joan watson.

hydrophobia, sam sax / soon you’ll get better, taylor swift / a self-portrait in letters, anne sexton

turning from her, he scoops his instruments from the cold metal table and begins rinsing them in a rusting basin. the water only ever turns to scalding, and he has the calluses to show for it. ❛  oh - and it's 'cause i'm stealthy. and charming. ❜

charming, he says. joan watches his mouth form around the syllables, thinking about every ex boyfriend she's ever had, how they were perfectly safe and perfectly nice— and how they never kept her interest for long. “hm.” she makes a sound rather than saying anything, so she doesn't have to agree, or disagree while pretending she believes it. “how charming, exactly? the kind of charming that can get secrets out of a very private patient? or...?”

❝ DON'T JOKE . I'LL TAKE YOU UP ON THAT . ❞ he , too , feels his mouth twitch upward as the façade fades ; it's hard to stay COMPLETELY SERIOUS at a time like this , regardless of the danger . working with joan has its ups , its downs , its complete and utter failures . . . BUT SEBASTIAN PRAYS THIS ONE IS A SUCCESS . they could use one of those . joan continues forward , even , steady in her stride , and sebastian lingers in her space in an effort to keep close and STAY READY . someone could pop out of the nearby door . there could be traps , danger , DEAD BODIES . . . the list goes on and on . he's just about to make a comment on the nearby window , slightly cracked , when joan discovers — ❝ oh , that's unfortunate . ❞ a blood stain , dark , but not yet fully deoxygenated . sebastian's nostrils flare . ❝ we must be on to something . we're on the right path . ❞ he sets a hand on her back , steadying , BRACING HIMSELF for what might wait around the corner . ❝ i suggest you get behind me , just in case . ❞ a pause . ❝ looks like — looks like there's a trail . leads to the other room . do you smell any . . . ❞ a gesture around his nose , ❝ — decomposition ? ❞

“i think i'll let you take front for this part. are you wearing a vest?” there's a trace of urgency now that wasn't there before. there's a closed door before them and a blood trail leading right up to it. joan's seen worse. yet still, a flare of caution catches her. “pretty sure we'd know if they had a gun but, i've seen enough 3d prints and makeshift firearms to know better than to assume anything.”

" i meant that. " her head cocks in the direction of the deep row of bookcases, all inlaid into the wall before them. except one seems a bit out of place, as if the wall is rejecting the wood. allison inches closer, each step deliberate and silent as she approaches. they are likely not alone in the manor. she reaches the out of place shelf and gives it a firm shove, her suspicions confirmed. " it's a door." to where, is unknown, but she's on the right path now. " you should leave. it's not safe for you here. "

she looks back at her then, standing in the entryway of what was surely to be a bad idea. “you're not the type to leave after a warning like that, right? neither am i. let's go.”

❝ A STICK ? ❞ there's a weighted level of disbelief in his echo , but it's not enough to stop her or continue to insist beyond what he just tried . she's smart — SMARTER THAN MOST — and she wouldn't put herself in harm's way unless it was serious . sebastian learned that the hard way . ❝ okay , find a stick , find a stick . . . ❞ he plays along , if only to alleviate the tension in this moment — blue eyes go DARTING over the ruined front door , the threshold , the toppled over furniture . ❝ no stick in sight . ❞ sebastian readjusts his grip on his pistol and shoots joan a feigned look of disappointment . ❝ guess i'm your only hope in here . DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE POINT ? ❞ the structure creaks around them , and dust falls from the ceiling . ❝ this doesn't look safe . ❞

“hold on a second.” hidden amongst the overall mess of the room, joan spots a few books spilled across the floor. innocuous enough, given the knocked over bookshelf, but something about it strikes her as odd. she crouches to the floor, moving the books out of the way to reveal a splotch of red underneath. “would you classify this as a good sign or a bad one?”

“     you wouldn’t wake up without me.   your mind has adjusted   :    you’ve become reliant.  that,  joan,  is a dangerous thing to be.     ”      at least her reliance finds itself on his shoulders.   he doesn’t have to worry.   he will always be awake to wake her up.      “     are you suggesting i try lavender?    you’re starting to sound less like a doctor and more like a hack,   joan.    ”

“well, i'm not a doctor. not anymore. so it doesn't really matter if i sound like one, does it?” he'd know. he'd seen her through her changes, guided her into a new kind of being. she'd know too. she'd done the same thing for him. “this non-doctor is suggesting chamomile, by the way. it'll go nicely with the gruesome crime scene photos you've decided to bring out at one AM.”