Elementary, My Dear Joan

Alibis and Intrigue

Sherlock still sat at her laptop staring into space as the sun started to rise over the City of Westminster. She plucked the strings of her violin gently as she sunk deeper and deeper into thought. However, she was finding concentrating a lot harder than usual thanks to a certain doctor, army doctor to be precise.

The way she'd reacted when Sherlock made her first deduction was stunning; no one had ever shown that much genuine restraint before. Holmes had rather gotten used to being yelled or spat at if her observations insulted the person in question. But although Watson was shocked (as we all know anyone would be) she seemed more curious than offended. That is exactly why Sherlock knew she would come to the morgue, eventually.

As usual, Sherlock decided against going to bed and instead chose to fill her system with caffeine to keep her alert and thinking. It had taken her less than five minutes to deduct Joan Watson. An army doctor with wrongly diagnosed PTSD, an alcoholic brother, and a thirst for adrenaline- in case the twitchy finger didn't already explain that... Bloody Hell, pull yourself together! She scolded herself as she tried desperately to close the door to that particular part of her mind. Joan Watson was distracting her from what was truly important: her work.

Sherlock flicked the strings of her violin once more before linking her fingers underneath her chin and closing her eyes. Why did she care about this retired army doctor when she had a case to solve? For Gods sake, a man's alibi depended on her and here she was craving the approval of a total stranger. Sherlock Holmes had gone exactly two of her twenty eight years not displaying any sort of emotion and she'd coped well enough on her own. She wasn't about to give it up now.

But Joan Watson seemed more important at that moment, more important than giving a man an alibi who was guilty anyway (in Sherlock's opinion.) Maybe she could be considered an acquaintance of Sherlock's. Friends were out of the question. Sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side and Sherlock never lost. She would chase down every lead, track down every criminal until she felt satisfied... but the trouble was she was never satisfied.

Cases like the one she was working at present were her only alternative to being high. Tobacco was nothing to the stuff she used to smoke, not that she'd ever tell the likes of Joan about that. Her brain was a muscle that had to be stimulated and without that stimulation it would spiral out of control. That's why friends were a stupid idea; it was easier to simply declare herself a highly functioning sociopath and anonymously solve cases for Scotland Yard than give in to her 'emotions.' A thing she knew Joan Watson could never understand.

Not even her own sister understood but then again, Mycroft had her own ideas on friends, and love, and the like. Neither of them were given to outbursts of sisterly compassion.

But Joan Watson was a soldier, kind, brave, honourable. She might be the first person to accept her for who she was, not tease her and make her feel like a freak. Don't mistake Sherlock's feelings for insecurity or anything. She was simply assessing the pros and cons of her current situation based on past events and emotions that she knew could prove destructive to her if her feelings weren't kept at bay.

Finally, she settled on the way she'd play this game. She'd put Joan Watson to the ultimate test: if she was interested in Sherlock, truly interested, then she would show the young doctor all of her true colours- and she knew precisely how to do that.