Chapter Text
Joan came down the stairs in the flat they had taken. Her partner was already up.
"Watson."
"Happy birthday, Sherlock."
He nodded. "I have an outing for us both, if you're interested."
"Sure." She didn't ask. He would reveal when he was ready.
The last time she'd been here was a quick trip for Sherlock's business. Now London meant exile; separation from her friends, her mother, her home. Watson had been resolute but he'd seen the signs of shed tears; because Sherlock loved her, he said and did nothing to call attention to that.
It was odd to realise that London now felt foreign to Sherlock. But it had never occurred to him to hesitate, when he saw Joan pick up her bag and turn her back on the brownstone.
January was easier here than in NYC – you could go out with just one layer of outerwear and not freeze in 10 steps.
Out to a nearby Underground station, to Baker Street; they waited until the commuters were gone and headed toward the tunnel rather than the exit. The emergency stairs, along the tracks, a right turn, a door black with grime, a fissure in the wall.
Watson picked her way through without a word, but Sherlock sensed the intrigue plucking at her. Her love for mystery made her a natural in this profession.
When both stood in the old tunnel, Joan looked around, eyes shining in the light of her torch and wide in wonder at the architectural marvel. She looked at the brickwork, the rusted rails, the wooden ties. "This is the original Metropolitan Railway."
Sherlock Holmes smiled to share this secret. "Brilliant deduction, Watson. Here it is always 1895."
Lunch would be at a certain pub, with the best onion pie and homebrewed ale in the city.