Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The doctor’s waiting room was almost empty. This week’s treatment had taken its toll on Joan’s energy level. Sherlock sat filling in paperwork for her, and she sat in the chair beside him.

“What is Arthur’s middle name?” He asked, pen at the ready to fill in the blank.

“Holmes.”

He turned to look at her to confirm he’d heard her correctly. “Holmes?”

Sleepily, Joan nodded. “You named a bee after me, I thought it was the least I could do.”

“You named the boy after me?” She nodded as he repeated softly, “You named the boy after me.” A slow smile crossed his face and spread to hers.

He blinked at something in his eye, cleared his throat and wrote the name in with unabashed pride.

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood nearby and observed. Joan was showing him the ropes - essential duties he might have to take over if the chemo became too much for her to handle (which it wouldn’t she assured him.)

Tucking Arthur in at night was one of her favorite daily rituals although at times it could turn into a battle royale. Tonight Arthur was stalling.

Joan sat at her son’s bedside and closed the third book of the evening. “Okay, Arthur,” she kissed him on the forehead, “Sleep tight. Love you.”

Arthur smiled the smile of a child who was not ready to give in just yet. “Can I have a glass of water.... Please?”

Joan sighed. The addition of the magic word was a clever touch she thought.

Sherlock noted her exasperation and chimed in, “I’ll get it.” Picking up the empty Blues Clues cup (a gift from Aunt Lin), he walked out of the room.

Arthur looked his mom and smiled. “I like Uncle Sherlock. He’s nice.”

Joan returned the child’s smile thinking how Sherlock would cringe at the thought of being considered ‘nice.’ “Yes, he is, isn’t he.”

“He’s like us.” Arthur’s expression grew serious and he sat up on his elbows leaning towards his mom. He took a moment or two to speak. “Mommy can I ask you something? Is Uncle Sherlock my daddy?” he whispered with eyes lit up in expectation of her answer.

Joan looked at her son’s eyes face, eager for an answer and was at a loss as to how to explain without hurting him. She heard the scrape of Sherlock’s step beside her and realized he must have heard the question.

“Your water, Master Arthur,” he bowed playfully and handed him his cup.

Sherlock looked at Joan and silently asked “May I?” To which enthusiastically nodded yes.

Sherlock rounded the boy’s bed and sat across from Joan. “Arthur, if you will permit me to answer your question.... unfortunately I am not your father, biologically or legally, but I care for you as much or perhaps even more than any father cares for his child and I will do my best to always make sure you are happy and healthy and safe.”

Arthur thoughtfully considered the statement before springing up, throwing his arms around Sherlock’s neck and placing a firm and slightly slobbery kiss on his stubbled cheek. Left wide-eyed and immobile at the unexpected show of affection, Sherlock watched the boy lay back down to be tucked in by his mother; a snuggle and a kiss and Arthur’s eyes softly closed.

Joan lit the orange octopus night light and escorted a still dazed Sherlock out of the room and into the darkened hallway. “That was beautiful Sherlock. Your answer was perfect.” Barefoot, she stood on tiptoe to reach up and kiss his cheek.

Sherlock shook his head, “You Watsons are an overly emotional lot. We are going to have to reset boundaries.” He side-eyed her, only to have his sternest look be met with such love and warmth that a lopsided grin sprung to his face and he had to walk away to avoid further embarrassment.

————

Next day’s training included picking up Arthur from school. Joan punched in the school’s security code and opened the gate. Sherlock duly noted the numbers.

“I’ve listed you as authorized to pick him up.” Joan walked Sherlock to the school office, past the enclosed school yard full of little kids running, laughing and screaming as they waited to be picked up. “You’ll need to sign him out and show picture ID until they get to know you.”

“Excellent.” Sherlock was pleased at the level of security but noted areas where he thought their system could be improved. He would address those at a later date.

Joan led him to the yard and they scanned the area for Arthur. He saw them first and waved. As Joan and Sherlock walked towards him, the boy turned to his companions, “My mommy and daddy are here. Bye. See you tomorrow.”

Sherlock stood pleased and dumbfounded. He looked at his partner and her eyes shone with the same emotions he was holding in.

The moment was interrupted by Arthur barreling into them, “I’m ready! Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock sat in his chair. The same chair he once sat in and watched her sleep because he needed her, now he sat in and watched her sleep because she needed him.

A soft deep breath. Her body relaxed. Her expression calmed. Joan was finally resting comfortably, at least he hoped so.

The past forty-eight hours had been particularly rough for her. Watching her suffer through the weekend’s activities for Arthur’s sake, keeping a smile on her face and a happy lilt to her voice, had been heart wrenching. But Joan was a fighter and would not be dissuaded; she pushed herself and all he could do was stand by to catch her should she fall.

The brownstone whispered and creaked, filtered street light laid familiar patterns on the wooden floor, the old chair embraced him, and he drifted into a light sleep.

A touch brought him back to consciousness. With one hand on Sherlock’s knee, Arthur stood in his fleece pajamas staring solemnly at his mother. He spoke without taking his eyes off her, “Is mommy sick?”

A lump formed in Sherlock’s throat. Joan had put off having this conversation with the boy, not wanting to worry him.

“She was feeling poorly, yes. But sleep is helping her feel better.” He’d learned from Joan how to answer the child’s questions without providing too much information. Arthur did not respond and stood glassy-eyed watching his mother sleep. Perhaps they’d underestimated the child’s intuitive ability to comprehend the unsaid.

Sherlock placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why are you not in bed, hmm?”

The look of fear and sadness on Arthur’s face as he turned towards him was all too familiar. He’d worn that face himself when he was a few years older than the child. He pushed down thoughts of his own mother and the “illness” they kept from him.

“Come here.” He moved to pick Arthur up and the child extended his arms up to him. Placing him on his lap, he cradled him and the boy cuddled into his chest. “Your mum is going to be fine. You needn’t worry about her. She is very strong and loves you very much. She will take good care of you. As will I.”

Arthur held on to Sherlock’s shirt, pressed his ear to his chest and listening to the reassuring rumble of his words his eyes began to close. “.... I’ll make sure you and your mum are safe and happy. There’s no need for worries, hmm? ...” Sherlock peeked down at the now calm face of the boy as he drifted off to sleep.

He pressed his lips to the top of Arthur’s head and whispered, “I love you both very much.”

Joan quietly watched....

***

Somewhere on the bed, muffled under pillows and covers, a phone chimed. It made little difference to the bed’s occupants; they slept on. Arthur took up the lion’s share of the space. Arms and legs spread out and over his mom and Sherlock, he slept with free and gleeful abandon. The adults arched around the boy as best they could; Sherlock’s head lay on Joan’s shoulder, her cheek on his head.

***

Rose exhaled the tense breath she’d been holding since letting herself into the brownstone. She closed the bedroom door with a soft click. Arthur would miss school today she decided; all three needed rest and family time. And she, well she needed a cup of something strong to dispel the panic, perhaps that weasel-vomit coffee of Sherlock’s.

Chapter Text

“I think I have a photo of Arthur here in the outfit your mom gave him.”

Joan swiped through the photos on her phone as Linn took a sip of tea and watched the blur of kid pics.

“WAIT!” She grabbed Joan’s hand, “Go back, go back…” Joan obliged knowing exactly which photo Linn wanted to see. She’d forgotten it was there.

“Oh my god! Is … is that Sherlock? Is that what lives beneath the brown suits and buttoned up shirts!  Good lord!”  Joan tried to contain her pride. He really was quite something. 

“Yeah. Wasn’t crazy about the beard but that’s him. We were out in Nevada, on a private case. It was just really hot…”

“I’ll say it was!” Linn took the phone from her hand and zoomed in. “And you mean to tell me you’ve never, I mean, not even tempted … “

“Linn, give me the phone.” It suddenly occurred to Joan there were other photos she most definitely did not want her sister to see. 

“Fine.” She handed her back the phone. “I can’t believe that’s what Mr. Nerdy-Brain looks like. I’ll have to revise my nicknames for the guy. How are you and he not…”

“Stop! What we do or don’t do is between us, okay?”

Linn stopped and took a closer look at her sister, resolving to pry some more at a later date. “Okay. But could you send me a copy of that photo?”

Chapter Text

After several books read, Arthur, in footed p.j.s and tucked under warm blankets, slept upstairs. 

The snow, that had begun to fall in the late afternoon, continued into the evening, coating the street and sidewalk with a crunchy layer of pristine white. The brownstone sat mostly dark except for the the warm glow of the fire in the library hearth. Its light and gentle heat enveloped Joan and Sherlock as they sat nestled in each other’s arms upon the sofa. The recent change in their personal life was kept personal - only when alone did they indulge in closer contact. 

Her head at his shoulder and arms at his waist were reciprocated by his cheek contently laying softly on her head and his arm round her shoulders.

“All I’m saying is it was certainly possible for the victim to be taken by surprise in the parking garage. He was partially deaf, he wouldn’t have heard her come up behind him and that would give her ample opportunity to stab him to death.”

“Yes but he was not killed where we found him. The physical evidence while tenuous points elsewhere.”

Joan lifted her head and looked at him, “Says you and no one else.”

The look of skepticism and mockery on her face somehow made her all the more enticing to him and he bent down for a kiss.

“Are you trying to change my mind with kisses rather than facts?” Joan wiped at the remnants of her lipstick on his lips, and he without affirming his intentions verbally, physically confirmed her suspicion. They adjusted into each other and enjoyed the quiet pleasures of the moment. 

“Mommy?” Arthur’s voice called to her from upstairs. “Can I get a drink of water?”

With a sigh, and an apologetic glance at her partner, Joan stood. “I’ll be right there.”

Joan came back downstairs to find Sherlock with his head tilted back and his feet up on the old ottoman that had been spared storage when she redecorated. “Arthur okay?” he asked. 

“Yes.” She reclaimed her position beside him. “This is becoming a habit for him… not wanting to go to sleep…”

He extended his arm and placed it round her shoulders. “Do you think it might have anything to do with me?” 

Joan snuggled in, “How so?”

“While we’ve endeavored to keep the change in our relationship from him, he is a very observant child and he may have picked up on haptic clues to our change of status. Perhaps Arthur is worried that I am attempting to supplant him in your affections.”

Joan paused to consider Arthur’s behavior as of late. “That is possible. Perhaps we need to talk, all three of us, reassure him of how much he is loved.”

“Technically, though I was here first,” he side-eyed her with a teasing look in his eye. “I too need reassurance …”

Joan leaned in and gave him a slow, passionate kiss, pulling away only to whisper, “Admit you’re wrong about where the victim was killed and you can have much more reassurance.”

Chapter Text

She can tell he is irritated by the rhythm of his gait as he walks into the kitchen. Joan turns to confirm her suspicions.

“Your child is an obstreperous scalawag who will not yield his mad theories even when faced with solid logic and facts.” He places his book too carefully on to the table and stares at Joan. 

She casually leans against the kitchen counter. “We are talking about Arthur, five year old Arthur?”

“Age is irrelevant. I showed him the research, the criteria used, the data collected, the information from which only one scientific conclusion is plausible. Pluto is not a planet. And yet he insists on adding it to his schematic and refutes my data.”

“Schematic?” Joan takes a sip of her coffee to hide her smile. “You mean the crayon drawing of the solar system he’s working on for class?”

Holmes nods vigorously. “His error will be broadcast tenfold, infecting other young minds with its faulty information.”

“First,” she sets her mug down and approaches him, “A great many astronomers disagree with your ‘Pluto is not a planet‘ hypothesis.”

“Not a hypothesis. A fact. And a great many astronomers, the more intelligent of the lot, obviously, do agree. They voted in favor of ousting that icy rock and refining the definition of what can be classified as a planet.” Sherlock taps the book authoritatively as if the tap was proof enough of his statement. 

“Yes, well, I believe that’s all still being debated in some circles and Pluto may yet be allowed back into the solar system.” She finds it hard not to laugh at the look of utter despair at her statement. Joan quickly continues,  “Secondly, he’s five and if Arthur wants to draw a dragon orbiting Mars that is perfectly fine with me. At his age confidence and self-expression are more important. I’m proud of him for standing up to you.”

“I see.” He juts his chin out and picks up his book and takes on a quieter tone. “You are the child’s mother and if you wish to raise a child with no understanding of the sciences, it is your prerogative.” With a haughty sniff, he turns and walks out of the kitchen and heads downstairs. 

Joan smiles as she moves back to the counter and her coffee. 

Chapter Text

He wakes up with the feel of her skin on his lips, places a kiss, tiny, reflexive, naturally, just because she is and nuzzles at her shoulder. Eyes still closed, she moves in search of his lips, finds them, places a kiss, tiny, reflexive, in thanks for being. His eyes open. Her eyes open. The smiles are small and gentle and several more smaller kisses are shared in love and gratitude. 

The child between them stirs and they exchange one longer kiss, deliberate, full of love not spoken, a promise to be kept throughout the day. Pulling away as Arthur flips onto his tummy with eyes still closed, their day begins. 

Chapter Text

When the panic swept in, leaving her immobilized with fear and fatigue, he would lay beside her and hold on, promising to never leave, murmuring of his and Arthur’s love solely for her. Holding her close, he’d whisper of the worlds the three of them would make, of far off lands, sea voyages, adventures...

He’d recount elaborate tales, some fanciful, some rooted in the truth, spinning each tiny sparkling bauble to distract her.

His voice soothed her, his grasp grounded her, the feel of his breath against her neck comforted her. Tender, soft, aggressive, strong, he became whatever she needed.

Chapter Text

“I know what to expect. The possibilities... the process... I was ... I am a doctor.”

The indignant rebuke of his suggestion she might want to consult the chemo nurse surprised him. “Of course.” He said nothing else.

Her first treatment, set for morning, had lain across their day, suffusing every action and thought with a grey uncertainty. Now as the night progressed, an irrational fear, ice cold and dark, slithered into both their souls.

Slowly repositioning himself closer to her upon the sofa, he moved his arm carefully to her shoulders. She let him. Her head dropped to his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist. He tightened his grip.

The strength of them together warmed the cold and lit the dark. The fear remained but it was pinned into a corner where they could control it.

Morning came too soon.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Joan, you need to sign these reimbursement forms your partner filled out for you,” Marcus but the papers down in front of her. “Plus, you might want to correct them. Holmes, here, got your name wrong.” He raised a judgmental eyebrow in Sherlock’s direction.

Joan scanned the documents. “No, they’re right,” she nodded at Marcus and started to sign.

“But, he put you down as Joan Holmes-Watson? See, right there.” Captain Bell pointed at the printed name.

“Marcus, I do not make mistakes.” Sherlock piped in. “If you had taken the time to properly observe, you would have noted my forms are signed ‘Sherlock Holmes-Watson.’

“Wait, what?” Marcus squinted at Holmes and then looked to Watson for confirmation.

“We only use the name for legal documents.” She smiled up at him and handed him her stack of forms and stood.

With an “hmm, I told you so” look at him, Sherlock followed Watson out of the Captain’s office.

A confused Marcus followed, “Wait, wait up ... you guys married?”

Chapter Text

His footsteps told her he was back.

“I hope you remembered to get milk.” Her tone was less than friendly. She put away a cup and let the cupboard door bang shut. Joan turned back to the sink.

“Well, that is why I went out into the blasted snowstorm, isn’t it?” His tone matched hers.

She rolled her eyes at the backsplash.

“Here.” He thrust his arm towards hers.

Bewildered, Joan stared at him before slowly taking the bouquet - purple hyacinths, tulips, a red rose, wrapped in brown paper and held together with twine.

Sherlock didn’t meet her gaze. He stared past her shoulder as he spoke, “Saw these in the bodega and thought you might like them.”

“Thank you.” Joan held the flowers close to her face and breathed in the promise of spring. Her face relaxed and his followed suit. He started to move away and then sharply turned back towards her.

“And just to be clear, these are not conciliatory flowers. I am no less angered by your comments and accusations. I was and am in the right.”

“You were and are wrong. And when you act in a boorish manner, I will let you know, each and every time.” Joan calmly laid the flowers on the counter. “If you’re still angry, then why bother getting me flowers.”

Not looking at her, Sherlock continued pulling groceries from the canvas sack and placing them in the refrigerator. He spoke as he knelt to rearrange the items on the lower shelf. “The flowers were beautiful and they reminded me of you.” He pulled out an almost empty jar of jam and set it on the floor as he continued. “Just because I am angry with you does not make me care for you any less or wish you any less happiness.”

Joan watched him not knowing what to say or do.

Sherlock stood and closed the refrigerator door. He placed the jam jar on the counter beside the flowers. “But you are still very much in the wrong.” He grimaced, nodded and walked away.