Mortar & Stone: an Elementary fanfiction

Chapter 2

As the next morning dawned, Joan awoke to find that all the anger had seeped out of her. She wanted to make amends. Yes, Holmes had been an ass, but it was not entirely his fault. She knew she pushed his buttons. It was a trait they both shared. Sometimes she did it on purpose, especially when he had been particularly cold toward her. It gave her some strange satisfaction; better he lash out at her than nothing.

He had been on edge in the last few weeks, since they had caught that slimy serial killer. She hadn't seen him like this since her first days as his sober companion. They had grown closer, she had gained his trust, she was a sure part of his life and work now. He had called her exceptional. But something changed after that. The very next day he began to behave as none of it had ever happened.

She wanted her Sherlock back.

The door opened and in walked the man himself, carrying a breakfast tray. He bent, placing it on the bed next to her, and stood with a satisfied look on his face.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Croissants, honey," he said them so close together that for a moment she thought he had called her honey, but then she saw him pointing to each item on the tray. She wondered if he'd done it on purpose, "and coffee." He saw the enquiring look on her face, "I wanted to make amends."

Well we can add psychic to your list of talents, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief. This wouldn't be difficult after all. Sherlock had surprised her once again.

Yesterday he had pushed her too far, he knew, and he had to make it right before she decided today was the day for departure. After all, she had said she would leave him if he didn't change: "No one can accept something like that forever." To Sherlock, she may as well have left him there and then. Why delay the inevitable? He knew he couldn't change. He was as inadequate a man now as he ever would be. A brilliant partner, yes; but man? No. So, he had shut down, prepared himself for the fallout. After years of isolating himself, it was like putting on a favourite old coat, albeit one that now felt a little too tight.

Joan sat up, crossing her legs, and reached for a croissant, offering him the other. He took it from her and sat in the chair by the window. She noticed his eyes: dark, red-rimmed, with that wide, lost look he had for her every now and then. You could break me, it said. She was sure Sherlock wasn't aware that he did it, and she was glad. It gave her a glimpse that this man was not impenetrable after all.

"Have you slept?" She asked as she cut through the crisp pastry into the steaming centre.

A quick shake of his head. "I realise my behaviour toward you recently has been abhorrent, and I'm sorry." Something in him shouted stop even as he said it, but he needed to, because he needed her.

It had gnawed at him all night. Sherlock was a man who enjoyed being in control; of knowing all the ins and outs of every situation. But Joan had him in circles; never knowing which way was up. At first he had been grateful when he found out she had met someone. This is good, he told himself as she went out to meet the good doctor. Another man meant she would not be wasting time investing herself into him and their relationship, whatever that was. Sherlock had promised he would never allow any harm to come to her, and allowing her to try to build a life with him would only end up breaking that promise.

But that night he had found himself pacing around the brownstone, and to his utter disgust he felt something he had not felt in a very long time: jealousy. As his old go-to in situations like these was now out of the question, he tried to take his frustration out in other pursuits; hence the café girl, and the punching bag.