trashchildren | For Joan

Ted of course just brings the clothes he was already wearing, since he's only been wearing them a few hours. He was thinking the same thing, but then of course Sherlock has thought of everything, as usually.

He smiles when he sees it and nods a bit. "Gotta tell you, I love that man," he comments appreciatively.

"Me too," Joan responds softly. It's not the first time Sherlock has laid out clothing for her, of course, but in those previous instances it was usually because he wanted her to get ready in a hurry so they could go chasing after the latest lead in the case. This...this is Sherlock caring for her from afar, helping her unasked and then leaving her be. It's incredibly touching, and very Sherlock.

She dresses slowly. Her body feels much better after the shower, the hot water having soothed her muscles, but there's still an ache, a heaviness, that will probably be with her for some time.

Ted dresses quickly, which is usual for him, but he's a little extra spurred on by wanting to help Joan. Or at least be available to help. He doesn't want to coddle her either, since he knows she hates that. He just wants to be her safety net.

"You should eat something," he points out, since it wouldn't surprise her if she didn't eat that much last night while working, and she's barely taken two bites today.

She appreciates both him being there and him not coddling her. She manages to dress by herself, even if it takes her a little longer than usual. Then she sits down at the edge of the bed and looks up at him.

"I know," she says softly. "I think I might be able to stomach a few potato chips and some water."

He picks up the bag of chips from the nightstand and opens it, handing it to her, then sits down next to her. He reaches over to grab the bottled water as well, taking a sip himself, then just holding it her for when she wants it, and loosely putting an arm around her back. Just being present.

She leans into him, grateful for his presence, his warmth, his support. His love.

She eats the chips slowly. The saltiness is soothing, and the carbohydrates are gentle on her stomach. She takes the bottle from him a few times, taking a couple sips each time before handing it back. She manages to finish the baggie of chips and the bottle of water. She hands the bag to him, then leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

Ted sets aside the empty bag and bottle, and just rests against her, grateful she got something in her at least. It doesn't need to be incredibly healthy as long as there's something in there to keep her going right now.

He rubs gently at her arm and kisses the top of her head. "How are you feeling?" he asks softly.

"Okay," she responds quietly. She knows he's aware of what she means. She's not okay overall. She's sad and tired and aching, emotionally wounded. But physically speaking, she's okay for the moment.

"I should call my dad," she says, her head still on Ted's shoulder.

"Do you want to be alone, or do you want me to sit with you?" he asks gently, reaching over to take her hand, stroking it softly with his thumb.

"I'd like you to stay," she answers, curling her fingers around his hand. It's going to be difficult to talk to her dad, and she wants his support.

"I'm here for as long as you need me," he promises, squeezing her hand gently. Given the grief they're both going through, a conversation like that can sometimes go in unexpected directions too. He definitely prefers staying with her, just in case something happens.

"Thank you." Joan squeezes his hand back, just a little, then reaches for the phone that Sherlock left on the nightstand. She looks at it for a long moment, long enough that Ted might think she's stuck again. But then she turns on the phone, brings up her dad's number and hits the call button, raising the phone up to her ear.

The phone rings four times before a weary voice answers.

"Hey Joanie."

Joan smiles faintly, sadly.

"Hi dad. You doing okay?"

"All things considered?"

She breathes a small, quiet laugh that's just a hair away from a sob. "Yeah. Hey...I was wondering if you've made arrangements. I need to book my flight."

"Right...right...um. Wednesday. Oren and I decided on Wednesday."

"Okay. That's good to know. I'll let you know my plans once I make them."

"Is Sherlock coming with you?"

"Yes. And Ted."

"Ted...oh, that man you've been seeing in London."

She glances at Ted. "Yes. I told you about Ted. We're living together."

"You're not living with Sherlock anymore?"

"I am. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Ted is the one keeping you in London, though."

"Dad..."

"I'm just saying. It would have been nice to have you here. Oren and I would have appreciated it. I know your mom would have appreciated it."

Joan closes her eyes and bows her head. "I'll call when I know my plans."

"All right. Love you, Joanie."

"Love you, dad."

She hangs up, puts the phone aside, and hides her face in her hands.

In this otherwise very quiet room, it's difficult not to hear most of what Joan's dad is saying.

Ted definitely doesn't take it personally. Given the circumstances, he has no problem being the scapegoat.

And while he knows Henry Watson must be hurting just as much as Joan is, the fact that he would take this moment to guilt-trip Joan really makes Ted's heckles rise, wanting to rise to her defense in some way. But it's not his place, nor would it probably help.

Once Joan hangs up, Ted rubs at her back comfortingly, giving her a moment.

"You would've been there if you knew," he says quietly.

Joan has been guilt tripped her whole life. For her mother it was practically an art form. It's one of the reasons she takes so much guilt on her own shoulders, internalizing what she got from both her parents. So that doesn't bother her as much as the way her father talked about Ted. Which of course he heard.

She lowers her hands, staring down at them.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," she says softly.

"It's okay," he reassures gently. "He's in pain right now. Once we get to know each other, things will be alright."

He pauses a moment. "So, Wednesday, right?" he prompts, to get her to focus less on the interaction, and more on what needs to be done.

"Wednesday," she repeats softly, staring forward. It's good to have something to focus on. Part of what had caused her to fall apart so completely earlier was that she was so utterly helpless. Her mother was gone and she was hundreds of miles away and there was nothing she could do, not a thing.

But now she's got something, and she grabs onto it hard.

"Can you leave tonight?" she asks, still staring straight ahead. Her voice is still quiet, but now with a tightness to it. An efficiency.

He does pick up on the change, and he's fine to roll with it. He'll make sure to be there in case she does fall apart again, but he figures for now it's better to focus on what they need to do.

"Uh, let's see," he answers, taking a moment to consider. "I'll have a few things to sort out at work, but I think a lot of that can be done via my laptop. And packing shouldn't take long. I think it should be alright."

"Okay."

She stands up, heading out of the room, still focused straight ahead. "I'm going to talk to Sherlock and get my laptop."

She doesn't stop until she's down in the living room where Sherlock is sitting.

"Are you good to leave tonight?" she asks him. He nods. "Good," she says, heading for the door. "I'll buy the tickets."

Ted follows her, though a bit more slowly, still coming down the stairs as Joan speaks to Sherlock (he assumes that's a yes, even if he can't see or hear it), and then disappears out the door.

He comes down to the living room, still looking vaguely in the direction of the door. "And off she goes," he comments with a sad sigh.

Sherlock looks at the door as well, his expression a little sad, a little worried, but mostly stoic.

"You needn't take it personally," he says, looking at Ted. "As you know, it's what she does. At least this time a last minute flight to New York has a far more certain purpose."

"I don't," he reassures. Though as Sherlock points out, it does evoke some memories. But this time, Ted and Sherlock will be going with her.

He looks over at Sherlock, shaking off the wistfulness. "I'm gonna go arrange things and pack my stuff. You all good here?"

"I shall endeavor to wrangle socks into a suitcase all by my lonesome," he says dryly, standing with a sigh. "And then I must make a few phone calls. Make sure the Brownstone is open and ready for our arrival. And that Gregson and Bell are aware of the situation."

Sherlock also does better when there are tangible things he can do.

"Alright. I'll see you later," he says, grabbing his stuff and heading off. If nothing else, he does look forward to meeting someone of Joan's friends and family, even if it won't be very cheery circumstances.

He heads over to 221A first of all. The impractical bit of kind of living in two places is that his stuff is spread. He'll have to pop by his apartment in Richmond to get the rest of it, and make sure the place is safe to leave for a week or two. And he wants to explain things to Rebecca and Beard in person.

Joan is in the kitchen with her laptop when Ted arrives at 221A. She's using the same site that she did the last time she made a hasty departure. She's choosing to ignore the bad memories, shoving those down along with all of her feelings so she can focus on the task at hand.

"Hey," Ted says as he enters the kitchen and spots her there. "I'm gonna go pack my stuff so I'll be ready to leave with you. You call me if you need anything?" he says, gently touching her back. He wants to make sure it doesn't feel too much like last time, by reminding her they're going together.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject