May 4 Prompt - First Night

“You okay?” Sherlock asked drowsily. 

“Mm hmm,” she replied and snuggled in closer to him. She was surprised how comfortable this felt, how natural it was. “You?” she asked him.

“Very much so,” came his whispered answer. His hand came out from beneath the covers and came to rest gently on the back of her head. His bare legs shifted underneath to allow her to get closer. 

She smiled into his chest as warmth enveloped her.

~ from Stirring the Ashes

Thank you to @possibility221 for rec’ing my old fic for today’s prompt. I couldn’t come up with anything so I did a quick drawing.

Image of Sherlock and Joan as kids by H. James Hoff, Elementary’s scenic artist. Posted on Instagram during season three. Basis for the story referenced in previous post.

May 2 Prompt

Unboxing and finding something from the past

This is a follow up to this story of mine from long ago - reading the story first might help. The First Time They Met - (link at bottom)

The red table was littered with papers and files in an order which, most of the time, only Sherlock could understand. 

Joan hesitated. She took a breath, “You have a moment?”

He glanced up from the table’s mess. There was an odd look on her face and she fidgeted with something behind her back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Remember last week when I picked up a couple of boxes from my mom’s? Stuff from my old room, books and things?” She paused.

“Mm hmm.” 

Joan squinted, “I was just going through one of the boxes and found something … something that triggered a memory. I … uhm …” She pulled out a chair, sat and leaned in. “Did you ever visit New York when you were little? Like around age seven or eight?”

He knitted his brow and stopped to think. It was a time in his childhood he chose to forget as much as possible. “That was around the time my mother ‘left’.” Sherlock made a point of using air quotes.  “Yes … actually, yes. Father brought me with him to New York in hopes of distracting me. It was like jangling keys in front of a crying baby … it had little effect.” He stared silently as old pain tried to make its way forward. “Why do you ask?”

“This is going to sound weird but I found this notebook and it reminded me of something long forgotten…meeting a small boy at the park one afternoon when I was around seven years old. He was investigating strange markings and I joined in,” she handed him the notebook. “We never exchanged names. He had an accent … British. And he had a magnifying glass…”

He flipped through the notebook’s pages. “And you had a copy of James and the Giant Peach,” he whispered.

They stared at each other in wide-eyed wonder until they could no longer keep in the beaming smiles and joy of meeting an old friend.

Collected Shorts - Chapter 6 - NairobiWonders - Elementary (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Domaystic2022 - Prompts
Fandom:  Elementary

He examined. Yes, it was Watson’s handwriting but the message was rather odd. He pulled the hot pink post-it note off his monitor and carried it down to the kitchen.

“I know our relationship has changed, but this struck me a bit out of character. It was left on my monitor…” He flapped the ‘Love you sweetie’ sticky note before her. 

Joan’s eyes widened. “Oh no! That is not for you.” 

Feeling slightly jealous, Sherlock waited, hoping for an explanation.

“Ugh, this means Arthur has a sticky note on his lunch that says, “Mutilated femur found at park.”

“Oh.”

Joan was standing at the kitchen counter when Sherlock came up close behind her and spoke almost in her ear. 

“I’m going to put my arms around you Watson, with your permission.” Permission of course was not necessary. The stating of intentions was more of a playful vestigial habit, a remnant from years past when their relationship changed and they found ways to maneuver over and around boundaries. 

Joan smiled and leaned back into him as his arms encircled her waist. 

He placed a tiny kiss at her neck. “The boys at the precinct send their regards.”

She placed her hand over his and enjoyed the moment before she spoke, “I wonder why no one has ever asked us … ”

“Asks us about what?” he murmured against the curve of her cheek.

Joan turned in his arms to face him and he reluctantly pulled away from the soft sweetness of her. His bewildered look prompted her to place a gentle kiss on his furrowed brow. She lay her head beneath his chin and snuggled in. “About this …." 

"Ahhh… simple really.” He held on to her and swayed slightly as he continued, “Firstly, we are the soul of discretion. No PDAs. No haptic hints. Secondly, and most importantly the thought that you would ever have anything to do me, outside of a professional relationship, is ludicrous. No one would believe it even if I told them. You are intelligent, beautiful, gracious, kind and beloved by all. While I… I am an odd-looking ass that nobody likes. You, to use the vernacular, are way out of my league.”

“Oh come on…” she looked up at him and chided, “I don’t think you’re odd looking."  A smile spread on her face as he winced. "I sometimes wonder if it’s not just some sort of racism or prejudice or something?” Her tone grew serious and she once more hid her face against him.

“You mean because I’m British?” His attempt at humor was met with silence and he realized this was upsetting her. “I would not be at all adverse to making our relationship public … the first person who dares make a comment, dies.”

“Sherlock!” She chastised him and squeezed him tight. “Thank you but, no. We don’t need anyone’s validation…. I have everything I need right here.”

He bent his head and whispered in her ear. She nodded. Sherlock took her hand and they walked into his bedroom. 

Originally posted March 2017

He watched them through the glass as he had countless times before; their humming brought him comfort. The bees were kindred. 

Being a witness to the last telling made this all the more difficult. The task now fell to him. With Sherlock’s passing, he and the Watsonia were orphans. Arthur smiled and shook his head, wondering if a thirty year old man and bees could be considered orphans.

He sighed. It was time. 

He rapped on the hives’ top just like his father had done when his mother passed away, and with each knock he mournfully intoned, “Your master has died, your master has died … your master has died.”

Oh that … that’s Dr. Watson. Most interesting case. After the death of her patient, she suffered a complete breakdown… created a world for herself, became a detective… all in her mind of course. Wrote it all down as “The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes.” … Fascinating read. 
(AU)

Domaystic2022 - May 9 - Prompt: displaced/misplaced object - Elementary 

“Fuck!”  She clenched her fists and dropped her head in frustration. 

Sherlock’s eyes shot to his partner. House rules: no curse words uttered while Arthur was in the house. “Everything all right, Watson?”

“No. Everything is not alright.” She bit at her words. “It took me forever to remember what I was looking for and as soon as I walked into the room I forgot again!” She crossed her arms tight before her and stared off into the bookshelf as if hoping to find the answer there.  “You’re going to need a new partner. I won’t have a brain cell left by the time I’m through with chemo,” she muttered. 

“You’ve read the research. The majority of it points to ‘chemo brain’ being a temporary and reversible condition.” He closed his laptop and stood. “Your ability to focus and remember will improve as the drugs move out of your system. Believe me, I have experience with memory loss due to both ailment and drugs. It does get better. You need to have patience.”

“Sherlock Holmes lecturing me on patience and I thought the hair loss was going to be the worst of it,” she smirked and shook her head.

He came up beside her, lightly bumping her shoulder with his.”So what are we looking for?”

I’m haunted by the times I chose not to act.

One time when I was driving a bus full of high schoolers, I saw three middle schoolers walking home (they get out at the same time in the district I worked for). There where two boys and one girl and as I got closer, I saw they were harassing her. It looked like they were pulling her back pack or hair and probably talking nasty. As I passed, she whipped around and yelled at them.

I’m so haunted by this memory.

I should have done something.

As I drove away I thought of the options, but I could quite possibly face legal consequences if I stopped and let her on my bus. As someone who was bullied, mostly physically, by my neighbors, and mostly at the bus stop, I die inside.

This memory, almost three years ago, still plays in my head. I still run through it and wish with all of my soul I could go back and have helped her. I would have brought her back to school and told her to go to the principle’s. I could have just drove her further up the road so she had some distance between herself and the boys. I should have done SOMETHING.

Fuck my job. Fuck what the police would say. Fuck the angry parents. I failed her. I became a bystander.

I will probably live with his regret my whole life.

That tiny moment haunts me.

bughat:

I am never gonna get over the system of body language that Jonny Lee Miller uses for Sherlock.  It is so wonderfully, unapologetically awkward the way he swings his limbs around and plants himself in a particular spot before jutting his head forward to say something that’s probably going to shock and/or annoy the piss out of everyone else in the room