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The hot water branded her skin a light red. A full head of steam floated up and she closed her eyes, letting the heat engulf her. She rested her head against the brownstone's tiled wall and waited as the day's stress melted off her body, swiriled around her feet and disappeared down the drain.
Days without a case and nothing from the police scanner, she was working harder to keep him distracted. Sherlock was her work and a huge part of her life now but even she needed a break from time to time.
Joan stretched down to her shampoo bottle and lathered it through her hair. Her loofa was nearby; she added her favourite body wash and soon the whole room smelled like Amazon lilies.
She turned the water off and pulled the curtain back to find Sherlock seated on the toilet lid, totally engrossed in a very thick book.
"Sherlock!" She nearly screamed pulling the curtain back so she was hidden behind it, "what are you doing in here?"
"Reading," he answered in a strained voice, meaning that he had been in with her longer than she realized. "You know, if I were plotting to kill you, you'd be dead by now."
She couldn't disagree.
"But, fortunately for you, I've no such plans or desires."
"I'm happy to hear that," she said, trying to keep the relief she felt out of her voice and failing miserably. He continued before she could get another word out.
"You already know that I find the bathroom to be a helpful place when needing to concentrate. My being in here should come as no surprise to you."
She paused, trying to calm herself down. She could feel her stress building back up. She took a few slow breaths before venturing a response.
"Do you have be in here while I'm taking a shower?"
"I like the sound of the water, Watson. I find it particularly relaxing, especially when I'm feeling triggered."
Her eyes flew open and she gripped the side of the curtain. "Are you feeling triggered?"
He paused, keeping her in heightened suspense. "Not at present, no."
Joan rolled her eyes. "Fine, but do you have to do it with me in here at the same time?" she repeated.
"And just let the water run? My dear Watson, that's not environmentally friendly now is it?"
His mind was set, Joan could feel it. Arguing would just leave her feeling more stressed than she was when she got into the shower.
"So if you don't mind," he continued, "I'd appreciate it if you resumed your shower so I can sit in here and listen to the water while I read my book." His tongue emphasized the last syllable with a click.
Joan pursed her lips. "Won't that ruin your book?"
"Probably, eventually, but any resulting water damage would give it character. There's nothing worse than a book without character," he trailed off, turned a few pages and was lost to the words on the page.
At first, Joan was at loss, then it hit her.
"I think I'm done now."
She was met without a response.
Tentatively, she reached out and turned the water off. Still there no objection. He was so quiet that for a moment, she thought he left. She could still her him breathing, the pages turning every few seconds; his motions were like clockwork. Her fingers curled around the shower curtain and she pulled it back only a few inches.
She peeked through it and found him completely engrossed in his reading but with his arm stretched out, holding her towel. She grabbed it and retreated back to the privacy of the shower. Even though the shower was starting to chill, she felt an odd warmth surround her. She relaxed into the feeling of his company. She dried herself off and wrapped the towel around herself snugly and pulled back the curtain again.
This time, her bathrobe was waiting for her in his outstretched hand. It took her a moment to take it from him, but he never looked up. He pursed his lips and shook it gently. She retrieved it and he let out the breath he was holding and while he anxiously turned his book's page.
"Must be some book," she muttered without thinking.
He snapped the book closed and got up, "Right then, finished for now." He left abruptly, moving quickly down the stairs, calling out for Clyde.
One moment he was with her and the next he was gone, but really, he was never that far away. She pulled her hair dryer out of the cupboard. She did this after every shower, every bath. She was consistent in her actions; he probably had her figured out before she even realized it. But, his motions were just as repetitive. The more chaotic his life was, the more she could predict what he was going to do next. Maybe not exactly, but still, he was just as predictable to her as she was to him.
He brought a kind of chaos to her life, but really, everything he did was as predictable as everything she does. She smiled to herself; at one point she would have rejected everything he did but now, she this was perhaps something she needed in her life. Something unexpectedly in her otherwise ordinary days. She brought a sense of consistency to his world of chaos.
She expected him to be in the bathroom with her for her next shower. She found herself not minding at all that he was there.
"No sneaking peeks," she said, trying to sound annoyed.
"Perish the thought," he said seriously, already focused on his book.
Joan rolled her eyes and turned the shower on, reaching for a bottle of body wash.
"Do you have the vanilla spice?" he asked her suddenly.
"What?" she asked, slightly startled.
"The vanilla spice," he said calmly. "I much prefer that scent to the Amazon lily."
She smiled to herself and so did he when the smell of vanilla wafted from the hot water.
The sound of rushing water soon overpowered the sound of turning pages.