Chapter Text
Watson has lived with Sherlock long enough to adopt a new set of criteria for what normal is:
Rumbling explosion shakes the windows and rattles the doors - she goes to the stairwell and shouts down to the kitchen, “You okay?” Getting a muffled answer of, “Yes, fine,” she returns to her reading.
Drags in a foul smelling black tarp, the size of a small corpse - Joan covers her nose with the sleeve of her cardigan, “Final work on your decaying pig experiment?” Sherlock nods gleefully. She goes for a run not even asking how he got a dead pig home from the marshes ... subway, she muses as she heads toward the river park.
Hands her a plate of something pink and gelatinous - she takes it, gives it a sniff and asks what it is. Looking very proud of himself Sherlock answers, “Vegetable protein, styled and flavored to duplicate the consistency and taste of raw monkey brains. Made it myself.” Joan shrugs, picks up the fork and gives it a taste.
A file of crime scene photos is flopped on her bed - Joan stretches and sits up taking the breakfast tray he has carefully prepared for her. Sipping her tea, she listens attentively to the latest evidence and his new theory, adding her own thoughts as she shares her toast with him.