118. “I don’t deserve you…” !! I'm so excited to see you write this!
drug addiction/heroin/syringe mention tw
The Talbott referenced is the murder victim in 1x04. He died of a heroin overdose.
Sherlock came back from his meeting sometime near 10pm,after picking up some Thai take away for both him and Watson. He was surprisedto see the library windows dark when he came upon the brownstone, and steppedinside with cautious, soft steps.
The fire was dying in the grate, and he immediately noticedWatson had pulled the red couch closer to it to utilize its warmth. But thatmust’ve been well over an hour ago, judging from the embers barely glowing now.
Rounding the couch, he saw the floor still littered with thecase file she'd begun the night before, papers and photographs spread in anorganized chaos that only he and Watson could decipher. But in this light itwas impossible to tell what conclusions his partner had made.
Setting the take away on a side table, Sherlock steppedcloser to study Watson’s sleeping form. He could only see her forehead and thebridge of her nose, beneath the cascade of her loose dark hair, now tangledbeneath her left hand she’d tucked under her head. She had curled herself inthe fetal position, the chill in the room attesting to the necessity ofconserving heat. The rest of her was covered securely by the duvet. She’d eventucked the duvet underneath her arm and knee that touched the cushions asfurther barrier against the cold. Against his will, his mouth twisted withsympathy.
His eyes were drawn away from her tightly curled form by thevibration and light from Watson’s phone—he silently gave thanks to Watson’spast self for putting it on vibrate, and himself for keeping his own phone on silentfrom the meeting. He’d checked his phone constantly while waiting for theirThai dinner, but now he knew why Watson had been remiss in contacting him aboutthe case.
Watson’s phone was on the floor right in front of her,conveniently face up so Sherlock only had to tilt his head a bit to read thetext that had come in. It was from Marcus.
Found perp @sister’slike u said. Cpt calling it a night. wants u there for intergtn tmrw @8
There was a thumbs up emoji at the end of the laststatement, brown in color to match Marcus’s skin. Sherlock took it to mean “Goodjob” or something of the sort. The detective had never sent him an emoji.
Sherlock crinkled his nose in displeasure, resolving to sendMarcus plenty of emojis the next time texting became necessary between them.Maybe he would include that poop emoji just to annoy him.
Looking away from Watson’s phone just as it went dark again,Sherlock slowly knelt down to look over the contents of the case file Watsonhad put out. That she had fallen asleep with everything still spread in hercomplex mosaic told him she had been waiting for Marcus’s reply before cleaningup for the night.
He took out his own smartphone and turned on the flashlightto see better, careful to keep the beam pointed away from Watson. It only tookhim seconds to discern her train of thought, how she’d come to the conclusionof the murderer’s whereabouts. It would have taken days for the police toconclude what she had in less than twenty-four hours. He knew for a fact shehad slept less than five of those hours, the case having come to them late thenight before, and she the first to be at the scene with Marcus and the Captain.
When she had brought the case back to the brownstone, herhesitancy around him had been immediately evident. It didn’t take long forSherlock to learn why. The murderer was a drug dealer that Sherlock was veryfamiliar with, from his months in New York before rehab, and the murder weaponshad been several syringes containing heroin forcefully inserted into the victim.But unlike the Talbott murder from over four years ago, this case hit too closeto home. Sherlock had attended three meetings since that conversation betweenhim and Watson took place, leaving the case entirely to her and theircolleagues at the precinct.
Turning off the smartphone’s flashlight, Sherlock began toclean up as quietly as he could, moving all the papers into a neat pile. Aftersetting the file aside in the lock room, he came back to build up the fire,seeing Watson still sound asleep.
After the fire began crackling merrily before him, Sherlocksettled back on his heels, and looked again to Watson. She had shifted in hersleep, and now had her torso twisted so her shoulders lay parallel to thecouch, but her knees were still bent to the side. He could barely discern her profile,her head turned mostly away from him, both her hands cast on top of the duvetover her stomach. She still wore her day clothes, her blouse half-unbuttoned,one bra strap now revealed by her movements.
Sherlock debated whether he should try to pull the duvetback up to her chin, but studying the position of her arms decided against it.He didn’t want to risk waking her. Getting to his feet, he went to move pastthe couch to retrieve his dinner and eat alone in the kitchen. But his last glanceat Watson’s profile made him stop next to her, the glance turning into anunintentional focus on the events of the day, and Watson’s role in them.
Before he could analyze his actions, he reached down andallowed his fingers the barest brush against the loose tendrils of hair aroundWatson’s face.
“I don’t deserve you,” he breathed, his lungs suddenlyfeeling tight inside his ribcage, something about the faded freckles on Watson’scheeks and the small wrinkles at the edge of her closed eyes pulling the wordsout of him. His fingers strayed to almost touch her cheek, but then a logsnapped in the fireplace and the moment was broken. Sherlock took his hand away,clenching it in a fist, and continued down to the kitchen.
Approximately four hours later, Joan woke up to a decentsized fire in the grate before her, the case file gone, and an extra blanketneatly folded at her feet. Disoriented, she blindly groped for her phone tocheck the time. 2:28. Then how was the fire—?
Sherlock. Half raising herself on one elbow, Joan lookedaround the dark library, but saw no one. Her mind was still half filled withher recent dreams, and she was confused to feel disappointment rising in herchest that he wasn’t there. He had appeared so close in her dream, she hadexpected him to be standing over her when she opened her eyes.
Shaking her head, Joan looked back at her phone and noticedMarcus’s text. A wide grin spread across her face.
