Chapter Text
Marcus' invitation came quite unexpectedly.
He was hosting a holiday party, and was inviting his guests "plus one". Of course Joan would be there. She would have brought Andrew along, had he not currently been away. As she emailed her RSVP, and wondered what she would wear, she also thought about whether or not he had invited Sherlock. After all, why wouldn't he? Hadn't they begun to heal their relationship before Sherlock's hasty departure almost a year ago? Marcus seemed happy to have Sherlock back at the precinct lately...she even thought she saw them sharing a laugh?
Joan's phone chimed.
~
As she arrived at the police station and strode towards Capt. Gregson's office, she could make out Sherlock's tightly coiled frame through the blinds. Marcus was strolling over from his desk and when he saw Joan.
"Morning, Joan! I was glad to get your quick reply about the party. It should be fun!"
"I'm looking forward to it, Marcus. Can I do or bring anything? Are you expecting many people?" She mentally kicked herself for asking. She hoped it didn't make her seem curious about the rest of the guest list. Oh wait, he's a detective.
"Not sure how many people will come yet, but I only invited friends from the precinct. Gregson, Kitty and Sherlock, Smitty, and a few people from homicide. I think you know everyone."
She grimaced inwardly at his choice to list Sherlock and Kitty together, as if they were a set, a couple. Partners. She hoped that it didn't manifest in her expression. She followed Marcus into Tommy Gregson's office.
~
Joan took one last look at herself in the shiny elevator doors as it arrived at Marcus' floor. She hoped she looked good, but not like she was trying too hard.
She never asked anyone else if they were attending the party for fear of seeming too eager. She also didn't know if Sherlock was coming or not. She knew him well, and knew the chances were slim that he'd be there.
She adjusted the wine tote on her shoulder and rang the bell. She could hear music and voices seeping through the door. After the longest five seconds in recent memory, Marcus answered the door.
"Joan! Come on in. You look great!" Joan handed him the tote. "Thanks for bringing more wine. Everyone's here. Let me get you a drink. Red or white?"
"Thanks, Marcus. White please. Hey, where can I put my coat?"
"Just throw it on the bed, last door on the left." He said, as he hurried off to get her wine.
As Joan walked down the hall to drop off her coat, the bright holiday jazz drifted down the hall with her. She wondered if he was there. Did "everyone" include Sherlock? She didn't get a good look into the living room. She tried to remind herself that she was there to see everyone else regardless. She saw him all the time, after all. He usually hated social interactions. Why did she think he'd make an exception this time? What was wrong with her for even thinking about this now?
She took her phone out of her purse, made sure it was silenced, and slipped it into her dress pocket.
"I was asked to deliver this".
Joan's heart skipped as she turned around, startled. Sherlock was standing there, body rigid, shoulders back, arm completely thrust forward. The glass in his hand was as far away as possible from him.
There was a little mistletoe charm on the glass's stem.
"Hey, Sherlock. So glad you're here. Thanks. Merry Christmas." With this, she reached for the glass, and as she took it from him, continued to move forward, and past him. Sandalwood. Fireplace. Beeswax.
"I'm surprised that you decided to come." She tossed this over her shoulder at him as she moved ahead.
Joan was back in the hall when she realized Sherlock wasn't following. She stopped and turned around. "You coming?"
His face was still, lips pressed into a line, but his eyes were wide. He inhaled sharply and caught up. He placed one hand stiffly near -but not directly on- her lower back, the other gesturing towards the party. "Shall we?"
They joined the party in silence, Joan wondering what he was thinking. She put her smile on, and began to greet her colleagues.
~
A few hours of hors d'oeuvres and several glasses of wine later, Joan was getting a little tired. Kitty had brought her Zachary- a sweet, quiet young man. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by the event, but was clearly glad to be in her company. Kitty seemed comfortable, surrounded by people she had grown to know and trust, and appeared the most relaxed that Joan had ever seen her.
Gregson didn't bring a date, but seemed to have had a great time, along with Marcus and the rest of their coworkers.
Sherlock, on the other hand, was as stiff and awkward as usual. He invariably turned toward conversations involving cases, much to the chagrin of his colleagues. No one wanted to talk about work at a party.
Joan remembered the time he met her and her family for dinner, and how amiable, and even charming he seemed that evening. It occurred to her then what a huge effort that must have been for him given this evening's behavior.
Finally Joan decided she was a little too tired, a bit too drunk, and out of conversation to stay any longer. She thanked Marcus, waved a Merry Christmas and goodbye to the crowd, and headed down the hall for her coat.
On the way back, Marcus handed her the now empty wine tote and thanked her again. As she folded it into her purse and turned to leave, Sherlock was at her side.
"I'm personally fond of the Irish exit. May I walk you out?"
Joan laughed as they walked towards the elevator. "You?? Leave without saying goodbye?"
Suddenly, these statements weren't funny at all. The double meaning in their exchange was painfully evident both in her mood change and on Sherlock's face. Seeing this, she instantly regretted having said anything, but her inebriated state had greased the wheels. She decided she wasn't so sorry after all.
As the elevator doors slid open, they stood facing each other, neither moving to board.
"Watson, as I have stated previously, I regret my choice of so brief a note, and the impersonal language with which I chose to say goodbye. I also regret any pain I may have caused you. I understand that it has been found that women take much longer to get over their anger than men on a neurological level-"
Instantly incensed in a way that she would not have normally have been, Joan cut him off.
"Are you kidding me?? You're saying I'm still upset because I'm a woman, and not because you're a selfish jerk?" Her volume was low, but her tone sharp. Even drunk, she didn't want to cause a scene in Marcus' hallway.
"Well, yes. Apparently, the way the female brain-"
Joan turned on her heel as precisely as she could manage and entered the elevator. As she slammed the door button, Sherlock quickly stepped between the doors. The doors finally began to close again.
"Pressing the button repeatedly won't-"
"Shut up." Joan pressed the ground floor button, then fastened her coat closed and adjusted her scarf, while willing the elevator to reach the ground floor as quickly as possible. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
When the doors opened on the ground floor, Joan strode out of the lobby and asked the doorman for a cab, giving him her address. As the doorman did this for her, Sherlock was once again at her side. "Want to split a taxi?"