trashchildren | For Joan

"Alright, have a good night," Ted answers with a soft smile. "And hey, Sherlock," he adds, before he has a chance to leave. "I've really enjoyed celebrating Christmas with you guys," he says genuinely. He's so grateful for them both.

Sherlock nods a little, stiffly, a somber look on his face. "Christmas," he says softly, not looking directly at Ted, "had for a very long time been merely a reminder that I was alone in the world." He nods toward Watson. "That has slowly changed, thanks to Watson. I am no longer alone. It became neutral, not happy nor sad. Today...today I can sincerely say that I enjoyed Christmas. Possibly for the first time in my life."

He gives a "there you have it" gesture with his hands.

"I will see both of you soon." He heads for the door.

"Night," Ted answers softly, automatically. After the front door closes, he's quiet for a moment. "Wow," he breathes softly.

He's so obviously touched, he's teared up a little bit. That's no small sentiment Sherlock just shared, and one that Ted values a whole lot. Not entirely sure what to do with all these feelings, he gives Joan a tight squeeze.

"Goodnight Sherlock," Joan responds to his goodbye. She watches him leave, her heart so full of joy and love. She remembers what Sherlock was like when they first met, bitter and angry and lonely and broken. Hating everyone but hating himself most of all. He's come so very far in the time they've known each other. And this...well. This was Ted. The light and life and joy Ted has brought into their lives.

So she squeezes him tightly in return, so happy and so grateful.

"I think that counts as a very successful Christmas," he comments happily, then gives Joan's cheek a smooch. "You wanna get ready for bed?"

"I agree," she answers, and answers the kiss on the cheek with one on the lips before finally pulling away and standing up, stretching with a yawn and happy sigh.

"Bed sounds perfect," she says as she lowers her arms, smiling at him.

Ted gets up and stretches too - he'd been reluctant to move, but thankfully when he doesn't have Joan snuggled up to him anymore, it's easier to get up.

He joins her to the bathroom so they can brush their teeth together and get ready for bed.

They don't get to do this very often these days, and she misses it. The simple intimacy of standing shoulder to shoulder at the mirror and brushing their teeth is wonderful.

Once they're done Joan heads into the bedroom and begins to undress, shedding her clothing piece by piece, not trying to be sexy but still intimate, being with him in a way she wouldn't be with anyone else.

She might not be trying to be sexy, but she doesn't have to try. He undresses too, enjoying the comfortable silence. But before she has a chance to climb into bed, he does step over to her to rest his hands on her waist and give her a soft, loving kiss.

She hums and slides her arms over his shoulders to embrace him and kiss him back, softly at first, and then more firmly, with more purpose. They've been so busy, much of their time together comprised of stolen moments. But now they have this whole evening together, and she doesn't want it to go to waste.

It's nice how easy it is for them communicate their intent, that just like that Ted knows she doesn't want to just snuggle up and cuddle until they fall asleep. Doing so definitely wouldn't be a waste in Ted's eyes, but this is even better.

They make it into bed, and while there's a bit of urgency brought on by not having done this in a little bit, Ted makes sure to take his time. It's slow and gentle and loving, until it's not so slow or gentle (but always loving). And it's perfectly imperfect, as all good things are.

It's beautiful, the two of them in sync with one another, the passion between them flowing like water, every breath and cry and motion an act of love.

When it's over, Joan takes a moment just to catch her breath and bask. Then she rolls over to snuggle up with Ted.

"That was really nice," she murmurs with a smile.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, letting out a happy sigh as he wraps an arm around her, gently tracing his fingertips across her arm, just gentle touches of affection. He's fighting sleepiness, not wanting the night to end just yet, even if he knows it's only a matter of time.

"You coming to the match tomorrow?" he asks, mostly just to have something to talk about so he doesn't fall asleep.

"Wouldn't miss it," she answers, brushing her fingertips gently against his chest. She's rather sleepy too, and is likewise trying to stay awake just a little bit longer.

"This has been a wonderful Christmas," she murmurs.

"Yeah, it has," he agrees, and he kisses her hair, giving her a little squeeze. "So much better than it would've been..."

He can just imagine how bleak it would've been, if he didn't have her and Sherlock to help him tear himself away from the sadness of not being able to be with Henry.

"Yeah," she says softly, squeezing him back. She pauses for a moment, debating whether to say anything. In the end she decides that it's better to err on the side of honesty. To an extent.

"I was worried about you," she says softly.

He glances down at her and smiles softly. "Yeah, me too, for a bit there," he admits quietly. Even if she doesn't know the full extent of it, he can admit that he was feeling pretty down about everything. It's not exactly a secret. "I'm alright though," he reassures her.

"I'm glad," she says.

She pauses again, wondering if she should tell him she knows about his father. She had been keeping it a secret, waiting until the right time to tell him. But today makes it clear the effects of his father's suicide are more immediate than she thought.

She decides on a halfway solution.

"Can we talk about it a little tomorrow?"

Ted pauses, looking at her curiously. "Sure, if you want," he answers softly. Does she want to bring up Henry coming to stay for a bit more long-term? He assumes it's about Henry, since that's what he was sad about.

"Thanks," she says, snuggling closer. She knows it's going to be a difficult conversation, and things are so nice and happy right now. She doesn't want to ruin that.

"I love you," she murmurs.

"You too," he answers, tilting his head a little to softly kiss her hair, then just resting his head against hers, and stops resisting the sleepiness.

Joan feels him relax, hears his breathing deepen and slow. She's awake for a little while longer, holding him and being held, thinking about tomorrow. What is she going to say? How is he going to react? Will he be angry that she looked into it? That she didn't tell him? That she didn't wait for him to tell her? All those would be completely understandable things for him to be angry with her about. This is huge, and she wonders if she should just not say anything after all.

But she's genuinely concerned about him, about him feeling so detached from his own son and with his father's suicide a fact that he will never be free from. She knows he doesn't quit things...but all it takes is one time, one decision, in a moment of guilt or grief or despair. And she wants him to know she's with him.

If he'll still have her.

She stares in the dark for several minutes before she's finally able to relax and join him in sleep.

Ted sleeps, blissfully unaware of what's going through Joan's mind, just calm and comfortable with her presence in his arms.

He wakes up early next morning, eager for the day, slipping out carefully. He goes to shower, shave, then make breakfast for them both, humming to himself as he works in the kitchen.

He manages to slip out of bed without waking her, and Joan sleeps until she's roused by the smell of food. She smiles, knowing that Ted is in the kitchen and making them breakfast. She loves these mornings, especially when they don't have to run off and can talk a little.

Today's subject matter will be a little less pleasant, she's afraid.

She gets up and pads into the kitchen in a pair of shorts and her Namath jersey, with a red sweater over it.

"Good morning," she greets him with a smile, going to him and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

"Morning, sweetie," he answers, kissing the top of her head and wrapping one arm around her, the other one still holding a spatula as he's keeping watch over the pancakes he's making. "You sleep alright?"

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