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storypaint) wrote2015-02-16 12:19 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-02-16 12:19 pm
Entry tags:
[Elementary] lights flash and we run for the fences (Joan gen)
Title: lights flash and we run for the fences
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 1297 words
Prompt: n/a
Pairing: Joan gen
Other: Set directly before the first episode of season 3. Also at AO3.
Excerpt: Every time Joan convinced herself that Sherlock had finally figured out how to be a real boy, he proved her wrong. She went to sign her lease on a Wednesday afternoon and came back with two new keys in hand. There was a note on the kitchen table, pinned down by a padlock from Sherlock's collection. He was breaking their partnership and going back to London.
Every time Joan convinced herself that Sherlock had finally figured out how to be a real boy, he proved her wrong. She went to sign her lease on a Wednesday afternoon and came back with two new keys in hand. There was a note on the kitchen table, pinned down by a padlock from Sherlock's collection. He was breaking their partnership and going back to London.
Joan left the brownstone. She went to her brand new apartment and sat down on the hardwood floor and fought back the anger and frustration and deep, deep disappointment. She called Marcus. He called her back after a few more minutes of echoing silence.
"Yeah, I heard," he said, and then he was quiet on the line. Finally he said, "So tell me about the new place."
Joan told him about the white walls and the furniture she was finally getting out of storage, and by the time she got off the phone, she was smiling.
Gregson called her the next day to confirm that she would stay as a consultant for the department -- "Just a formality," he said, and Joan didn't hesitate to agree.
She had gone back to the brownstone the previous night to start packing. Sherlock never came home. She didn't call him. She had no texts. She folded clothes and put them carefully into boxes.
*
Gregson almost didn't notice the envelope in the sea of paper on his desk, but his name was marked on it in red ink. He was just stopping in for his briefcase before going home, but he sighed and picked the note up. He recognized Sherlock's handwriting.
The letter inside was a neatly typed resignation letter, curt and formal with "Best regards" at the end. Gregson stared at it. He read it again and put down his briefcase.
"Asshole," he grumbled. He didn't know why he bothered being surprised. He told Bell as much over an emergency beer at the department's favorite bar.
"He hasn't changed in twenty years," Gregson said. "When I was over there it seemed a lot more charming."
He finished his beer and called for another one. The bar was warm and he wasn't in an rush to go back to his apartment. He'd never understood loneliness until he had to get used to being the only person in a queen bed.
Bell shook his head. "We're probably better off with Joan," he said, and found that he meant it. He did like Sherlock, but he'd been a terrible colleague at times. Sherlock would solve your case in the morning and then break it again in the afternoon, and three laws besides over lunch. He was unpredictable. Bell valued predictability.
"She's not going with him?" Gregson asked, surprised. The note hadn't included any mention of Joan at all, but he'd gotten used to thinking of them as a pair; he hadn't thought she'd stay behind.
"Not according to this text message," Bell said, holding up his phone. "I'd better call her back."
Gregson nodded. He finished his beer alone.
*
There were a lot of people Sherlock didn't bother to inform. Joan sighed and took care of the details. First she called Ms. Hudson. Sherlock's note had informed Joan that she had use of the brownstone for as long as she needed, but she'd finished moving out within the week.
Ms. Hudson came over to help her with the dropcloths and closing up the house. She had a number of suggestions for keeping the place safe and secure in Sherlock's absence, and her determined cheer was contagious. They got it all done in a couple of hours and then Joan took her for coffee in thanks.
"You make sure you call me if you need anything," Ms. Hudson said when they were done, despite Joan's protests that she was just about to say the same thing. "Let's stay in touch. You never know when you're going to need a Greek translator, after all."
Joan promised she would, and hugged her goodbye. When she got her business cards done, Ms. Hudson insisted on taking several to distribute to her friends. Her second client told her that she came very highly recommended from an old friend of his.
Joan made sure to call Ms. Hudson later and thank her again.
"No," Joan said, when the question was inevitably raised, "I haven't heard from Sherlock."
I'm sure his new job keeps him pretty busy," Ms. Hudson said, and neither of them mentioned needles.
*
Joan found Teddy waiting impatiently one morning in front of the brownstone. She'd gone back to check in and make sure that no one had tried to break in recently, collect the mail, all the necessary things. She gave Teddy ten dollars and he scribbled his phone number down on an old receipt and gave it to her.
"Just in case," he said. She asked him why he was there to see Sherlock, and the case that resulted from that conversation took three exhausting days from her life, but it was completely worth it.
She went to visit Alastair, but she wasn't so maudlin as to talk to the grave. It just seemed right to stop by once in a while.
The various rehab facilities, women's shelters, and afterschool programs that Sherlock liked to donate to were still receiving his contributions; they just came from a different continent now.
She read a lot of his mail, and sometimes she wrote people back. He hadn't bothered to forward it, so it seemed fair.
*
Jamie Moriarty was still in prison. That was all anyone cared about: where her body was. The mind could travel. Hers went to England for a while, and brought some friends. Her friends were so great about keeping an eye on old acquaintances for her.
She expanded operations in New York very carefully. After all, Joan was still there.
*
Joan called Alfredo, and she called Randall. Alfredo sighed.
"He's got to stop running away," he told Joan. "Of course, preaching to the choir here. Don't worry, I'll make sure Randy finds somebody dependable to call. Probably me now that Sherlock isn't going to be waking me up at three in the morning to talk about car alarms."
If he sounded a little disappointed, Joan wasn't going to mention it.
"As far as I know, he's still sober," she told him. But he'd gone back to London and all of its temptations. "He might just call you about British car alarms."
Alfredo laughed. "Nah, I think he can handle those. Probably more practiced at 'em than me."
"You're probably right," she told him. He promised to come to her housewarming party. He brought a pretty good quiche.
*
Kitty was shaking with rage. "I will do anything to help you," she said, and Sherlock's eyes brightened.
"Is that so?" he asked, and when he offered a hand, she took it.
*
After discussions with her therapist, Joan made some life changes. She blocked Sherlock's phone number and all of his known email addresses, and hired a property management company to take care of the brownstone so she didn't have to. (Her calls to Sherlock's father regarding the building went unanswered, like all of her calls since she had stopped working for him.)
She went on first dates and sometimes on second dates. She went out with friends and was a bridesmaid in her brother's wedding. She worked, sometimes with the department and sometimes on her own. She went jogging. She got Clyde a new terrarium.
It was perfect until she walked back into the brownstone and found that Sherlock had come back, and that he thought he was helping.
She didn't tell him how much she'd missed him, but he knew, and that made it even worse.
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 1297 words
Prompt: n/a
Pairing: Joan gen
Other: Set directly before the first episode of season 3. Also at AO3.
Excerpt: Every time Joan convinced herself that Sherlock had finally figured out how to be a real boy, he proved her wrong. She went to sign her lease on a Wednesday afternoon and came back with two new keys in hand. There was a note on the kitchen table, pinned down by a padlock from Sherlock's collection. He was breaking their partnership and going back to London.
Every time Joan convinced herself that Sherlock had finally figured out how to be a real boy, he proved her wrong. She went to sign her lease on a Wednesday afternoon and came back with two new keys in hand. There was a note on the kitchen table, pinned down by a padlock from Sherlock's collection. He was breaking their partnership and going back to London.
Joan left the brownstone. She went to her brand new apartment and sat down on the hardwood floor and fought back the anger and frustration and deep, deep disappointment. She called Marcus. He called her back after a few more minutes of echoing silence.
"Yeah, I heard," he said, and then he was quiet on the line. Finally he said, "So tell me about the new place."
Joan told him about the white walls and the furniture she was finally getting out of storage, and by the time she got off the phone, she was smiling.
Gregson called her the next day to confirm that she would stay as a consultant for the department -- "Just a formality," he said, and Joan didn't hesitate to agree.
She had gone back to the brownstone the previous night to start packing. Sherlock never came home. She didn't call him. She had no texts. She folded clothes and put them carefully into boxes.
*
Gregson almost didn't notice the envelope in the sea of paper on his desk, but his name was marked on it in red ink. He was just stopping in for his briefcase before going home, but he sighed and picked the note up. He recognized Sherlock's handwriting.
The letter inside was a neatly typed resignation letter, curt and formal with "Best regards" at the end. Gregson stared at it. He read it again and put down his briefcase.
"Asshole," he grumbled. He didn't know why he bothered being surprised. He told Bell as much over an emergency beer at the department's favorite bar.
"He hasn't changed in twenty years," Gregson said. "When I was over there it seemed a lot more charming."
He finished his beer and called for another one. The bar was warm and he wasn't in an rush to go back to his apartment. He'd never understood loneliness until he had to get used to being the only person in a queen bed.
Bell shook his head. "We're probably better off with Joan," he said, and found that he meant it. He did like Sherlock, but he'd been a terrible colleague at times. Sherlock would solve your case in the morning and then break it again in the afternoon, and three laws besides over lunch. He was unpredictable. Bell valued predictability.
"She's not going with him?" Gregson asked, surprised. The note hadn't included any mention of Joan at all, but he'd gotten used to thinking of them as a pair; he hadn't thought she'd stay behind.
"Not according to this text message," Bell said, holding up his phone. "I'd better call her back."
Gregson nodded. He finished his beer alone.
*
There were a lot of people Sherlock didn't bother to inform. Joan sighed and took care of the details. First she called Ms. Hudson. Sherlock's note had informed Joan that she had use of the brownstone for as long as she needed, but she'd finished moving out within the week.
Ms. Hudson came over to help her with the dropcloths and closing up the house. She had a number of suggestions for keeping the place safe and secure in Sherlock's absence, and her determined cheer was contagious. They got it all done in a couple of hours and then Joan took her for coffee in thanks.
"You make sure you call me if you need anything," Ms. Hudson said when they were done, despite Joan's protests that she was just about to say the same thing. "Let's stay in touch. You never know when you're going to need a Greek translator, after all."
Joan promised she would, and hugged her goodbye. When she got her business cards done, Ms. Hudson insisted on taking several to distribute to her friends. Her second client told her that she came very highly recommended from an old friend of his.
Joan made sure to call Ms. Hudson later and thank her again.
"No," Joan said, when the question was inevitably raised, "I haven't heard from Sherlock."
I'm sure his new job keeps him pretty busy," Ms. Hudson said, and neither of them mentioned needles.
*
Joan found Teddy waiting impatiently one morning in front of the brownstone. She'd gone back to check in and make sure that no one had tried to break in recently, collect the mail, all the necessary things. She gave Teddy ten dollars and he scribbled his phone number down on an old receipt and gave it to her.
"Just in case," he said. She asked him why he was there to see Sherlock, and the case that resulted from that conversation took three exhausting days from her life, but it was completely worth it.
She went to visit Alastair, but she wasn't so maudlin as to talk to the grave. It just seemed right to stop by once in a while.
The various rehab facilities, women's shelters, and afterschool programs that Sherlock liked to donate to were still receiving his contributions; they just came from a different continent now.
She read a lot of his mail, and sometimes she wrote people back. He hadn't bothered to forward it, so it seemed fair.
*
Jamie Moriarty was still in prison. That was all anyone cared about: where her body was. The mind could travel. Hers went to England for a while, and brought some friends. Her friends were so great about keeping an eye on old acquaintances for her.
She expanded operations in New York very carefully. After all, Joan was still there.
*
Joan called Alfredo, and she called Randall. Alfredo sighed.
"He's got to stop running away," he told Joan. "Of course, preaching to the choir here. Don't worry, I'll make sure Randy finds somebody dependable to call. Probably me now that Sherlock isn't going to be waking me up at three in the morning to talk about car alarms."
If he sounded a little disappointed, Joan wasn't going to mention it.
"As far as I know, he's still sober," she told him. But he'd gone back to London and all of its temptations. "He might just call you about British car alarms."
Alfredo laughed. "Nah, I think he can handle those. Probably more practiced at 'em than me."
"You're probably right," she told him. He promised to come to her housewarming party. He brought a pretty good quiche.
*
Kitty was shaking with rage. "I will do anything to help you," she said, and Sherlock's eyes brightened.
"Is that so?" he asked, and when he offered a hand, she took it.
*
After discussions with her therapist, Joan made some life changes. She blocked Sherlock's phone number and all of his known email addresses, and hired a property management company to take care of the brownstone so she didn't have to. (Her calls to Sherlock's father regarding the building went unanswered, like all of her calls since she had stopped working for him.)
She went on first dates and sometimes on second dates. She went out with friends and was a bridesmaid in her brother's wedding. She worked, sometimes with the department and sometimes on her own. She went jogging. She got Clyde a new terrarium.
It was perfect until she walked back into the brownstone and found that Sherlock had come back, and that he thought he was helping.
She didn't tell him how much she'd missed him, but he knew, and that made it even worse.