trashchildren | For Joan

Ted gets there as fast as he can, thanking and tipping the cab driver for driving quickly. He's already pulling the keys out of his pocket, not even wanting to wait for Sherlock to open the door.

He hurries inside, and almost bumps into Sherlock. "Hey. Is she still upstairs?" he asks.

He knows it's not an emergency that actually requires this level of urgency, but it sure feels like it. He doesn't want her to have to spend a moment alone more than she needs to.

Sherlock is actually fairly impressed by how quickly Ted has managed to get there, but he's not surprised. He knows Ted would do anything for Watson.

He steps aside, gesturing up the stairs with a nod and not a word. There really isn't anything to be said. He knows Ted will take care of Watson. He trusts him with her.

Ted goes up the stairs two at a time, though he slows as he gets to the door, not wanting to stomp and burst right in there.

He pauses, taking a breath to steady himself, then knocks gently. "Joan? It's Ted," he says, waiting. For all he knows, she might actually want to be alone.

Joan is sitting inside the room, on the bed, in the dark, staring at the floor. She hears the knock and hears Ted's voice, and for a long moment she's silent, the seconds just slipping past her as she's unable to catch hold. Finally she takes a breath and manages to form a word.

"Yes," she says softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear. It's all she can manage at the moment.

The long pause really worries him, though he tries to tell himself she might just be asleep. But then she answers, and Ted takes that as invitation to enter, so he opens the door. And she's just sitting there on the bed, in the dark. It makes his heart hurt.

"Hey sweetie," he says softly, letting the door stay open as he steps inside, so at least some light can come in. He goes and sits down next to her, moving gently, and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He doesn't say anything else for the moment.

She doesn't look up as he comes in, and for a moment she is completely still as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Then she leans against him, and rests her head on his shoulder.

She knows Sherlock must have called him. Which means that he must know what's going on. She doesn't need to say anything, which is good, because she's not sure she can actually say the words.

Ted kisses the top of her head and rests his head gently against hers, calmly stroking at her arm. It breaks his heart to see her like this, not even trying to keep up a brave face.

"I'm so sorry," he says softly. He's just going to sit here with her for as long as she needs. He thinks about saying something more, but there's nothing really to say, nothing that could make it better. He knows this isn't something he can fix, so he's just going to be present, someone for her to lean on, both physically and metaphorically.

She can't put on any sort of face right now. It's one of the reasons she's in here, shut away, in the dark, where no one can see her. She's utterly raw and vulnerable, and she can't let herself be seen like this. In a way she's just like Ted...having to be strong, in control, the helper and not the one desperately in need.

But she's let Ted in. She knows he'll protect her. That he'll love her even when she falls apart.

She pulls away from him, but only to crawl onto the bed and lie down on her side. She touches his arm, wanting him to lie down with her.

For a moment he's not sure whether she wants him to leave or not, the way she's pulling away, but then she reaches for his arm, and he gives a soft (and incredibly sad) smile and nods.

He kicks off his shoes and peels off his jacket, leaving both on the floor as he crawls into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you," he murmurs quietly, because he hasn't said it enough lately.

She just nestles in his arms at first, letting him hold her, feeling achingly empty, like she has somehow ceased to exist, or maybe that the world has ceased to exist. He's the only thing holding her together right now.

Those words cause a small tremor, a threatened sob that doesn't quite materialize. They were fighting before this. He was angry with her. She has no idea if he still is. Yet he's here, his arms around her, whispering his love to her.

There's another tremor, emotion beginning to rise within her, and this time she does sob. And after that the dam bursts, and she buries her face in his chest and cries, her body shuddering with long, deep sobs.

Ted holds onto her tightly, rubbing her back as she cries, just trying to be there, something solid she can hold onto to protect her. Ted almost starts crying a little bit himself, so desperately sad for her.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here, I've got you," he whispers, kissing her hair again, even though everything is far from okay. "It's gonna be alright, I promise.." he continues, just whispers gentle reassurances, the words not even mattering as much as the fact he's saying them.

His arms, his caresses, his kisses, his words, they all surround her, hold her close and warm, just letting her fall apart and be broken for a while. She has no idea how she is ever going to be whole again, but she knows that Ted will hold and cherish all her pieces for as long as it takes.

Her sobs finally begin to wane as she runs out of strength, runs out of tears. She just lies in his arms, her breaths shuddering, his shirt tear-soaked.

"You didn't even get to meet her," she whispers, and she sobs all over again, even though it feels like there can't possibly be anything left.

"I know.." he answers, his heart breaking all over again, squeezing her tight for a moment.

He would've loved to have met Joan's mom. He'd already been mentally planning for the summer, they were both gonna take lots of time off to visit friends and family, introduce each other to everyone, see each other's hometowns... Now there's one very important person back there less to visit.

"And she didn't...get to meet you," she sobs. "She...she would have loved you."

Joan's mom could be difficult and controlling and judgmental and disapproving, and things lately had been complicated with her advancing Alzheimer's, but she knows that Ted would have won her over. Ted would have made her smile, would have made her laugh, it would have been beautiful.

She sobs harder, her body shaking, strength and tears being wrung out of her.

Ted knows that pain. And this isn't years of difference, this is maybe a few months, before they would've been able to meet. If only there had been more warning, they could've flown out there, and Joan could've been there for it, not half a world away.

"I know, sweetie.." he whispers, holding onto her and wishing desperately there was more he could do.

He imagines Sherlock feels much the same. Maybe he's even listening, with how Ted's left the door open. Ted knows it must be killing him too, being helpless while Joan is hurting so much.

Sherlock cannot help but listen. He's sitting down in the living room, ramrod straight, wringing his hands, his sharp senses making it impossible to not hear Watson weeping. Joan doesn't cry. Not around him, or around anyone. Ted is, as far as Sherlock is aware, the only exception.

Sherlock also has met Mary Watson. She's been to the Brownstone. When Watson discovered that her mother had progressing dementia but Mary refused to see a doctor, it was Sherlock that convinced her. She was above all Watson's mother, but she was a good person at heart. Someone Sherlock was grateful to, for seeing how much Watson loved what Sherlock did, and encouraging Watson to become a detective.

Joan finally quiets again, just breathing, with the occasional little shiver in her breath.

After Joan's been quiet for a while, Ted finally pulls away a little bit, just enough to look at her and gently wipe away her tears.

"Have you eaten anything today?" he asks softly. Not just to be able to do something, but because he knows being upset like this takes a lot out of you, and she's only going to feel worse if she ends up accidentally starving herself.

She leans into his touch as he wipes her tears off her face.

"No," she whispers in response. She had gone to bed so late and so tired and so sad that she had slept late, only to be woken up by Sherlock, who gave her the news. She hasn't eaten a thing. It hasn't even crossed her mind until this moment.

"I'll go get you something, okay?" he asks, wanting to make sure she has the opportunity to ask him to stay if she needs it. He strokes softly at her hair, brushing it gently away from her face.

"Would you like Sherlock to come sit with you?" he suggests. Like watching over her while she's sick, this is just another way for the two of them to look out for her. But given Sherlock had not been in here when Ted arrived, he has a sneaking suspicion he doesn't feel comfortable inviting himself.

She nods a little at his offer to get her food. She's not sure she'll be able to eat, but she has enough presence of mind now to know that she should probably try. And Ted would be right back.

She pauses at the second question, then nods again. Sherlock sat with her after Andrew died, and since coming to London he's seen her desperately ill. They've become even closer thanks to Ted working with him to keep Joan safe. She'll let him see her, care for her.

"Okay, I'll be right back," he promises, leaning in to kiss her cheek, then pulling away to get up and go downstairs.

He heads down to the living room, finding Sherlock there looking anxious as all heck. "She'd like you to come sit with her," he says softly. "I'm gonna get her some food and drink, then I'll be right back there."

Sherlock blinks, straightening even more. He's comforted Watson before, but never when she's been this deeply upset, in part because she never gets this deeply upset. But he collects himself and nods, rising and heading upstairs.

He enters the dark room and sits on the bed next to Watson. He hesitates for a moment...then he reaches out and takes her hand. Joan looks up at him. He's never done this before, being generally uncomfortable with touch and physical affection. And yet here he is, initiating touch. It warms her. She doesn't squeeze, not wanting to scare him off, but she does curl her fingers around his.

Once Sherlock gets to his feet, Ted immediately heads to the kitchen - finding pretty much nothing there of course. (At least there are no severed body parts or any weird experiments in there right now.)

So he quickly pops outside (glad it's dry out, since he did not actually bring his shoes) and into the other apartment, grabbing two bottles of water, a bag of crisps, and popping some Christmas leftovers into a bowl and reheating it. He makes sure to not grab too much - he doesn't want it to be overwhelming, and he doubts she'll want to eat too much right now.

He's back upstairs within minutes, quietly entering the bedroom. He's so glad to see Sherlock there, holding Joan's hand. They both seem to need a little nudge to take that step of comforting and accepting comfort, but when they get it, of course Sherlock is there for her.

When Ted enters the bedroom Sherlock releases Watson's hand and slides over so that she has space to sit on the edge of the bed and Ted has space to sit on the other side of her. Joan can smell the leftovers; it smells good, and her appetite ticks upward, just a little. She pushes herself up to sitting and looks up at Ted, her hands quietly folded in her lap, waiting for him to hand her food, too weary to really do much else.

Ted smiles reassuringly and sets everything down on the nightstand, sitting down next to her - though the first thing he does is open the bottle of water and hand that to her. She's bound to be dehydrated, especially after all those tears that are drying on his shirt, and she's probably going to get a headache if she doesn't have one already.

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