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Sherlock stood looking at the mock-up of case information that he and Joan were working on. He rocked back on his heels as he finished discussing the newest developments with her, who was lounging on the sofa behind him. These were the moments he lived for, when he and his partner were so totally wrapped up in a case that nothing else mattered. Their minds synced together like the gears of a clock so that he could almost hear ticking inside his own mind. This unison had become so comfortable over the years that he felt that he couldn’t do without it. True, he had managed during his recent sabbatical and earlier, Kitty’s apprenticeship, but it was never the ideal situation. Whenever their familiar give-and-take had been interrupted in the past, it had always been his goal to push through whatever the obstacle was until he could return to working with her. Now that they had settled into their old routine again, he hoped that it would never have to be disrupted again.
And yet, she had said he was lonely. The very idea puzzled him. How could he possibly be lonely when she was there finishing his sentences or providing the perfect sounding board that always vibrated at the frequency he needed? He decided he had to find out, no matter how awkward the conversation was. Clearing his throat nervously, he sat down in the nearby chair. “Um, so what makes you think I’m lonely?” She gave him a puzzled look, so he continued. “Last night, you said you thought I was loooonely.” He drew the “o” out as though the word caused him offense. Her eyes continued to dwell fixedly on his, and the uneasiness inside him spread like a bloodstain on a white tablecloth. “Wh-why did you say that?”
Watson hesitated as though she were trying to corral her thoughts before letting them off their tether. “There was a time when you were with Fiona when you were different,” she finally began. She must have seen the confusion on his face, so she elaborated. “Happier somehow. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”
Sherlock let this data process for a while. Apparently, she had been referring to his lack of sexual companionship as he had feared. After a short pause, he changed tacks. “Harlan came around.” Watson’s ears perked at the mention of their current client. “He, um, wanted to tell me he finally let Lily know how he felt about her.”
Joan’s eyes were alight with anticipation. “And?”
He swallowed briefly, hoping it would make it easier for him to continue. “The feeling was mutual.” Her lips bloomed into a smile. “He was practically aglow.” His eyes darted down to his hands, which had begun to fidgit as they were wont to do when he was agitated. “I felt a little envious. Just a smidge.” He placed his thumb and index finger an inch apart for emphasis. “So it just, uh, made me think about what you said.”
Joan had settled into what he had begun to think of as her “life coach” pose, her back straight in the chair, her hands poised as if to take notes. “It’s not bad that you felt that way,” she assured him. “It’s natural.” He’d figured she’d say as much. “But there’s no need to be envious. You can have everything that he has.”
Could he? Sherlock surveyed the woman seated across from him, drinking in every inch of her from her lustrous black hair to her shapely booted feet. Did he dare dream that she would ever want to be with him in that way? “Well, that’s just it you see. I’m...I’m...I’m….not sure I can.” Why must she continue to stare at him in that appraising fashion? It was most unsettling. He moved his fingers back and forth over each other for comfort. “You were right.” Watson seemed surprised and pleased at this assessment. He decided to clarify. “I mean, every potential romantic partner I have pales in comparison to Moriarty. That might sound strange given what we know about her, but I’m a strange bloke, aren’t I?” His hopeful gaze, which had been aimed to the side of her left ear focused back on hers. “She fit. And I fear that what we had can’t be replicated.”
Joan nodded in understanding, hands clasped in her lap. “Probably can’t. But that’s okay. I mean, falling in love with someone is not supposed to be the same experience every time. Someone else will be someone else.”
He had a choice at this juncture. He could either make some flippant remark about Internet dating or he could express how he truly felt. Taking a deep breath, he decided he had to tell her. It was now or never. “Wh-what if someone else already is someone else?”
Joan blinked at him in surprise. “You’ve already found someone? That’s great, Sherlock! Is it someone I know?”
His heart began to patter crazily, beating out in a frenzied sort of Morse code. “Um, well, in a way,” he stalled. His eyes traced the wall behind her, wandering across everything except her face. Finally, they made their way home.
He could tell in an instant that she understood. Of course she did. Her powers of observation were second to none. Hadn’t he trained her himself? And on top of that, she always had been better at reading people than he had. He assumed it must be written in every line of his face how much he adored her, had always adored her.
“Sherlock, I…” she began, but seemed unable to continue. He noticed that her respiration rate had accelerated, and the blood vessels in her cheeks betrayed the heat that had risen there.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he offered. It seemed odd that he should be the one offering consolation now. “I fully appreciate that you likely don’t return my affections. I...I just thought you should know.” She looked like she was about to interrupt him, but he waved her off with his hand. “If I am lonely at all, it’s...it’s because I have been purposely withdrawing from you emotionally.”
“But why?” she managed to get out.
“To avoid this,” he said, gesturing between them. “Not long ago, I realised that what I feel for you is more than friendship, and....I was afraid of losing even that.”
Joan rose from her seat, and for a moment, he was terrified that she was going to leave. Instead, she took a few steps closer until she was standing right in front of him. Stooping to his eye level so that he could see the tears building in her own, she whispered, “You will never lose me, Sherlock.”
He didn’t know what to do. Did she love him? Did she not? Should he reach out and touch her? Joan, as always, sensed his inner turmoil. Placing her hands on either side of his scruffy face, she drew him in and pressed her soft mouth to his.
She tasted of coffee and cinnamon and salty tears. He never wanted this moment to end. As he pulled her gently into his lap, he couldn’t help thinking: Oftentimes, the solutions to life’s dilemmas were ridiculously complicated. But sometimes, they were elementary.