Elementary, My Dear Joan

That unexceptional day

If you really want to know about Joan Watson, the first thing you'll most likely want to know is where she was born, who her parents were, and what her childhood was like. But that's not going to happen so if that's what you do want to know I suggest you leave right now.

However, what you need to know is that she is possibly the bravest, most loyal young woman you could ever wish to meet.
She led a pretty boring existence; living in the same grey block of flats and spending each day alternating from hospital to hospital. The seventh of October was no exception. Dr Watson (yes doctor in case you haven't already worked that one out) was sat hunched over the table in the staff lounge of St Bartholomew's Hospital. It was about 8:30pm. Her hands, though soft and feminine enough were ever so slightly calloused from the endless paperwork she'd decided to complete that evening.

As she scribbled down her notes and the like, a loud clatter of glass echoed around the otherwise empty room, followed by a hushed cussing. Joan's head snapped up instantly to see a tall woman in a worn lab coat straightening out a box of test tubes. Her thick, dark brown hair curled loosely round her shoulders and her wide, sage eyes blinked furiously.

Joan blinked as she watched the woman continued to straighten out the box, debating silently whether to help her or not. However, she was quickly distracted when she saw what was hanging loosely from her mouth. Joan cleared her throat and put down her pen "You aren't allowed to smoke in here." Asserting doctoral authority wasn't something she was used to doing but the woman ignored her anyway. She bit her lip in frustration "Uh, did you hear me? You can't smoke in here. Its a hospital."
"I have to" The woman answered curtly, not looking up "Otherwise bad news for brain work."
"Good news for breathing though" Joan muttered. The woman looked up briefly before smiling to herself and taking the fag from between her lips "Sherlock Holmes; and you are?"

Joan frowned uncertainly, playing with her necklace "Joan Watson." Sherlock nodded before raising her head, revealing her face fully for the first time. Her features were pale and her eyes dark, lips full and pink. Her face looked haggard but still strangely attractive, a slight rosy tint in her cheeks from the warm hospital environment. She licked her lips and tilted her head "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Joan froze. What did she just say? She tightened her grip on the necklace and lowered her gaze back to her work "Afghanistan" she muttered "How did you-"
"The dog tag around your neck" Sherlock answered, her eyes brightening at the question "Also the way you hold yourself screams military, your hair, plain, practical choice of clothing. The way your head snapped up as I entered means you have good reflexes and I notice that your left hand tremors, possibly due to your PTSD as your psychiatrist says..."

"Wait a second!" Joan interrupted, dropping her tag and slamming her pen down, hiding her hands under the table "Psychiatrist?"
"You have so called PTSD; of course you have a psychiatrist" Sherlock answered flippantly with a wave of her hand "As I was saying: the tremor could be due to PTSD but if I had to guess, I'd say itchy trigger finger." Joan opened her mouth in shock, unsure of how to respond. How the devil did this woman know about her post traumatic stress?

Sherlock sighed and took another drag of her cigarette "You're confused." She seemed to be taking pleasure in the discomfort she was causing Joan. Joan however, not so much "Who are you? Who told you all this?!" Her voice rose slightly in anger but Sherlock didn't seem fazed as she picked up her box once more "No one told me. I simply observed and by your reaction, I assume I'm right." She was but Joan wasn't even ready to admit that fact to herself let alone this complete stranger who seemed to know everything about her.

Without any warning, Sherlock placed the end of her cigarette on the table, pressing it down to extinguish the ugly, orange light "Pop and see me one day. I can be found in the morgue if you're truly as interested in my conclusions as I am about your alcoholic brother; by the way, I suggest you give him his phone back, its got a small malfunction that could prove problematic for you- not worth your trouble." And with that, she left.

Joan sat back in her chair and looked at her mobile on the desk next to her papers. Her head ached horribly as she tried to understand Sherlock's so-called 'observation'. How could one woman know so much? Someone must have told her, surely. But who? She had no close friends. Maybe her brother... No, Harry certainly didn't hang around with any women like Sherlock.

She tipped her head back and groaned loudly, not even realizing the impact this Sherlock Holmes would have on her dull little life.

Hello. So, I've been rather desperate to write a femlock fic for a while now and have been contemplating it quite some time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I appreciate any comments you may have (keep it polite and clean please)

Thank you for reading

S no.1