! As we discussed ... Do you think I could borrow it today? If I drop by in about half an hour? Excellent. Thank you!"
Sherlock took out his trusty whistle and hailed a cab.