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English
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Published:
2019-08-18
Completed:
2019-08-22
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1,873
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3/3
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Together

Summary:

Takes place during and after the hug (!!!) scene in the series finale. I’ve avoided spelling out spoilers, you will need to have seen the episode to understand what is happening.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Sherlock was not letting go. He saw through her protests, her assurances of self-sufficiency, her refusals of his help and held on. “Of course, I’m staying.” His place was here, beside her.

The physicality of his commitment broke through the thick and ancient walls, the walls she had built around herself as a child, the walls that protected her after her father left, the walls she still hid behind when anyone came too close. She crumbled; she could no longer pretend.

Joan pressed her hands to his back and brought him closer. Relief washed over and through her, leaving her light headed, her body weak as the weight of her impending ordeal was lifted from her shoulders. He was there to carry what she couldn’t.

Scores of family and friends would have come in to help if she had asked them. Sherlock stepped up and said yes without the question being asked.

Sherlock held her tighter, pressing his cheek to her neck, warm and reassuring. She wasn’t going to go through this alone. He wouldn’t let her.

Joan trusted him with her life and with the life of her child. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, and they swayed in the newness of the physical, the comfort of each other’s arms.

“Mommy.” Arthur’s voice from the top of the stairs startled them apart. Sherlock quickly let her go, turning towards the mantel to wipe his face and compose himself.

“Down here, sweetie,” her calm mom voice kicked in and she too took a moment to compose herself. Arthur was her priority. She didn’t want him to worry or fear that anything was wrong. His happiness and safety came first.

Arthur bounded into the room. “I’m hungry.”

“And what will you have for your supper, young man?” Sherlock had transformed himself back to his most proper self. Joan smiled at him and then at her son, who tilting his head gave the question some serious thought.

“Pizza!” He declared.

“Pizza, it shall be.” Sherlock answered enthusiastically and then quickly looked at Joan. “That is if your mother agrees.”

Joan looked at them and smiled, “Pizza! But we are getting a salad too. We need vegetables to stay healthy and strong.”

Arthur looked at Sherlock and rolled his eyes, eliciting a grin from the detective. Arthur was most certainly Watson’s boy. Joan pursed her lips at them and shook her head, “I’ll call the order in. You two go set the table.”

As he walked downstairs with Arthur, a warm feeling grew inside of Sherlock, something he’d not felt in several years. He was finally back home.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Chapter 2 - sweeter and fluffier.

Sorry - no bone or gristle, just cotton candy

Chapter Text

Sherlock had watched Arthur pick pepperoni from the pizza and feed it to himself in what he could only describe as baby-bird style. The child would tilt his head back and dangle the pepperoni above his open mouth, then snap it up and chew with great enthusiasm. Sherlock found this and the stories Watson was sharing about the boy’s early life strangely fascinating, enjoyable even. Not enjoyable was the game of HiHoThe Cherry-O that Arthur wanted to play. After one game, Sherlock pronounced the game a mind-numbing waste of time and proposed a game of hide and seek.

Joan sent them off to play upstairs on the first floor while she scooped out ice cream. Arthur threw himself into the game and, for his age, showed good skill as both seeker and a hider.

The arrival of the ice cream stopped all play. Sherlock watched Watson with her child, wiping his cheeks and reminding him of what he’d need for school the next day. She was happy and he would do everything in his power to make sure she and the boy stayed happy. A melancholy mood passed over him as he thought about the trials to come for Watson and the boy and he was so lost in thought that Joan had to nudge him to get his attention.

“Sherlock!” He focused his attention on his partner. Joan repeated herself, “Arthur, wants to know if you’ll read him a book before he goes to bed.” She smiled and pointed to her boy and the book he was holding.

“Ah!” Sherlock took the book from the child’s hand, “Kipling’s The Jungle Book, an excellent choice.” He looked approvingly at Joan, “Versing him in the classics, rather than the rhyming drivel of nursery rhymes...”

She nodded, swallowing her last mouthful of ice cream, “We read everything. His vocabulary is excellent and he enjoys the challenge.”

Arthur climbed up on the couch and scooted next to Sherlock. “We are here. See the bookmark, that’s where Mommy was reading last night.”

“Alright. Riki-tiki-tavi...”

Arthur giggled and looked at his mom, “He says it funny.”

“That, Arthur, is the proper pronunciation.” Sherlock stated with mock haughtiness. “Now, may I continue?”

 

On returning from the kitchen, Joan found Sherlock sitting peering down at the sleeping child comfortably drooling on his jacket sleeve.

“You tired him out.”

“So it would seem.”

“Let me get him to bed.”

She went to pick him and Sherlock interrupted her, “Here, let me.”

He picked up the boy easily, letting his head lay on his shoulder, patting his back as they went up the stairs. Joan watched, knowing this was all new territory for Sherlock; he was doing well.

Arthur sleepily opened his eyes as his mom tucked him in to bed. She bent down to kiss him and he whispered something to her. Joan looked to where Sherlock stood by the door.

“Arthur would like to say goodnight to you if you don’t mind.”

A surprised Sherlock came and bent by the child’s bed. “Goodnight. Rest well.”

Arthur put his arms up and embraced Sherlock, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “G’night,” he whispered before snuggling down into his pillow.

Joan hid a smile at the shocked look on her partner’s face. Today had turned into an emotional rollercoaster for both of them.

They walked down the stairs in silence, down to the kitchen, where each took up their role in tea preparation.

Chapter 3

Summary:

A little less fluffy...

Chapter Text

Conversation during tea preparation was confined to the process at hand: which tea, would you get the cups, I’ll get the milk, pardon me, and so on.

Once the tea was ready, they moved to sit at the kitchen table; the silence followed them and sat nervously between them. Stolen glances, thin smiles and sips of tea filled the seconds that felt like hours that felt like days.

Sherlock stared at the tabletop, his fingers smoothed and explored its surface. “New table,” he stated more than asked.

“Mmhmm,” she responded and watched his hand continue to fidget. “ .... smaller, easier for Arthur.”

“I suppose you got rid of the old one.” He glanced up and by chance their eyes met and lingered. Familiar, yet changed ... so much needed to be said and asked and both were at a loss as to where to start. He cast his gaze back to the table. “I ... I rather liked that old table... had character,” he was babbling. Sherlock Holmes was babbling like a school boy. “It carried a history ... for both of us. Of ... of course, you had every right to do as you chose with it. It’s all yours now...”

Joan put her hand over his and stopped its movement. “It’s still here, the old table.”

His eyes slowly rose from where her hand covered his and met her eyes. “Oh?”

“Most of the furnishings are in fact, still here, in the rooms on the upper floors ... couldn’t bear to get rid of them.”

“I would think you would have wanted to erase me completely...”

Joan looked at him with a sad smile that shamed him, “I couldn’t. It was all I had left of you ... thought you were...” She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

His hand moved and took firm hold of hers, moving to adjust until they fit together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Silence again. His thumb stroked her hand.

“You know, there’s no need to feel guilty about all this. You don’t need to stay Sherlock.” She tried to imbue the statement with a practical, no nonsense, I-don’t-really-need-you-tone.

“I know. But I want to stay.” He watched the minute relaxation of her shoulders. “Partners in everything, correct?” The familiar raise of eyebrows and twisting of his face for comical effect forced a smile from her.

“Partners in everything.” Joan confirmed and took a sip of her tea.

“Yes.” He nodded and deep inside felt the full brunt of what he was keeping from her push against his chest. He didn’t want to upset her, he told himself, she had enough on her plate, this was not the time, but still the words forced their way out of him in rapid succession.

“Watson, I’ve kept something from you and in order for you to make an informed decision as to whether you want me in your and your son’s lives, I feel obliged to tell you.” He didn’t want concern or pity. Facts were facts. He pulled his hand away from hers and took a breath.

Joan watched the shift and slump of his posture, the cloud that crossed his features and she understood. “You relapsed while you were away?”

He tensed. The words hit him like cold water. “Yes.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “I completely understand your not wanting me around Arthur. It frankly was the reason I was intent on leaving. I don’t ever want to hurt the boy ... or you for that matter.”

Unable to bear the thought of her disappointment in him or to face being sent away, Sherlock suddenly stood and took his cup to the sink.

“Sherlock....” Joan stood. His back was to her and he did not turn around. Moving slowly lest she scare him, she placed a a hand on his shoulder. “Stay. I want you to stay. Partners in everything, no matter what.” Her whisper filled his soul.

Joan embraced him; weaving her hands around his waist, she rested her cheek against his back. He turned in her arms to face her, making sure her eyes confirmed what she was saying.

“I want you to move back into the brownstone.”

He was moved by her offer “Joan .... I , I couldn’t. Your boy ... if I should relapse ...”

“You won’t. We will make sure you won’t. This is your home. You can take the top floors where the furniture is, recreate the old rooms if you want.”

His eyes shone.

“This isn’t just for you. I’m going to need you nearby. I’m a doctor remember and a terrible patient. I’ll need someone whose seen me at my worst and won’t be scared of how nasty I can get, someone I can trust with Arthur.”

He leaned back against the sink for support. Joan invaded his space once more, nestling in his arms. Sherlock held her to him and they took a moment to readjust.

“Tell me what happened.” She spoke into his chest. His hand came to the back of her head and his head dropped towards her. In whispered tones he shared the secrets of their time apart, the secrets he would not share with anyone else.