trashchildren | For Joan

Joan sighs at that squeeze and gives him a grateful smile, feeling seen and understood and cared for. She chuckles a little at the joking.

"Sherlock actually offered to move out of the Brownstone, if our unorthodox living situation was a barrier to me adopting. I wouldn't have made him do that, though. He'd make an amazing eccentric uncle."

Ted chuckles with amusement. He doesn't know enough about him to judge, but he's sure Joan would know. And he's sure if Joan was adopting a kid on her own (since she hasn't mentioned there was another person involved), having a second adult in the house would be helpful, even if they're not romantically involved. Not like it's that uncommon to live in different family units than the nuclear family.

"The 'Brownstone' is your place in New York?" he asks, now Joan has used that word twice.

Joan had told Sherlock that he wouldn't have to do anything if she had a child, that it would be her responsibility alone. That said, it seems likely he would have been somewhat involved.

"Oh! Yes. Sorry, I should have explained." The Brownstone is such a central part of her life in New York that it seems like a matter-of-course. "It's a row house in Brooklyn. Technically it belongs to Sherlock's father. It's where we live, and where we do a lot of our work. Which means it's not exactly your usual home." She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze. "I would love to show it to you someday."

Ted listens curiously, and at the last bit he smiles warmly. He loves that she wants to share her life with him, not just in the spending time together way, but in introducing him to all sorts of aspects of it, and he's so eager to see all of it.

"I'd love that," he agrees. "So, what, do you have a secret lab there and stuff, or what?" he asks with a small laugh. He wouldn't put it past them. (Maybe not a full lab, although that would be kind of cool.)

"Not exactly," she says, smiling. "We have some lab equipment, but we usually use the kitchen table. We do a lot of our work in the living room, so we have some interesting things in there. We also tend to put things up on the wall over the fireplace when we're working a case, to help visualize the connections we're looking for. Oh, and there's a rack of locks that we use to practice lockpicking."

Ted nods along, trying to envision the place. Mostly he's imagining something like 221B, but with those things she's mentioning. And of course she knows how to pick locks. Of course.

"Oooh, so you got the big conspiracy board and everything," Ted says excitedly. "And here I gotta make do with just a boring whiteboard," he adds jokingly. Obviously he doesn't actually need a conspiracy board to do his job. Especially because, well, he's working with the same team, he doesn't have different cases, just different opponents, and there's probably not enough basis there to fill a big board every week.

She lifts her eyebrows. "Conspiracy board!" she says. "I haven't heard that one. 'Crazy wall' is what people usually call it." She smiles. "I definitely don't knock the use of a good whiteboard. I'd love to watch you work yours." She'd love to watch him in his element in general. She's only seen bits and pieces here and there in his interactions with his players outside the stadium, and on TV whenever the camera is turned to him on the sidelines.

"Yeah, you know, with the red strings connecting all the clues?" Ted says, smiling. "Gotta have the red string though, otherwise it doesn't count. But yeah, for me it's less about the whiteboard and more about the people, really."

And he'd gladly have her spectating him working, but then again, he'd probably find it difficult to concentrate and remain professional.

She grins, laughing. "Every once in a while there's string involved." She rolls her eyes in mock drama. "And yes, okay, the string is usually red. We actually have a wall we use at 221B for the same purpose, if you'd like to see an actual conspiracy wall in action, the next time we have a case."

It would be a lot easier for Ted to watch Joan at work rather than the other way around.

"Oooh, exciting. Just as long as I'm not getting in the way," he answers. "Ooh, you know how in TV shows, they usually have one person who doesn't have a clue what's going on, so the show uses that character as an excuse to explain stuff to the audience? I could be that. ...Not sure how helpful that actually is in an investigation, but." He shrugs.

"Angus!" Joan exclaims, then shakes her head, amused. "No, you wouldn't be Angus." She turns to face him as she explains. "Sherlock has this phrenology bust he named Angus. He used to explain things to it when he needed to talk through his thoughts on a case. At one point, before I became a detective, he said I was his new Angus, that he would talk at me and I should just be silent." She rolls her eyes. "You can imagine what I told him he could do with that idea. But it actually is really helpful to talk through a case with someone who isn't part of the investigation, especially if you're stuck. It forces you to organize your thoughts, and the person you're talking to can sometimes notice things you've missed."

Ted blinks in confused surprise when she apparently calls him a name, then grins once she explains it. And snickers a little imagining her telling him to stuff it.

"Oh yeah, the rubber duck," Ted agrees. "I saw a thing on the Internet about how programmers would explain their things to rubber ducks."

"Really? Huh! I'd never heard of that. But yes, that's the general idea."

She leans in and gives him a gentle kiss, smiling as she drew back.

"You're better than a rubber duck," she says with a fond smile.

Ted smiles into the kiss. Maybe he's romance-starved or something, but it just makes him so happy to just sit here and chat and cuddle and occasionally kiss.

"I dunno, I happen to have a pretty high opinion of rubber ducks," he answers playfully.

Joan has been satisfied to be without romance for a while. She wouldn't have thought that she would meet someone that would change that, much less meet that person in London. And then Ted came along.

"I mean, they are adorable," she says, eyes sparkling. "And kids love them. Even with that, though, I'm pretty sure you've got the rubber ducks beat."

"That's true, I am also adorable and kids love me, and I know how to moonwalk," Ted agrees seriously, though he breaks into a deep chuckle almost immediately.

Joan laughs as well, half in surprise. "Okay," she says. "You cannot just say that and not demonstrate."

"Mmm!" Ted answers, taking a drink of wine, setting it down on the table and jumping to his feet, stepping over to a more open spot on the floor.

And then he moonwalks. It is by no means a perfect moonwalk, but it's serviceable. "There you go! Or how about--" And then he does the running man. And then something that appears to be an NSYNC dance move. And then some steps that include fingerwagging. "I can keep going!" He does the wave move with his arms. All very obviously just to make Joan laugh.

And Joan is cracking up. She's laughing and clapping and grinning so wide that her face hurts. She hasn't laughed this hard in god knows how long. She holds up her hands in surrender, laughing so hard that it takes a moment for her to talk.

"Okay, okay" she says finally, still chuckling. "Clearly you are a dancing machine."

"You know it, baby!" Ted answers, ridiculously. "Come on, now you," he says, grabbing his phone and opening up the music player, turning on a random song from his locker room jams, which ends up being 'Juice' by Lizzo.

He drops his phone on the table and then gestures for Joan to get up, holding out his hands for her. "Come on."

"What?" she says, blinking in surprise when he encourages her to come dance. "No...no, I..."

And then he's there, holding out his hands, Lizzo blaring from his phone, and Joan really has absolutely no choice.

"Fine," she says with a grin and a playful eyeroll. She gets up and takes his hands, ready to dance with him.

It's very difficult to say no to Ted when he gets excited. Lucky for her, he has absolutely no demands beyond trying to move to the music and not standing still. He pulls her along happily, taking the lead and encouraging her - he saw her at karaoke, he knows she's got it in her! He pulls her into a waltz hold, and it's messy and silly, but it's fun.

She's a little stiff at first, this not being her sort of thing, generally speaking. She had danced and strutted on stage to Material Girl, but that was a performance, and this...this is just sheer, exhilarating, silly JOY, and she's not used to that.

But she loosens up as he encourages her, and by the time he sweeps her into a waltz hold she's laughing again, moving with him, dancing with him, letting go and being joyous with him.

The song ends, and Ted is still holding her, breathless and happy. And then 'Wichita Skyline' starts up, a much more mellow and even romantic song, and Ted smiles down at Joan, still moving gently with the music, and gives her a kiss.

"It might have been a mistake to do this right after eating," he comments with a chuckle after they pull back again, but he's clearly not regretting it, still holding her close.

She's breathless and happy, too, still laughing when the first song ends. Her laugh quiets as the next song starts, slower and sweeter, and she smiles up at him, swaying with him, and closes her eyes as he kisses her.

"No," she says, her voice and her smile both soft. "This is perfect."

She presses gently closer, dancing with him, her eyes on his, feeling warm and fluttery inside.

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