Better With You Watson

My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am a consulting detective for the New York Police Department, a recovering cocaine addict, and the bane of my fathers existence. I have a companion, a friend, a protege in Joan Watson. I am better with her. Mun & Muse are 18+. NSFW sometimes. Tracking: iambetterwithyouwatson

[betterwithyouwatson]

OOC

Well, it's been a year. I've been plagued by two jobs, sleepless nights, and public commuting. But at last, I have returned. Ready for action. Slowly. Anyway, I'll be posting an open here sometime tonight. I'll need to work my way back into the groove of things. Anyway, see you tonight!

[betterwithyouwatson]

Midnight Stroll || OPEN

[tryandundertsandmeidareyou-deac]

*Kat walked out of the hotel room and she gave a quick wave to Mrs Hudson as she walked past the window, both of them had gone on a vacation. it had been Mycroft’s idea but her father had made her go so she brought Mrs Hudson with her. she needed a case but she had a feeling that she wasn’t going to find one here. She sighed and she saw a man sitting on a park bench, it was against her better judgement that she should go and ask what was wrong but she did it anyway* You alright?

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock glanced up at the girl speaking to him, the never-ending judgments ceasing to plague him when he processed the fact that she was speaking to him. "Perfect," He replied crisply, lying through his teeth. The paranoia plagued him that this could be another one Irene's operatives, another attempt to make him suffer. More likely than not, she merely noticed his distress and simply wanted to help. "And yourself?" He inquired to be polite, listening for her response.

[betterwithyouwatson]

Midnight Stroll || OPEN

It was three o'clock in the morning, and once again sleep evaded him. It was difficult for him to process what had happened. Irene being Moriarty had shaken him deeply, hurt him beyond words, had shaken the very core of him. He didn't know who he could trust anymore apart from Watson - everyone he passed on the street was a potential assassin, an enemy. The walls of his home made him feel like a rat in a cage - and the streets of the city, as though he were a rat in a maze. He sat down on a bench in the park, and numbly thought of everything that had gone wrong - and the few things that had gone right. Loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted - needed - for someone to prove to him that Watson was not the only good person in the world.

[betterwithyouwatson]

//EEk

I'm so sorry guys - life took a major overhaul; I'm working two jobs now and they are /killing/ me. Anyway, I'm back now that my schedule has evened out. If you would like to continue to RP with me, please send me an ask and we'll work something out - either continue our rp, or start a new one. Thanks!

[betterwithyouwatson]

Bored || Open

[thatneighborhoodkid]

Lisa gave Sherlock and the bomb as wide a berth as she could manage, which wasn’t very much, considering the narrow steps, on her way into the brownstone. Though she couldn’t hear exactly what Captain Gregson was saying, she could still hear the exasperation in his voice, and suppressed a smile at Sherlock’s nonchalance in replying.

Inside, Sherlock’s home reflected his personality almost perfectly. The library was packed from floor to ceiling with books about nearly every topic she could think of. There were sheets of paper strewn about, and along one of the walls was a rack full of all different kinds of locks. Through one door way, Lisa could see the kitchen, where a pile of dishes sat on the counter, waiting to be done, and a yellow shirt was draped on the back of a chair.

The toolbox Sherlock had asked for was exactly where he had said it would be. There seemed to be some method to his madness, at least. Lisa grabbed it and took it out to him. A few last details about the house caught her eye on her way out, a soft-looking grey shawl hanging on the coat rack by the door and a pair of cute, brown booties sitting underneath them that didn’t really seem Sherlock’s style.

Lisa set the toolbox beside Sherlock, who was still talking to Captain Gregson on the phone. He glanced up at her as she did so, and for some reason, she felt like he’d been talking about her.

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock glanced up at the girl as she presented him with the toolbox. He flashed her a winning smile and mouthed 'thank you,' as Gregson questioned him on the phone. "A local girl, her name is... Lisa, I believe. She saw the package delivered and alerted me to its presence."

"A girl? A kid?" Captain Gregsons voice boomed sharply over the telephone, disbelief and irritation ringing in his voice. "Holmes, are you insane? You brought a kid into this?" He barked, angry.

"She involved herself, to be fair Captain, and she isn't precisely a child - under eighteen, yes, but not a child. She's sixteen at least." He affirmed, shrugging off the scolding. He dug in his toolbox with his free hand and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before peering up at the girl. "Sorry, can you hold the phone again for a moment? This is going to require two hands," He explained as he passed her the phone without ceremony, ignoring Gregons protests.

"Lisa, is it?" He asked, knowing that Holmes could be scatter brained at times and need to know the name for the paperwork he was filling out. "Can you tell me what you saw when the package was delivered? And, do me a favor before you answer any of this, and get away from the idiot disassembling the bomb in the street." He said tersely, hoping that Holmes could still hear him.

Sherlock merely grunted at the slight, and returned to carefully slipping the razor like edges of the clippers around the wires to the correct one.

[a-new-code-deactivated20180111]

Lelouch leaned back in his chair smiling as another defeated opponent walked away and he counted his money before pocketing it. Gambling at chess was the easiest way for him to get money, no one could compete with him when it came to chess no matter where he was. He lazily repositioned the pieces on the board into their starting positions while he awaited his next opponent.

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock walked quickly, his hands in his pockets to shield them from the cold winter winds. There was no snow, yet, but fall was definitely waning. He entered the park and observed the chess tables for a moment - oft times, he came here to recruit new members of his network. Today, however, he came to decompress. Seeing an empty seat across from a young man at a chess board, he approached the side of the table. "Mind if I join you?" He asked, rocking back and forth on his heels.

[betterwithyouwatson]

We Have a Guest || Open

[ordinarymollyhooper-blog]

Molly nodded softly and smiled, ”Smart, very smart indeed. I am often seen as weak willed, yes, but, deep down, I suppose I know better.” She sipped her tea and sighed with content, ”Mmm, it’s almost like being back home, the tea, I mean. It’s bloody awful from coffee shops around here.”

”That’ll be nice, I’ve learnt a lot of skills from my last employer, it’ll be nice to see if you have anything else to add to that. I did help quite heavily with the last case I dealt with in England, but other than that my employer kept it all between him and his assistant. He was quite a lot like you, actually…it’s very odd, the similarities…” She looked back to him and grinned, ”though I must say you’re much kinder than him.” She looked at her tea as she picked it up, ”I’m staying in a little flat beside the hospital. It isn’t much but it’s-” she paused, hesitating as she was about to say home. ”But it’s good.”

”It’s close. Far too close. I’d prefer to have a nice walk, see more of the city. But it’ll do.” She leaned forward too, with a smile, she didn’t feel under scrutiny as she did with the curly-haired detecting consultant, this was quite different, and she was intrigued to see how he worked. She nodded with a little smile, ”Correct. Unfortunately, I had pretty much no choice but come here, Mycroft was rather instant on me…not being killed. Which is nice of him, I suppose. Though I like my job. I mean, I did back in England, I’ve not started yet here. I hope I like it….I’m running from someone extremely dangerous, yes, though I’m not much safer here,” she sighed, the pain in her shoulder making her wince a little as she moved it. ”But, that’s not the fun part for me…what gave it all away?”

[betterwithyouwatson]

"There are a few coffee shops around that are not quite so terrible, but they are indeed few and far between," He said, sipping his own. "Watson prepares tea packets on Sundays, primarily using medicinal Chinese herbs and recipes, but she has, on occasion, prepared other blends as well." He commented lightly, accepting her compliment and giving his partner due credit.

"Kindness is a matter of opinion, Miss Hooper. I see the truth, hard facts, and present them as I see them in the context that they are given. Perhaps it is not that I am kinder than your former employer, but rather that I allow context to alter my perception where he did not." He said, knowing full well that he could be cruel at times as well. With Watson present in his life, he had become more easy-going, his moods more stable. Even when he hadn't been willing to learn, she had taught him things about how to treat people. "Mycroft," He said aloud, softly. He knew the name. Mycroft Holmes, his second cousin, occupied a minor position in the British government. "Mycroft Holmes?" He questioned her, curious.

He answered her question with no hesitation. "People who run away from things, like a bad marriage or their family, and run to New York, do it in a period of self-discovery. Your admiration of my home - more than simple admiration, as evidenced by the multiple comments and slight hint of longing - indicated that your own lodgings are not to your taste. Had you been running from something mundane, and going through a period of reinvention or discovery, everything about your lodgings and location would be to your taste. Now, because you came all the way to New York as opposed to simply moving to a different city, the situation becomes a little more clear - you are running from someone very dangerous, someone very powerful. Your clothes and perfume are tasteful, but inexpensive - they do not reflect that would be required for you to move to a different country, by yourself, and start a new life. Thus, you have a powerful friend - Mycroft." He ran through his deductions aloud, being careful about dropping names.

[betterwithyouwatson]

Bored || Open

[consultantjoanwatson]

“Still,” Joan began. “I’m not about to set aside the subject of Claire so easily.” 

She took a few bites of her dinner before scooting the boxes of food to the side, accommodating more space for Claire’s files on the table. She scattered them and stood up from her seat, peering down at the reports and pictures. She eyed them first in different angles before shuffling their order. Nothing…yet. Nothing to explain the feeling that stirred within her upon scanning Claire’s picture.

“When’s the last time any investigators spoke to her? Or her parents?” She asked, running a finger down the girl’s portrait. The police force had its tendencies to shelve an identity once they’ve zeroed in on the most likely suspect — in this case, Mike — and judging from the fact that this was a cold case, she hardly expected any fresh evidence, much less interest in Claire.

She scooped up Claire and Mike’s files, tucking them under her arm and spreading out Morgan’s information. Morgan Devereaux. “Morgan,” she mouthed, narrowing her eyes at the text. She and Sherlock had attuned to referring to her by her nickname, Molly. Molly? Joan was hardly an expert in onomastics, and she had yet to receive relevant reading from Sherlock on the subject, but the pair of names registered to her as somewhat…unusual. 

“…Who do you think coined Morgan’s nickname as ‘Molly’, anyway? Claire? Or Mike?” Joan asked, looking over at Sherlock before returning to the papers. Whether or not it was even relevant or of importance didn’t occur to her — it was all a matter of yielding to her instinct and closing in on the details. “I thought ‘Molly’ was a nickname for ‘Mary’ or ‘Margaret’, not ‘Morgan’. At least, in my experience.” 

[betterwithyouwatson]

"The last time Claire was spoken to was just before the case was shoved into the depths of the unsolved pile. There's a transcript of the conversation, um," He paused and turned in a few half circles, attempting to remember where he had set that particular file. It took a few seconds before his brain provided the information he was looking for. "Ah, yes," He said absently as he strode toward one of the piles and rifled through the files until he found the one he was looking for.

He handed her the file and finished off his lo mein, tossing the box in the bin. "Her parents - Claires parents - were never spoken to again after the initial questioning; they told the police quite firmly that they hadn't seen Molly that evening, and hadn't been aware of any plans the girls may have concocted together.

He cocked his head, momentarily puzzled by her fixation on the girls name. "Yes, ordinarily it is a nickname for Margaret or Mary. It could be that, given how difficult a nickname might be to create from 'Morgan', Molly was simply the closest they could come," Sherlock supplied, perusing the information. "Or, as you suggest, perhaps it was not Morgans choice to be called 'Molly'. In these transcripts," Sherlock plucked another file from the pile and set them in front of her. "When the Detectives were questioning Morgans parents, her parents only ever referred to her as Morgan - never 'Molly'."

He showed her the transcripts and grew excited; Watson had, as she always seemed to do, sparked the fire. It was such a small thing, such a minute detail - people changed their names often, adopted new names as ways of 'becoming' their own person, but the people closest to them always knew. While it wouldn't be unusual for a teenager to adopt a new name to get out from under the thumb of their parents, it was unusual for the name to be 'Molly'. Morgan didn't have any nicknames to spawn,  but why wouldn't she have chosen something something more.. exotic, something to make herself stand out? Wasn't that what being a teenager was all about - independence and individuality?

Unless... "She was never meant to standout. Whoever coined this nickname for her wanted Morgan to fade into the background; they were jealous, and clever, and trusted."

[betterwithyouwatson]

Bored || Open

[thatneighborhoodkid]

Lisa winced when she heard Gregson’s voice on the phone, asking for who she assumed was Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, what sort of a name was that? In any case, consulting detective and apparently disarmer of bombs she was not.

“Um, no,” she said, somewhat embarrassed by how very young she sounded. “This isn’t Sherlock.”

“Who is this? Is Holmes alright?” The note of concern in Gregson’s voice was clear as a bell. He seemed quite protective of him.

“He’s okay! He’s fine! He’s trying to dismantle the bomb right now.” Of course, she only realized how bad those words sounded the moment after they left her mouth.

“What!?”

“No, I mean, he really is okay! He’s… um…”

She looked to Sherlock for direction, but his focus was clearly on the bomb, as it probably should be. Sirens rose up from somewhere in the city, slowly approaching, but still a good distance away. They’d been lucky so far that none of the neighbors had realized yet what sort of danger they were in, but with the wailing sirens coming closer, Lisa knew this block would soon become a scene of chaos.

“Never mind,” Gregson said. “Can I just talk to Holmes, please?”

“Not really. I mean, he has a bomb sitting in his lap right now… but I guess I can try getting him away from it.”

She waited for a moment when both Sherlock’s hands were away from the box, to minimize the chances of something going wrong if he was surprised by her voice, then cleared her throat and held up the phone.

“Your boss wants to talk to you, I think.”

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, his mind still picking apart his lengthy list of enemies and attempting to decipher who exactly wanted him dead this time - and to be so sloppy as to put a bomb on his doorstep. He dimly realized that the girl was talking to him, was holding on the phone out to him as he took his hands off the parcel. He accepted the phone with a quiet 'Thank you,' and placed it snugly between his ear and his shoulder.

"Captain Gregson," He greeted once he was comfortable. He tilted his chin up and met the girls curious stare. "Could you please get my toolbox from inside the house? First floor, take a right; it's in the library, sitting by the fireplace." He requested, his attention going back to the bomb.

"What the hell is going on?" Gregson asked tersely, and Sherlock could almost hear the tick in his jaw.

"Someone - one of my innumerable enemies - has left a bomb on my doorstep. Homemade, not the first the bomber as made; it has an unusual odor, a sweet scent that I haven't been able to place yet."

"And you decide to take it apart? Christ, Holmes, this isn't how things are done. You receive a suspicious package, you call the police," Gregson scolded, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"I did call the police - well, I gave my phone for someone to call the police. I couldn't be sure that the bomb wasn't time sensitive without taking it apart."

"And who exactly did you give the phone to, by the way?" He asked, voicing his displeasure that Holmes had dragged someone else into this mess.

[betterwithyouwatson]

We Have a Guest || Open

[ordinarymollyhooper-blog]

”Oh, you know me far too well,” Molly chuckled as he mentioned unrequited love. ”Engaging isn’t a compliment I get….I tend to keep my head down and stay out of trouble, though it never seems to work…” He was right on all accounts  most so the insecurity, not helped by the people in her life and her extremely unsuccessful love life.

”I think so too, you seem perfectly lovely, and you enjoy what you do, so I don’t think we’ll have any problems,” she smiled sweetly. ”And anything I can do to help, usually I’m just used to go and fetch coffees…rather a waste of a Doctorate, I always thought.” She nodded as she listened and looked around, it was certainly nicer than where she was staying, though she could hardly complain, Mycroft had found her a place as soon as he could, and she as hardly expecting much. It had heat and running water, so that was quite enough for her. After Moriarty had been found alive, he was attempting to ‘get rid of’ those who knew his true identity, one of those people being Molly, so until it was safe for her to return, here she was.

”She helps you a lot, Dr. Watson?”

A slight slip up. She had guessed that Joan was a Doctor, after the similarities from back home, however Sherlock hadn’t said anything of the sort, and he would be able to tell, perhaps it would go unnoticed. That might be tricky to explain. She was used to deductions, of course, though she must say, his were much kinder than she was used to. Less insulting, at least. She frowned a little at his answer, instantly feeling bad for him, but nodding, ”As did I. Though, that’s not the entire reason…I’m curious to see if you could figure it out though.”

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock shook his head at her comment. "I see facts, Miss Hooper. I can see aspects of a persons life on their clothes, in their word choice, on their facial expressions. I... deduce facts, tease them out of ordinary things that most people overlook. But does that mean I know you Miss Hooper, let alone know you well? Facts are useful pieces of knowledge, but without context they can be... quite useless. You say you try to keep your head down and stay out of trouble - as if you get drawn into trouble quite often. Some would suggest that perhaps, subconsciously, you seek it out because you are not the weak-willed person you pretend to be," Sherlock said softly, attempting to draw her out further. "But only you could really know."

"Fetching coffee is, indeed, a waste of a Doctorate; It won't happen with me, I assure you. I fully intend to utilize your skills until they are no longer available to me - and while I have no doubt that you could make an excellent cup of coffee, that will doubtless not be one of the skills I intend for you to hone." He stood and poured himself another cup of water, getting a fresh tea bag and pushing it to the bottom to let it steep. He noticed her admiring the architecture and wondered if there wasn't something more than genuine appreciation in her curious stare. "So, where are you staying, if I may ask?" He asked idly, and raised the teapot questioningly.

"Watson - Doctor Watson, as you quite correctly assumed - recently moved in, having let go of an apartment near the hospital where she was resident for a time. Having her live here is infinitely more convenient, as I'm sure you can imagine. I'm curious, did you do the same - choose a residence close to your work?" He took her challenge to figure out why she was in New York in stride. He leaned closer, his sharp mind attempting to pull information that wasn't available to him. He leaned back after a moment and looked at her consideringly. "It's not to your taste, the place where you live - I can see that - and likely it's because... you didn't choose it. Your entire situation - what little I know of it - is not by your own doing. New York, your residence, perhaps even your current job - none of them were your choice. You're running from someone who has chased you across an ocean, into another world, and someone - someone else, a person with power at the snap of their fingers - is helping to hide you." 

[thedeductionist]

[betterwithyouwatson]

Bored || Open

[thatneighborhoodkid]

Lisa took note of all the observations the man - Sherlock, was it? - had made about the package. A normal person would pick it up by putting one hand on either side, right over the bulges, triggering the explosion. Clearly not this man though.

“I guess that all makes sense,” she said slowly. Except for the fruity smell. This wasn’t exactly a great time to ask questions though.

Her finger, still poised over the ‘send’ button the man’s phone, pressed down, and she put the phone to her ear, walking across the street to where she’d left her bike. Her helmet, always handy, but rarely used, dangled from the handlebars, and she picked it up, strapped it on, and walked back across the street, taking partial shelter behind a car that was parked just to the side of Sherlock’s front steps.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” said a calm, female voice into her ear.

Lisa cleared her throat. ”Hi, I’d like to report a possible bomb?”

[betterwithyouwatson]

The emergency responder connected her to the New York Police Department after advising her to keep clear of the questionable package and to standby for police. Gregson received the phone call in his office, every cop in the precinct aware of Sherlock's number in the event that something happened during a case - or anything else, for that matter.

"Holmes," He greeted as he picked up the call. "What's going on?" He asked, assuming the man had figured something out about the case they were currently working on.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was meticulously peeling back the brown packaging to get to the bomb inside. He took his pocketknife out of his boot and carefully cut the top of the box off, avoiding the bulging pressure triggers on the sides. He glanced up at the girl, seeing her taking cover behind a car, her helmet strapped on her head; he smiled slightly, internally complimenting her intelligence. Of course, that wasn't to say that the car she was hiding behind would necessarily protect her - but the reasoning was there. He could see that she was still on the phone, assumed that it was taking a few minutes to get cleared to Gregon's phone.

The box of the lid came off gently and it took a moment for Sherlock to appraise the threat; a homemade bomb, based on the ingredients and cheap parts, but not the first the person had made. A serial bomber? He wracked his brain; he didn't think he'd pissed off a serial bomber lately, though he might have done the employer of one.

[hollinaygrainger-blog]

[betterwithyouwatson]

We Have a Guest || Open

[ordinarymollyhooper-blog]

”Well, certainly not in comparison to others I have worked with.” Molly smiled, taking a seat, and looking over the teas. She picked one out and put the teabag in her mug, letting it sit in the water. Nodding, Molly replied, ”I agree, I know quite a few educated people who are less than intelligent. And that is putting it kindly.”

”Okay, understood,” she smiled kindly, ”Well, I look forward to working with you, I think it will be a pleasant change. And I am very interested to see what you’re working on.” She looked around and nodded, ”Very, it must have been expensive. And that’s quite alright, I know how it is. My flat is covered in papers and work files,” she laughed warmly. ”How is it going? The case I mean, are you close to figuring it out?”

She tilted her head slightly as she listened to his deduction and nodded, ”Well, you’re quite right, obviously, I did run away to here. For a little while, at least. I’m hoping to go back to London at some point.” She moved away from the topic quickly, turning the conversation to him, ”You ran here? May I ask why?”

[betterwithyouwatson]

He raised an eyebrow at her assessment of his pride in comparison to others she had met. "'Others you've worked with'," He parroted, observing her smile. "A romantic attachment, though... unrequited," He appraised, frowning slightly. "Shame. I find you quite engaging," He complimented, meaning it wholeheartedly. She was a curious mix of intelligence and staggering insecurity, and beauty. A regular receptor of abuse, then, though not physical.

"Yes, I expect that working with you will be quite enjoyable." Sherlock agreed, smiling. "You seem to be keen, as I am, and curious, which is a great benefit to me. Your predecessor allowed me to work but was not interested in the progression of forensic science; I believe your participation may speed along the process," He said sincerely, relishing the thought of someone who would aide him in his experiments - Watson provided him with company, but made her distaste for his experiments quite clear. "The property belongs to my father, and likely would have been leveled if I hadn't chosen to reside here. The case is coming along, slowly but surely; I believe it will be solved by this evening, as soon as Watson is available to proceed in our field work,"

She took his deduction in stride, as though she was used to being seen through; it was curious, seeing someone who believed themselves to be transparent. And shameful. Whoever had inflicted this upon her was... clearly unconcerned with her well-being. He stiffened slightly at her question; he considered brushing it off, giving her the same answer he gave everyone who asked. But he felt... sympathetic, and simply settled for saying "I lost someone very dear to me,"

[betterwithyouwatson]

Bored || Open

[consultantjoanwatson]

Joan followed his voice to the kitchen. She set up the food and settled herself at the table, eating as she listened to the details. Cold cases were great fodder for the skills, for exercising the deductive muscle, particularly due to the fact that they’ve gathered dust — being stripped from the privilege of working on the field with tangible evidence required a sharper eye. Joan liked having the concrete facts in her hands, she liked the way it tethered the brain to her fingertips. She set aside her food for a moment, leafing through the case files on the floor.

“What do the case files have on Claire, if anything?” she asked. It was odd, to say the least, that Claire allegedly remained on the sidelines during her friend’s demise. But the ‘silent best friend’ character — possibly, the silent accomplice — was nothing new to her. Her thoughts momentarily wandered to days of her own youth, but she shelved them aside, her eyes darting over the reports. “If there’s something I definitely remember about high school, it’s that lying isn’t exactly difficult. Especially if authority’s breathing down your neck. Especially if it’s for a best friend.”

Joan left her seat and knelt aside the files, eyeing the pictures of Claire, Molly, and Mike. The case reports centered on Mike as being the suspect — which she did not doubt — but Joan found it hard to ignore the unpleasant feeling in her gut as she looked at Claire’s picture. So unsettling was the feeling that Joan almost didn’t hear Sherlock ask her about her appointment; 

“Nothing new,” she muttered without looking at him. She gathered the files that mentioned Claire and rose back to her chair, taking a bite of their dinner as she pored over them. 

[betterwithyouwatson]

Sherlock picked through his lo-mein, using his fork to spear stray pieces of broccoli. He ate as he paced the floor, watching Joan absorb the details of the case. He could see the neurons firing in her brain, her dark eyes scanning the material rapidly, attempting to make connections and strengthen them with facts. He admired her tenacity, the eagerness with which she dove into the case. He appraised her more carefully, noting how she was less than forthcoming with information of her ongoing therapy. Likely, it had been less than productive for her; it didn't surprise him. He firmly believed that Joan was past the point of needing therapy.

"Yes," He said softly, commenting on her theory about Claire. "Yes, quite right, Watson. Best-friends, especially those that have known each other for so long, will often do anything for one another. It is not an uncommon circumstance. But I don't believe that Claire was aware of any plans Molly had. Molly was a smart girl, Watson, and would have utilized Claire to construct an alibi for her - either Molly didn't trust Claire, or there was no plan."

He set his box of Chinese aside and chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes boring into the paperwork as he paced. He slows and stops, however, when he sees Joan frown slightly, her eyes lingering on Claire's photograph. "I can see the wheels turning in your mind, Watson," He said, his eyes lighting up. "You see something. What is it?" He asked as he rocked back on his heels, partially bouncing. A pair of fresh eyes was often all that was needed to crack a case, to see something that the other party had already overlooked.

[missqueenscully]

[dochollidayed]

/knocks down the door into your house

/runs into your room

/takes out a megaphone

YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT BUT YOU AIN’T YOU GOT NOTHIN’ ON MOTHERFUCKING JOAN WATSON