#margoleon

Of course, thank you!! 💜

do you like your name? why?I do. Growing up in a small city, I never met someone with my same name and I loved that (whereas there was like 3 Emilys and 2 Taylors, etc.). I didn’t meet someone with my same name till we had a substitute teacher named Angela, I was probably 10 or 11- she was younger and much nicer than our teacher and I probably had a little crush on her. Now I still don’t know anyone with my name, but working at a hospital I see my name a lot in patient documents, and it just reminds me I’m getting older and the people usually with my name are born in the 60s and 70s for the most part. (Weird how I can tell the decade someone was born by their name, but if you see names often enough you notice trends…*shrug*)

3 favorite boy namesI should’ve known I liked girls from the get go because as a kid all I did was draw and write about girls and guys were only the love interests or the villains. I’ve always found it harder to find boy names that I like… I’ve found I’m really partial to Hebrew, Gaelic, and Greek names… *literally goes to my OC list to give you guy names I actually like*Luke, Adrian, Emmanuel That was so hard omg

3 favorite girl namesAnd here it’s like impossible for me to narrow it to 3 but I will:Ayla, Guenevere, Anika (I find it really hard to avoid A names when I’m looking for a name for a new female OC)

Joan has her favorite games, and Oren always sends her new ones for Christmas. A couple MEs and paramedics she’s made friends with come over to play on their days off, once they’ve exchanged enough info and stories and alcohol outside the brownstone and Joan feels comfortable inviting them into the special place that the brownstone has become for her, both a place for work, a place of refuge, and a place that is halfway between home and a memorial to something she both lost and found, and can’t figure out how much has been regained.

And when people come over to play video games with Joan she always makes popcorn on the stove. People bring their favorite sodas, and over time it becomes all but a monthly gathering with people swapping recipes and stories as well as trading video games like playing cards, with always the unspoken promise the games will be returned to their rightful owner.

When Sherlock first sits in on one of these gatherings, just to watch, never to play, he sees how happy Joan is, how relaxed, and much like with her and baseball, he feels an irrational jealousy (please look up “That Bloody Team” on ao3 it’s such a wonderful depiction of classic Elementary!Sherlock jealousy). After a few weeks he unexpectedly brings Joan a new game and asks her, very humbly, if she’ll help him learn to play it. Also spouts some research about how video games improve critical thinking and he wants to test that. Joan, of course, smiles indulgently and agrees. Marcus and one of Gregson’s daughters somehow end up joining them, and Marcus gets a kick out of seeing Sherlock struggle at something. Next time Chantal comes with Marcus and while Sherlock doesn’t improve much he’s more interested watching Joan’s expertise than he is in actually learning anything himself. Joan slowly realizes this over each video game gathering he attends. He seldom plays, mostly watches and asks questions.

At some point someone brings their dog to the brownstone, a pit bull with separation anxiety. Joan finds out just how much Sherlock loves dogs, and later they have an in depth conversation about dogs and though they can’t afford to keep one, Joan makes sure to invite the friend with the dog over more often even when it’s not Video Game Night.

@margoleon replied (original post here):

She gets a NES and Super NES console and Alfredo will drop by sometimes and they’ll sit down and play a game from start to finish, everything from Zelda to the Ninja Turtles to that one Michael Jordan game that was kinda popular in the nineties. Sherlock prepares them homemade snacks and non-alcoholic cocktails.

They of course have the gun for Duck Hunt. Joan makes Sherlock drag out an old tv from one of the storage rooms so they can play. They’re both good at it but Sherlock always mutters a string of profanities at the dog when it laughs at him whenever he misses a shot.

Also!! Wold Class Track Meet (shut up, that thing was great). Joan found a power pad on the net and when it finally arrives Joan challenges Sherlock to a round at the olympics. He scoffs that jumping on a mat is nothing like real sport but still bitches when his avatar keeps falling down at the hurdles race. Of course, after a couple of weeks their races degenerate into yelling and laughing while trying to shove each other off the mat.

Joan, Marcus, Kitty and Mason have a Splatoon squad. Kitty wasn’t around for splatfests but after she comes back they try to coordinate for squad battles at least every other week.

Re: this post

I chose 129: “We’re not going to spend the holidays alone andsad. I won’t allow that!” (I cheated and changed it a couple ways, but it’s mostly the same statement I’m sorry this went somewhere I had no idea it was gonna go and I got excited and just ran with it.)

Takes place in season 4 at some point, before Joan changesher passcode so Sherlock can’t guess it. (Referenced in 4x04) So before thepolyamory episode (which will be a turning point for Joan and her perception ofher relationship preferences, as was awesomely suggested here.) It should beclear by now I don’t care about strict timelines, since the writers for theshow don’t either.

And if you’re unaware, season 4 is when I imagine Joan andSherlock get together non-platonically. And since Gloria was the one to requestthis prompt, she gets more shippy content than I would otherwise put out.Non-shippers are warned.

-

It was February 14th. A most useless holiday, asmost holidays were, in Sherlock’s opinion. He wasn’t even overly fond ofchocolate.

But the days leading up to this year’s Valentine’s Day hadbeen particularly tense in the brownstone. This time last year, Andrew Mittalhad been alive, and Joan had been dating him. These two facts ensured Sherlockcould not leave the day unacknowledged. Whether it was celebrated…Sherlock wasnot precisely sure about that. Yet. But he had to figure it out soon.

It was precisely 5:38am. Watson would not be awake for atleast two hours. He had even gone into her room and turned off the alarms shehad set, just on the off chance she might sleep in if given the opportunity.

Now Sherlock stood in the basement, before Clyde in histerrarium, studying what Watson had chosen to put up on the walls. She was fondof art, Watson, though not precisely the same kind as he was. More modern, someabstract, some animals, some people. None of them by well-known pre-20thcentury artists.

But one particular piece caught his eye, and it gave him anidea. He turned on his heels, his eyes bright and his mind sharp with freshplans.

-

Joan shot up in her bed, milliseconds after realizing itwasn’t an alarm that had woken her. She fumbled for her cell phone on her nightstand,and let out a curse. 9:51. How could she have slept through her—Oh no. Hedidn’t.

She went to her alarms in her phone. None of them were on.She specifically remembered turning two alarms on last night. Sherlock hadturned them off. He’d cracked her passcode again.

“Dammit Sherlock!” she growled to herself, tossing her phoneon the bed in front of her, glaring at it.

Then she remembered what day it was, and cold fingerswrapped themselves around her heart. Her phone flashed the information up ather, she couldn’t ignore it. February 14th.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the feelings away. Itwas just another day. Sherlock wouldn’t acknowledge it, that was for sure.There was nothing to worry about.

Eventually she made her way moodily down to the kitchen tomake tea, telling herself it was too late for coffee. Finding nothing fromSherlock at this point, she glared at the heating tea kettle, wondering what hecould be up to. He seldom left the brownstone without leaving her a note or atext, or calling her to wake her up. So either he’d been dragged away on somepressing case that had left him unable to contact her yet, he was in trouble,or he was somewhere here she hadn’t checked.

She didn’t bother with the roof. The chill of the wood flooragainst her bare feet was enough to tell her it was below freezing outside. Soall that was left was the basement.

A few months ago she had taken the nails out of the basementdoor, so it could be entered from inside the brownstone again. She’d offered noexplanation, and Sherlock hadn’t asked for any, for which she was grateful. Ithad been a barrier she had needed once, but as time went on it came to be asymbol of an idea that still mocked her. The idea that she needed a place ofher own to be happy. Having anything belong solely to her had lost its appeallong ago. Being selfish had led to nothing but loss for her; she didn’t wantanything to remind her of that anymore.

Her mug of tea still steaming in one hand, holding therailing with the other, Joan made her way down to the lowest level of thebrownstone, immediately shivering at the deepening cold. By the time shereached the bottom step, she knew Sherlock was there, by the light and thesmell of…paint?

Joan saw Sherlock cross-legged on the floor, his back toher, both his hands occupied by something in front of him. Joan approachedslowly, squinting at him in confusion. “Sherlock? What are you doing?”

Then she spotted Clyde, ambling across a mostly blank sheetof large white paper, a familiar apparatus attached to his back.

“You’re…making Clyde paint?” Joan stopped next to Sherlock,and her eyes widened as she took in the scene literally laid out before her.

Several paintings covered what available space there was onthe basement floor, most of them in the process of drying. Some were clearlyabstract, done by Clyde, while others…

“I noticed you had Clyde’s first and only painting hung onyour wall. I thought Clyde and I could add to your collection,” Sherlock said,not looking at her, but continuing his work.

She took a deep breath in, trying to wrap her head aroundwhat was happening. “How long have you been at this?”

“Hmm. Six a.m., thereabouts.”

She took a careful sip of her tea, the shock of heat againsther upper lip telling her she, in fact, wasn’t dreaming.

“Why?” she finally got out, a strangely warm sensationfilling her chest that she told herself was due to her tea and not anything todo with the scene in front of her.

“I have been remiss of late, Watson. Save you birthday,there are many dates I have refused to acknowledge that mark certainmilestones, or holidays. You know that if something doesn’t have to do with ourwork, I would prefer to keep it that way. But your office environment is of utmostimportance to how you conduct your work, and I thought Clyde and I couldcontribute a more homely environment.”

Sherlock gave the lengthy explanation without moving hiseyes from the painting in front of him. Joan found herself smiling at him,seeing the concentration on his face, noticing a smudge of yellow paint on theside of his nose where he’d scratched it.

Joan lowered herself cross-legged next to him, setting hertea aside. “Can I help?” she asked, keeping her voice soft due to her closerproximity to him. Their shoulders didn’t brush, they came close, but Joansensed the strict physical boundaries between them could shrink this morning.

Sherlock quickly glanced at her face, locking eyes with herfor perhaps two milliseconds. Finding nothing amiss with what he saw, he hummedhis assent and took out a blank sheet of paper from beneath the painting he wascurrently working on, setting it before her. The small jars of paint were laidout just beyond his current painting, and he moved the glass of paint-cloudedwater closer to her while handing her a choice of several paintbrushes in thesame motion. The way he moved, Joan could sense his relief that she’d chosen tojoin him, but he was still tense.

Joan took a paintbrush, noting just how much paint hadgotten onto Sherlock’s hands and forearms in a span of four hours.

They worked quietly next to each other for a few minutes. Atone point Clyde came close to Sherlock, and he took the opportunity to freshenthe tortoise’s dry paintbrush with a fresh dip of red paint. Clyde continued onhis journey, wandering past Joan, leaving streaks of red through random streaksof green, purple, yellow, pink, and many other colors Joan would take longer toname. Four hours was quite some time to come up with color combinations.

Still looking at Clyde, Joan moved her brush toward the jarof green paint at the same moment Sherlock did. She felt a cold poke againstthe top of her hand, and turned to see Sherlock moving his hand back from hersas if he’d been burned. He’d left a streak of green paint on her hand.

“Apologies, Watson,” he said, his words coming out strangelystiff. She looked at his almost pained expression and laughed.

“It’s alright, Sherlock. It’s nothing compared to what you’vedone to yourself,” she said, indicating his hand closest to her, grinning. Theouter part of his hand and arm were almost completely coated, clearly fromleaning across some of Clyde’s creations before they were dry.

“Ah, well.” Sherlock turned his arm as much as he could toview the mess. “I had to prevent Clyde from making art out of our rug,” heexplained, giving his closest approximation of a closed mouth smile to Joan.She laughed again.

“I see. Did you ever finger paint as a child, Sherlock?” sheasked, tilting her head at him.

“I don’t recall,” he said, almost side-eying her, suspectingher of some mischief. She couldn’t help her smirk.

“Well, I feel I should even the score, so I’ll show you,”she said, and took up two jars of paint, red and blue. She poured a smallamount of each on her paper, enough that she thought it would cover her ownslender hands. Setting the jars aside, she placed both palms flat in the paint,unconsciously smiling at the strange, cool sensation against the sensitive skinof her hands. Then, lifting her paint-covered hands, she placed them on the nearestpainting of Clyde’s just beyond her own paper. Lifting her hands gingerly away,she left behind one red hand print, one blue, the thumbs and index fingers ofthe prints vaguely purple from the paint blending.

She looked over to Sherlock, only to find him in the processof copying her, a fresh piece of paper in front of him, and taking up two jarsof paint. Yellow and green. As he poured the paints, Joan took advantage of hisdistraction and spoke.

“I know why you did this, Sherlock. Thank you,” she said,forcing the words and wondering why she had to at the same time.

Sherlock looked over at her, remembering a second later tostop pouring the paint. He had that expression that was a combination ofconfusion and surprise, his mouth almost puckered as he fought to process thisnew information that he felt deserved more than cursory attention.

He slowly set down the paint jars, his mouth going into athin line. “I thought it would be worse to go about as usual, Watson. You havenot been your usual self of late,” he said, carefully not looking at her.Again.

“I know. But this…” She looked around at all the paintings,including those of Sherlock’s that astounded her in their level of care. Shehad seen Sherlock sketch but never knew he could paint. “This is good. Easierthan…anything else would be really.”

Peripherally, she saw Sherlock dip his left hand in theyellow paint and reach over to her red hand print, laying his hand over it. Itcaused him to all but drape his arm over her knee, and he came so close shecould smell his aftershave and the scent of clean sweat, telling her despitethe chill down here, he was more than nervous of her reaction.

But as he leaned back, leaving behind his yellow hand printover her red one, he lifted that same hand to her face, not touching, but his quickeyes considering her in that way he had. She noticed another streak of bluepaint on his right cheek.

“You’re not going to spend the holiday alone and sad,Watson. I won’t allow that,” he whispered, focusing on her eyes with atrepidation she knew all too well. It wasn’t just her response he was fearing.

“I’m not alone,” she said, meeting his stare squarely,resolving to keep her own fear hidden. It wasn’t because she thought she neededto be strong, but she knew if she didn’t hide the fear, it would be all shecould feel.

Sherlock’s hand near her face did not move, but he drew backhis head slightly in disbelief. “If you think to name me and Clyde as propercompany on such a date, Watson, I must disagree.”

“Not on a date,no. But right now…” She slowly reached up to touch his hand, still wet withyellow paint, hers still wet with red. When he didn’t draw away, sheintertwined her fingers with his. The warmth between their palms was wet, andmessy, but Joan didn’t care.

“You’re all I want,” she said, fighting not to look away.She saw his eyes soften in a way she seldom had. And never while looking ather. His other arm came around her waist, still tentatively, but it was enoughthat she let herself lean forward into his chest, tucking her face into hisneck. He let go of her hand to embrace her with both arms, and she wrapped herarms loosely around his waist. They were getting paint all over each other, butJoan thought it only fitting. Sherlock had known better than to make her talkabout the mess of her emotions. It was easier, now, just to express them—througheverything but words.

-

#because you already do all that with someone else #back when he made all the ‘you’re not meant for a normal relationship’ to Joan I started hoping against hope #that it would lead to them developing a platonic romance where maybe they would seek sexual relationships with other people #but emotionally they would fullfil each other’s romantic needs #and now it seems like they’re actually doing that #sort of #like Sherlock is a 100% up for it but Joan isn’t #(also we all know tptb wouldn’t really do it) #and it pains me cause it would be so great (via @margoleon)

Gloria. Gloria write it. You know what, me, you, @disheveledcurls, we’re all thinking variations of the same thing - polyamorous Joanlock. Queer platonic, aromantic, asexual, a combination or none of those things, polyamory is a thing with these two, I just know it is. And they’re soulmates in every way who understand each other more than anyone else in their lives and we’re gonna write it I don’t even care.

Also I could go off on a Watsonian rant on why Joan feels differently than Sherlock, but that ties into the whole jealous!Sherlock thing that I still haven’t been able to organize my thoughts on, so for now I’ll just say: The emotional angst and repression between these two is the most infuriating wonderful thing to ever grace the small screen IMHO and I am a disaster

disheveledcurls:

god, yes to all that. i can’t stop thinking abt where they’re going w/ this and i don’t want to hope but they’ve written themselves into a little bit of a corner here… i mean i’ll write the fic anyway but if they actually do anything that points to them becoming a “”“couple”“”“ (i’m using that term instead of referring to the concept of romance bc u know i think that word is useless for these two) in a polyamorous/asexual/aromantic way i’m going to cry actual tears of joy, ok. like –to be very cortesian abt it–, they’re already right on that edge, or at least i think LL and JLM are playing it that way. for sherlock to admit that he values his work mostly because of joan and then right after insist that he is what he does, is at the very least a strong indicator that his feelings for her are veering towards sth unclassifiable which doesn’t exactly fit in the category of friendship they already have. (and maybe it’s codependency and maybe it’s not but either way they need to talk abt it.) we don’t know what joan feels bc the writers give us nothing (which never ceases to be infuriating) but if i were her i’d be at least apprehensive abt starting a relationship if my last boyfriend died because of me and my best friend’s ex happens to be a psychopath. so idk!! realistically*, i guess by the end of the season we could be looking at a relationship that will be coded as "romantic” (i.e. w/ sherlock and joan as a “couple”, not dating other people or looking for a “romantic” partner elsewhere) and asexual/platonic (with the implication that either or both of them could be looking for occasional sexual partners elsewhere). i don’t dare hope for more. but i guess they could give us this much if it were left on the subtextual level. clearly, they’re not brave enough to come out and openly give us an asexual/aromantic interracial couple. (and particularly this couple, since they’re so //adamant// on respecting the canon all of a sudden. #yourracismisshowing) but even if it’s implied, even if it’s subtext, it will be important and i will embrace it.

if they were good writers –paging the people who wrote s1 please, wherever they are– this would naturally tie into the question of the growing rift between sherlock and joan abt their professional lives, as posed by 5.04 (and 5.01 of course), bc clearly for them the personal and professional are impossibly intertwined. if they were good writers, this would lead to a) an unearthing of the pain joan has been delaing w/ (or rather, burying and denying) for years, with sherlock stepping the f*ck up to help her address it as she has done for him in the past, b) an open discussion of their careers and a renegotiation of their partnership so that it’s fulfilling and right for both of them (it has to be their world not just his), which could possibly involve joan going back to medicine in some shape or form in addition to her detective work, and c) a renegotiation of their partnership on a personal level, i.e., can they take it any further in any direction, and if so, how? or if not, are they happy with how they stand & satisfied w/ what they can give each other? i don’t trust these writers anymore, but at the very least some of this should come up throughout the season.

ange – i wanna read that rant. please write it. gloria, u keep on ranting too & write the fic. i’ll write my fic as well someday (i’m so slow i hate itttt).

*though also “realistically” they could literally give us the world bc these two love each other so much you could come back from a midseason hiatus telling me they got married for Reasons TM and i’d be down w/ it. again, they’re not gonna give us much, but they oughta give us something, especially if this  turns out to be their last season.

@disheveledcurls "If i were her i’d be at least apprehensive abt starting a relationship if my last boyfriend died because of me and my best friend’s ex happens to be a psychopath.”

Rocío I’m so glad you said this, because yes I’ve considered how Joan’s traumas affect her complete lack of a dating life but /of course/ they would also affect any consideration of her deepening her relationship with Sherlock in any emotional capacity. I wonder if she’s even considered it consciously or if she’s buried that want along with the pain of her traumas so she can’t even properly recognize that’s something she would want.

Like, I just feel for Joan so much. I have to write with her because there’s so much she deserves that she hasn’t gotten. So much that I’m sure this fandom has already written the equivalent of several novels because her character needs and deserves that much consideration. As a writer and just, as a person who’s been through my own versions of loss, I want so much for Joan.

My initial tags:  #at least this heavily implies he /replaces/ every single thing of Joan's he ruins #especially the bras cuz she wouldn't let him get away with that #they obviously have money but bras are still expensive af #and money is no object to Sherlock

#lmao Angela #i love the idea of Sherlock spending the family fortune in good bras for Joan #half of that trust-fund must go into her wardrobe #and burner phones (via @margoleon)

Man has the weirdest shit hidden in that brownstone you know at least a fourth’s worth of his trust fund got blown up by Mycrosoft in 2x01, Sherlock was happy about it the nerd, you know he doesn’t blink an eye at spending his trust fund on Joan’s wardrobe, especially her undergarments. 

When he first asks for her size and she gives him that Look, like “Bitch I ain’t telling you shit you know I’m mad”, he’s like “Watson, I am doing you a favor. I have used three of your underwires to date, and I know you have been keeping count as well. I only wish to replace them with bras that are correctly sized.”