trashchildren | For Joan

"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.

She accepts the water and begins sipping from it, leaning against him for support. She does have a headache, a combination of dehydration and emotional stress, but it's just blending in with her general achiness and misery.

She drinks about half of the bottle before handing it back.

Ted caps the bottle and sets it down, handing her the food next. At least Christmas food makes great comfort food. He gently wraps an arm around her, not holding onto her too tightly while she eats, but just enough to give that support and presence.

Joan is able to take a couple slow, careful bites, before she hands the plate back to Ted. She knows it's important to eat even though she's not hungry, but her stomach can't take much more than that at the moment.

Once Ted takes the plate Joan lies down again, aching and tired.

"I brought some chips too, if you think that'll be easier," he says, but he doesn't hand it to her unless she requests it. At least she had a bunch of water, that's the most important part.

He pulls his legs up onto the bed, shifting closer to her and sitting back against the pillows so she can use him as a teddy bear, but not quite lying down. Instead he sits there, just stroking her hair, watching over her.

"Not now," she says softly. She moves a little closer so she can rest her head against his chest and her arm over his stomach.

Sherlock looks at them for a long moment. Then he rises, but instead of leaving he goes to the other side of the bed, sitting down and drawing his legs up as well so that he's also leaning back against the pillows. He clasps his hands over his belly and sighs, settling in.

When Sherlock rises and sits down on the other side of Joan, Ted gives him a smile and an approving nod. There's not much they can do, but if Sherlock's going to sit and be worried anyway, it's better that he does it in a way where he can comfort simply with his presence.

Ted wonders about what they'll do - he assumes Joan will want to be there for the funeral, and Ted definitely wants to be there for her. It probably won't be a very long visit for him, but it's two weeks till their next match, so he's got some leeway. For now though, he just sits there, stroking her hair and gently rubbing her back, just soft soothing gestures.

Joan drifts off to a merciful sleep, just a soft darkness where she can rest from the grief and her body can relax.

Sherlock looks down at her, watching as her breathing slows, as her body relaxes. When he is certain she's deep enough in sleep that he won't disturb her, he looks up at Ted.

I appreciate you coming," he says softly.

Ted watches Joan, glad she's getting some rest. He only looks up when Sherlock finally speaks.

"Of course," he answers quietly, like he'd never consider the alternative. Honestly, even if the fight had been bad enough that they would've broken up, he still would've come. He can't imagine anything that would've made him stop caring enough to want to be there for her with something this big. "I'm glad you called."

He nods. "It was the best thing I could do for her," he says softly.

Sherlock knows Joan would want Ted to know, and that Ted is the one who would be able to care for her. But Sherlock is not the best of judges of the emotional ins and outs of relationships, and he was aware Ted was angry with Watson. Even if Ted would have come regardless, Sherlock is grateful.

Ted was briefly angry with Sherlock too, for looking up the police report. But once he calmed down, he considered it a bit more, and, well, what was Sherlock supposed to do? He probably had the same concerns that Joan did, and Joan had asked him to do it. He wouldn't say no to that.

It's just a little awkward, knowing that they've both known about it for some time - that feeling of them maybe talking about it behind his back. But that's just not something he can focus on right now.

"Um... How did the case go?" he asks, since he hasn't heard anything about it. He doesn't know if they finished, but he assumes they don't plan on working on it now.

Sherlock understands, probably better than Ted realizes. When his relationship with Watson was in its infancy, he had hid his experience with Irene from her. And when she had pursued the information he was furious. But the fact of the matter was that it was the right thing for her to know. With the knowledge she could better help him. With the knowledge they became closer, stronger. They were all the better for it.

"We finished the case around four in the morning," he answers. "Jilted lover in the police department."

Ted nods, glad at least that they'd finished that, so it wouldn't be looming over them. No wonder she's tired though, if she came home at four, and then was woken in the morning with this news.

"Has she said anything about going to the funeral?" he asks, lowering his voice even further, despite the fact that Joan seems soundly asleep.

"She has not," Sherlock says. "She more or less shut down immediately."

It had been distressing to see, even for Sherlock. He knows what a looming figure Watson's mother was in her life, so he can understand, but still, to see someone so strong shut down so completely...

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