That was the secondo time Joan Watson’s world had stopped in her whole life. She was about to leave Sherlock and sposta on to another client, and she had been in that situation thousands of times- the fact of leave a client and then go to another was common for her, it was a routine. But for some strange reason, she couldn’t leave Sherlock so easily. She had become a way attached to him, they were friends? Joan wondered, but then she remembered that “Sherlock Holmes doesn’t have any friends.” She couldn’t help herself and imagined how a giorno without Sherlock could be, the scenario wasn’t too favorable.
She was going to miss him. And she needed him? Maybe, but the only thing Joan Watson knew for sure was that Sherlock wasn’t just another client.
“Sherlock, I can’t stay. It’s time for me to leave you. te need to sposta on without me and so do I,” she answered hesitantly.
“Ok, then my dear Watson,” Sherlock walked towards the door and opened it for Joan, who was carrying her suitcase. Outside, a big storm strikes the city- the rain drops were falling with such force, Sherlock and Joan were getting wet in a matter of minutes.
“It was a pleasure to work with te Sherlock Holmes,” she said, offering her hand to him for shake. He took her hand in his and shook it, then he said, “Thank te my dear Watson, te will not be forgotten.” In the minuto Sherlock’s fingers rose her hand Joan feel it, a spark, a little shock of electricity, the sensation hit her like a ton of bricks, then she realized, she couldn’t leave him because she had feelings for him.
Joan let go of Sherlock’s hand rapidly and said, “Goodbye Sherlock and take care. If te need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Then just as she was getting into the cab, she was stopped da a hand. Sherlock’s hand.
“You can’t go,” he said.
“Our time is up Sherlock, we both need to sposta on.”
“I can’t, I need you.”
“You don’t need me, te think te need me,” she answered.
“That’s not true. I need you, Joan. I need te to be happy, I need te to be alive. A few months fa a part of me died with Irene, I thought I could never recover from that, but then te came along. I wasn’t expecting te to get to understand me so well, te get to know me since the first day, te know my demons and te accepted me as me, a broken man who needed fixing.” da now, Sherlock couldn’t tell if Joan was either crying o the drops from the storm were the wetness on her face. The storm was crying for both of them, they were both broken, they needed to be fixed. Until now, they realized the only way either of them could be happy was if they stay together. How funny was the prank the destiny had played to them.
They just stayed there looking at each other while the raindrops were still falling, getting them soaked from head to toe. Joan didn’t know how to act; she couldn’t believe it, Sherlock Holmes, the most complicated client she had to work with, was telling her to stay and confessing his Amore for her.
“Can this be true?” she whispered.
“You get nothing but the truth from me,” he said.
Then, Sherlock took Joan’s hand and asked her once again to stay. She nodded quickly. Sherlock paid the cabbie and approached where Joan was and they both watched as the taxi drove away from the brownstone. Sherlock took Joan’s hand and said, “I Amore you.” Then he touched Joan’s face in his hand and kissed her with everything he had. Joan was shocked at first, but then she wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s torso and continued to baciare him with fervor. The rain was a catharsis for both of them; finally they were getting fixed, they were each other’s key to happiness, to forgiveness, to a new love. Finally, they had hope.
Sherlock let go of Joan and rested his forehead in hers, then he said, “We should get inside, we will catch a cold.” She nodded briefly. Sherlock and Joan walked into the arenaria, brownstone hand in hand.
Inside the brownstone, Sherlock placed Joan’s suitcase da the door and walked with her to the living room. An awkward silence filled the room; they were overwhelmed da the recente events. Joan never thought in a million years that Sherlock Holmes, the man who hadn’t meaningful connections, told her a little over 15 minuti fa that he loved her. He loved her, since when? She wondered, she couldn’t hold it anymore so she had to ask.
“How long have te had feelings for me?” she asked.
“I think since the giorno we met, but I didn’t realize until after, when the “M” case happened and te saw how I was a different person and then te stayed, I knew I had fallen in Amore again.”
“I Amore te too,” she said, and just like that they were baciare again, that was the confirmation Sherlock needed, finally he found a new love, a new reason to be.
The baciare was stronger this time, it was a baciare full of Amore da the both parts, suddenly Joan wrapped her legs around Sherlock’s torso, and he carried her upstairs to his room. Their clothes were slowly removed, and before they realized, they were making love. Sherlock was so gentle and sweet, he wanted to mostra Joan how much he loved her, Joan was the first woman he had made Amore since Irene, the first woman he had a meaningful connection with.
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A few hours passed and Joan and Sherlock were still in bed, they had made Amore four times since the first time, outside was still raining, their Amore filled up the room.
“So… where do we go from here?” She blurted out, at first she was scared of the answer, but then she decided it was now o never.
“Well, I-I don’t know, Joan.”
“I mean, how this is going to work? Are we something? Do te want us to be something?”
“Watson I can’t promise te this will work, but if te stick with me, I promise te that I’ll try.”
“Let’s give this a shot. This will work, I believe in us.”
“You always know, Watson. te always know.”
