Jo's hands were shaking so badly as she tried to get dressed that it took her nearly five minutes to do up all of her buttons. Because she was one of very few women involved in her field, she had been asked to wear the men's uniform ever since leaving basic training. She had never particularly liked the dress uniform - the trousers were shapeless and uncomfortable, the waistcoat was constricting, and the jacket certainly hadn't been designed to accommodate breasts - and it felt even worse now; the added weight of her commendations on her chest was suffocating. When she was finally dressed she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror on the back of her door and bit back a sigh, straitening her spine and squaring her shoulders until she was the picture of military posture. She had pulled her shoulder length blond hair into a tight bun situated low enough so as not to interfere with her hat (she remembered when she had been forced to shave it all off, but quickly forced those memories away), her uniform was all straight, crisp lines and full colors, and her shoes had been fastidiously shined until she could practically see her own reflection in them. She looked like the picture perfect soldier; it was something that she had never wanted to see again. After taking a few more moments to make a futile attempt to calm her nerves, she picked up her hat and the long black woolen trench coat that she never wore and went downstairs.
Sherlock was already in the sitting room, looking impeccable in his tux, which didn't surprise Jo in the slightest. He was fiddling with his bow tie in the mirror in a way that would have belied nervousness in anyone else, but probably just meant that the detective was annoyed at having to actually wear a tie. She draped her coat over the back of her chair and bit back yet another sigh; there were not enough words in the English language to express how much she didn't want to do this, but at the same time she knew that she would go through with it because it was what Sherlock needed. That knowledge, of course, brought up the question of when exactly had she started caring so much about what Sherlock needed, but that, she decided resolutely, was a question for another day, or possibly never. Sherlock stopped fidgeting with his tie and turned to face her, freezing immediately. His eyes raked up at down, taking in ever little detail. Jo came to attention under his scrutiny and schooled her expression into one of practiced, deliberate blankness.
Finally Sherlock's eyes rested on her face and he cleared his throat. "You look very, um, nice. That is, the uniform looks good on you."
Jo felt her cheeks begin to warm but she ruthlessly chased the sensation away and instead gave a pathetic little half smile. "Thank you, but there's no need to try and spare my feelings. This thing was never designed to be particularly flattering."
"I wasn't trying to spare your feelings," he answered almost too quickly. "I just thought you should know that you look nice." This time Jo did blush.
"Um, you too," she offered awkwardly. "I mean, you look nice too. I like your tie." She mentally kicked herself for lamely complimenting the man's tie, but her friend broke out into a genuine smile.
"Thank you; I hate the bloody things, but they do look nice." Almost as an afterthought he added. "Mrs. Hudson did it for me; I've never been able to figure them out." As soon as the words left his lips he ducking his head sheepishly, obviously embarrassed that he, as a grown man, didn't know how to tie his own tie, and even more embarrassed by the fact that he had just admitted it out loud.
She smiled again and it was slightly less miserable. "Well I think it looks nice."
He cleared his throat again and clenched his fist to avoid pulling at the fabric again. "I think we should be going now; we don't want to be late. I have the invitation; is there anything else we'll need?" Jo shook her head and shrugged into her coat before placing her hat firmly on her head. Sherlock nodded curtly and led the way downstairs to the waiting cab. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson was out for the evening, so they didn't have to stop and chat.
The event was at the Dukes Hotel in downtown London, and the cab ride there was completely silent. Sherlock seemed to recognize that his friend didn't want to speak and kept his mouth shut, even though he did keep watching her out of the corner of his eye. For her part, Jo spent the entire ride staring out of the window and trying to keep her breathing normal and even. If she had been paying more attention she would have noticed the silence and thought it awkward, but as it was she was too preoccupied to notice and it remained unbroken. They arrived at the hotel and Jo had to present both the invitation and her military id before they were allowed in. They relinquished their coats and Jo's hat to the coat check before making their way to the banquet hall. There was still about half an hour before dinner, and everyone was supposed to be mingling. Sherlock found mingling hateful at the best of times and it was even worse without Jo's easy company and running commentary about the other guests. Jo was obviously uncomfortable and she made no effort to interact with the other guests or Sherlock; Sherlock thought that if her back got any straighter she was going to break something. They had been there for about ten minutes when a man, a general if Sherlock's memory of which decorations corresponded to which rank proved correct, came up to them with a smile. Jo saluted, the motion more natural than the detective had ever imagined possible, but she waited until the salute was returned before slightly relaxing her posture into something still military but more comfortable looking.
"Josephine Watson," he opened with a grin, "I can honestly say that I never thought I would see the day when you voluntarily came to one of these things."
Jo returned his smile with a small chuckle. "Well that certainly makes two of us. Seriously though, thank you for helping me out with this."
He waived her off. "Don't mention it; it was my pleasure. Although I would be lying if I said I wasn't going to take this opportunity to try and convince you to reenlist. I can even offer you a promotion. You could be a Colonel within a year and a half." Sherlock's heart stuttered in his chest at the thought of Jo leaving Baker Street in order to return to the army. Thankfully his panic didn't last very long because Jo quickly rolled her eyes.
"I'm perfectly happy where I am, thanks." The way she said it sounded like this wasn't the first time they had had this particular conversation.
The general laughed. "Ah, well, I suppose I'll have to settle for you introducing me to your date." Sherlock prepared himself for the inevitable violent refusal of the term date, but it never came. Instead Jo smiled and put her hand on his arm and pulled him into the conversation.
"How rude of me; I should have introduced you two sooner," she said, smiling that polite, friendly smile that seemed to make people trust her almost instantly. "General Leads, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes."
The two men shook hands and the general grinned. "It certainly is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes. I've known Watson for almost ten years now and this is the first time that I've met anyone she knows out side of the service."
"The pleasure is all mine," Sherlock replied with a smile that Jo thought looked almost sincere. "This is the first time Jo has introduced me to anyone she knew in the army."
Leads laughed. "That doesn't surprise me. Watson has always had a remarkable aptitude for compartmentalizing her life; it's one of the things that makes her one of the best scientists I've ever seen." There was a slight pause where Jo was simultaneously blushing and trying to pretend that she wasn't, and then Leads sighed. "Well, I should be going now. I brought the wife with me, and I don't think that anyone wants a repeat of that particular introduction. Stay in touch Watson; just because you've been discharged doesn't mean you get to drop of the face of the planet."
"Of course," Jo answered, smiling. "I'll be sure to stay in touch."
"Scientist?" Sherlock asked after the other man had left, a frown creasing his brow. "I thought you were a doctor."
Jo rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm a doctor. But the best doctors are also scientists; that's how you know you're doing your job well."
"And your aversion to the general's wife?" He asked, his voice almost teasing.
She shrugged. "I met Mrs. Leads at one of these things about six years ago. She was convinced that I was sleeping with her husband and after a few stiff drinks tried to pull my hair out. It was great fun all around." He hummed and they fell silent again, both of them scanning the room. A few minutes later Jo felt someone touch her waist; she stiffened and prepared to defend herself, but she relaxed when she heard a low voice whisper in her ear.
"Imagine seeing you here, Captain." She could hear the smile in his voice and couldn't help but grin in return. Sherlock had tensed when the stranger arrived, but when Sherlock saw his friend turn and hug the interloper, he decided that the newcomer most likely wasn't too much of a threat.
Jo slapped the man lightly on the shoulder. "Jackson, you bastard; you scared me half to death. Can't you even say hello like a normal person?"
"Normal is boring," Jackson replied, his hands still on Jo's waist.
She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. I didn't even know you were back. You should have called."
Jackson ducked his head. "I got back about a month ago. I know I should of called; I just didn't know how you were doing. I didn't want to make things worse for you. How are you doing?"
"Good," Jo answered with a smile. "I'm doing very good."
He grinned. "I'm glad. Now, tell me about this fine young man on your arm." Jo took hold of Sherlock's elbow and pulled him closer.
"Jackson Swift, this is my partner Sherlock Holmes," she said, sounding ridiculously happy and almost proud of herself.
His eyebrows shot up. "Partners? Really?" He looked Sherlock up and down. "I can see that. He's a bit skinny, but I'll bet he keeps you plenty warm at night." Sherlock turned beet red but Jo just laughed.
"Oh God," she said, trying to contain herself. "I wish it were that simple. Sherlock and I aren't shagging, Jack. We're friends, flatmates, colleagues, and pretty much everything else, but we're not shagging. Hence, partner not boyfriend." By the time she finished speaking, her tone had shifted from laughing to someone explaining something to a student.
"Right, sorry," Jack said, looking a bit sheepish. "I didn't mean to offend."
"Yeah right," she said, rolling her eyes. "You always mean to offend me. Now, where's that girl of yours. I've been dying to meet her for ages. Or are you going to tell me that you just decided not to bring her; because then I'd have to seriously revisit the theory that she doesn't actually exist."
"No, she's here," he said, sounding slightly desperate. "She just stepped out for a moment; she should be back any minute now." Jo hummed, pretending to be skeptical. Sherlock had never seen Jo show this side of herself with anyone other than him, and he wasn't entirely sure of how he felt about seeing the easy camaraderie she obviously shared with Jackson; part of him was happy to see her loosening up, but the other part was ridiculously jealous that anybody else got to see it.
Moments later Jackson's entire face lit up. "Oh look, there she is." He waived at someone and soon the trio was joined by a tall beautiful red head.
Jackson was grinning from ear to ear as he introduced them. "Isabella, this is my old captain Jo Watson, and her partner Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment and tried to look friendly, if only for Jo's sake.
Jo smiled wide and shook the woman's proffered hand. "It's so nice to meet you; Jack here wouldn't shut up about you. I swear I thought about shooting him a couple of times just to get him to shut up."
Isabella laughed. "That sounds like Jack. I've heard a bit about you too. The magnificent Three Continents Watson." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, but she was still smiling. "To be honest, I might be a bit jealous if I didn't know just how devoted my Jack is." Jo just chuckled at that, not offering an answer. Jackson intervened, obviously trying to avoid the women swapping any embarrassing stories about him.
"Well Jo," he said, still smiling, "I think we'll stop bothering you and leave you and your parter to keep doing whatever it is you were doing."
"Alright," she answered cheerfully. "I'll see you around. Keep in touch." The last bit almost sounded like an order, and from what Sherlock knew of Jo (which was actually quite a lot) that is exactly what it was. Jackson seemed to know it too.
"I promise," he whispered as he kissed her cheek goodbye before linking arms with his girlfriend and walking away. Jo seemed to deflate once they were gone, but she quickly rallied and snapped back into her uncomfortably military posture. Wanting to make her feel better, Sherlock opted to start a conversation.
"It's surprising that you and Jackson get along so well," he said, sounding mildly interested, "considering that you're both such strong Alphas." He had half expected her to argue that she couldn't be an Alpha because she was human, but the argument never came.
"Why?" She asked, not looking at him. "You're an Alpha and I get on just fine with you."
He nodded, conceding the point. "Yes, but I'm queer."
She sighed. "And what makes you think that Jack isn't?"
"It's obvious," he replied, rolling his eyes. "His body language is too domineering for him to be queer."
"Don't be ridiculous," Jo snapped, her voice harsher than Sherlock had ever heard it. "That's complete and utter bullshit, and I expect you to keep such abhorrently judgmental stereotypes to yourself in the future!" Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, completely shocked by the vehemence of Jo's reply. Of course he had known that she was an Alpha - it was completely obvious, especially in the way she interacted with Mycroft - but this was the first time she had really asserted it. Oh she had let it seep through in her "negotiations" with Sherlock about which parts of the kitchen could be used to house experiments/body parts, and she had definitely made it perfectly clear that Mycroft was not going to be allowed to intimidate her, but this was something completely different. This was an Alpha making her dominance completely known and ensuring that she would not be questioned or undermined. If she had actually been able to turn into a wolf Sherlock would have been more than slightly concerned about his throat, but as it was there were other parts of him that were beginning to get very interested in what was going on; thankfully, though, Sherlock's fear, both of Jo and of discovery, outweighed that interest.
He ducked his head in a sign reminiscent of submission and refused to make eye contact. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
She sighed and deflated again, this time leaning towards him so that her arm brushed against his. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have overreacted like that. This whole thing is putting me on edge; I don't like being here."
"I thought you would have wanted to come for sentimental reasons," he said, not thinking about how Jo might react.
Thankfully she just snorted. "I think you'll find that there is very little about the army that I am sentimental about." Sherlock hummed and let the conversation drop, not sure what else he could say without offending Jo.
Finally the social hour was over and the pair began to make their way to the adjoining dining room. Unfortunately their path was quickly blocked by another RAMC officer. Sherlock with his admittedly limited knowledge of the military couldn't identify his rank, but he knew that it was high while still being less than a general. He was single, obviously human, in his mid to late fifties, and had recently gained weight, judging by how tight his uniform fit. His hair had gone all gray and while Sherlock doubted that the man had ever been particularly attractive, aging certainly hadn't helped. When he stepped in front of them Jo stopped immediately, her body becoming tense and rigid. Sherlock felt her begin to reach for his hand, but she quickly aborted the motion and clenched her hands into fists.
The man spoke first, sneering at Jo and ignoring Sherlock. "Well, well, well, if it isn't little Miss Watson." Sherlock honestly expected Jo to give some biting retort, but when she remained silent he decided that he couldn't let blatant disrespect slide.
"That's Doctor Watson," he practically growled. "You would do well to remember it."
The man just laughed, his eyes cold and harsh. "Oh Miss Watson, you've got a new pet, but I think perhaps your dog needs a muzzle. Tell me, do you keep this one on a leash?" Sherlock was mildly surprised by the venom in the man's voice, but it honestly wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. He was, however, stunned by Jo's reaction. She inserted herself in between the two men, her body language dripping with homicidal (or GBH at the very least) intent.
"Watch your mouth McGovern," she hissed, her tone enough to send shivers that he would never admit to down Sherlock's back.
"Oh, protective are we?" McGovern taunted. "Just what do you think you'll do to me if I don't? Because, Miss Watson, I think I'd quite like to teach your mutt to heel."
Jo pressed forward menacingly. "I'll cut out your tongue for starters." Sherlock knew Jo very well, he trusted her morality above anyone else's, and he was more than familiar with threats she made in order to get her point across; he still wasn't able to entirely convince himself that she was bluffing with McGovern.
McGovern just laughed. "Your insubordination is quite astounding; I didn't even get a salute when I stopped you. It's a shame really, you were such a good little soldier."
"I'm not a soldier anymore," she bit out. "And I suggest you get out of my way before I make you." McGovern stared down at her for several long minutes before calmly stepping aside. Jo didn't acknowledge him as she marched swiftly out of the room, Sherlock trailing closely behind her. He wanted to say something to help calm her down or reassure her, like she often (always) did for him, but he didn't know what to do without making things worse, so he just kept silent.
By some miracle (Jo suspected Jack's ever sticky fingers) Jo and Sherlock were seated across from Jackson and Isabella. Jo was stoically silent and Jack seemed to be able to recognize her mood well enough to leave her alone. There was an incredibly dull speech which Jo glared her way through and then dinner was served. After fifteen minutes of small talk, which even Sherlock participated after he (begrudgingly) admitted that Jackson and Isabella weren't completely boring, Jo seemed to shake off her anger and began to cautiously join their conversation. By the time desert was served she and Jackson were taking turns regaling their dates with stories (sometimes interrupting each other in the process) that kept them all in stitches. Sherlock had kept scanning the room, but he hadn't been able to find any sign of their killer; still, he had learned more about Jo in those few hours, and he couldn't bring himself to begrudge anything that managed to give him a better understanding of his flatmate.
Finally there was a lull in the conversation and Jo leaned across the table and blurted out a question. "Jack, how is Liam?" Sherlock recognized the name from several of Jo and Jackson's stories, and although Jo had never mentioned Liam before, he could tell from the way she asked about him that he was very important to her.
Jackson sighed, his eyes crinkling with muted sadness. "He's good, Jo. Promise. Don't you two talk?"
Jo nodded. "Of course we do. We email back and forth and Skype when he gets the chance, but we're both lying through our teeth trying to convince the other that we're doing just fine on our own. Please, tell me how he really is."
He sighed again. "He's sad, and lonely, and he worries about you constantly, but he's not wilting away - I promise." She nodded but didn't look convinced so Jack grabbed her hand across the table and continued speaking. "Hey, you left him stronger than you think. He's still running around like a hyperactive puppy, and he's been fighting with the new head surgeon because he's not you and thus Liam thinks that he's a complete imbecile. He's doing fine, he's keeping out of trouble, and he'll be home before you know it. You don't have to worry about him, Jo; you did good by him, more than good, and he's going to be just fine." Jo sighed and sat back in her seat, looking more dejected than anything else.
"I'll never stop worrying about him," she mumbled, and Sherlock could have sworn that she looked like she was about to cry. Jack fell silent for a moment before launching into another story in an obvious attempt to try and deflect attention away from Jo.
The event was over soon after that and Jo hugged her friend and his girlfriend goodbye and Sherlock shook their hands with a friendly-ish smile. He and Jo left shortly after that, but he had had to take a detour to the men's room, leaving Jo alone to collect their coats. When he returned Jo had been cornered yet again by McGovern. They seemed to be even closer to violence than they had been before, and Sherlock was just about to intervene when Jo shoved McGovern hard and darted past him; McGovern just laughed. She quickly crossed the room to where her friend was standing and threw his coat at him, walking out of the building without looking back. Sherlock caught up to her, falling into step beside her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.
Lestrade, who had been camped out across the street in case they had needed back up, met them on the street corner. "So, how'd it go?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I didn't see him. It was a long shot anyway."
Jo turned to him, her eyes blazing. "A long shot? You put me through my own personal hell for a long shot?" There was a slight pause, but before Sherlock could say anything she started screaming. "What the hell is wrong with you? You stupid, inconsiderate bastard! I mean I always knew that you didn't give a damn about anyone else, but I had hoped that you would at least stop before sending someone into a mental breakdown! God! You fucking bastard!"
"Jo…" he said, reaching out to try and calm her down so that he could explain.
She jerked away from him. "No! Don't you fucking touch me! What gives you the right to treat people like this?"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, hoping that it would placate her long enough for him to explain.
She snorted, obviously disgusted. "Stop! You may think I'm a complete idiot, but I'm not stupid enough to stand here and let you manipulate me."
"I"m not…" he insisted, shaking his head. But she didn't let him finish before turning and walking away.
"Piss off Sherlock," she yelled, her tone making it clear that she was very serious and that it'd be in his best interest not to follow.
Sherlock turned to Lestrade, looking utterly dejected. "I didn't mean to hurt her; I didn't know."
Lestrade sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "I know. You could go after her; I'm sure the case will wait long enough for you to smooth things over with her. Just, you know, be sincere."
He shook his head. "No, it's fine. She doesn't want me to follow. And while she may not be a wolf and is thus incapable of actually ripping my throat out, I really don't want to put that theory to the test."
He chuckled. "You have a good point there. Although I never thought I'd see the day when you didn't want to test a theory."
"I like my throat intact," he replied imperiously. "Now, I'm going to go to your office; you can either come with me or give me your keys."
He sighed. "I'll come; Alice wanted to spend time with the kids anyway." Sherlock nodded and set about hailing a cab.
Sherlock was driving Lestrade crazy. He was so jumpy and fidgety that Greg would have thought he was on something if he hadn't known better. He would have been able to put up with that, however, if they were making any progress whatsoever on the case, but they weren't and the only purpose the detective's restlessness served was to drive the DI up the wall. Finally, after over an hour of Sherlock's maddening twitching, Lestrade decided that enough was enough.
"Sherlock," he said sternly, hoping that the younger man would actually listen to him. "Go home. We both know that you don't want to be here. Go home and talk to Jo." Sherlock looked like he was about to argue, but the fight quickly went out of him and he nodded. He hesitated for a few more moments before leaving without another word. Lestrade sighed with relief before sitting behind his desk and settling in for the night.