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"The ligature marks around the neck and petechial haemorrhaging in the eyes suggest cause of death was asphyxiation by strangulation." Watson rattled of the facts to her partner, despite being aware she was telling him nothing new.
"Bruising patterns suggest the assailant was a man of large build, this darker section indicates he was wearing a ring on his middle finger." Sherlock contributed his own assessments as he leant over the corpse.
"Victim's name is Max Donovan, he's 33, lives here alone and works for the financial firm, ABX Incorporated." Marcus read out the details as the consultants continued exploring the crime scene. "He's unmarried, neighbours don't know if he was seeing anyon-"
"He wasn't." Watson glanced over at Sherlock's abrupt statement. "The bed is practically untouched, the stacks of paperwork in the front room suggest his time was consumed by his work, so much so that he habitually slept amongst the files on his sofa - you can tell by the uniform depression of the cushions."
As he continued to ramble, Marcus caught Watson's eye and gave her The Look™, a strange combination of impressed and exhausted. Once Sherlock had finished he continued.
"Alright well, we're tryin' to locate his family right now, as it stands his neighbours have no leads on any potential enemies, all say they didn't know much about the guy."
"Okay Detective, Watson and I will visit his place of work and talk to his colleagues."
"Seems like his job's all he was concerned with, hopefully we'll find out what could've gotten him killed." Watson agreed, and followed her partner out the door.
Watson was never sure how much Sherlock really deduced and how much he made up to tease her when they played 'people watching'. They were sat in the garish lobby of the victim's office, arguing over whether Sherlock could really tell one man moonlighted as a drag queen based purely on his cuff links.
"That branding on that specific silv-"
"Mr Holmes, Ms. Watson, if you'd just come this way." The young receptionist (who Sherlock had just deduced was allergic to lavender) interrupted them, smiling widely and gesturing towards the corridor.
They stepped into the boss's office and Watson descended into panic as she saw Sherlock freeze and blanch. She twisted to look at the man who was walking around his desk to greet them, she didn't recognise him should she? All she knew was that Sherlock looked genuinely unnerved and after the years she'd spent with an undaunted companion she knew that was a danger sign.
"Ha!" the man's voice was low, loud and British, "Would you look at that, Holmes here in my office, my god!"
He wore a malicious smile and Watson watched as he squared up Sherlock before sleazily raking his view up and down her. He continued to chuckle and reached forward to shake her hand.
"Anders Larson, CEO here at ABX Incorporated - a Fortune 500 company if you didn't know, Holmes."
Anders Larson. She knew that name. She could remember Sherlock saying it. She racked her brain for the memory. When it hit her she stepped in front of Sherlock with some unstoppable reflex.
'turned a lot of the other boys against me', 'especially one...Anders Larson', 'cruel and terrible', 'the more Anders hurt me', 'particularly brutal'.
She was in panic mode, like Sherlock she was frozen, staring at this man in front of her, this monstrosity she'd once fantasised beating to a pulp.
"I'm told you're not even a real policeman, Holmes, what happened, failed the test?"
"Don't speak to him."
The order shook both Sherlock and Watson from their daze, only after did Watson realise it had come from her mouth. None of her thoughts were logical, the only thing she knew was that she would not let Sherlock be hurt again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him trying desperately to ward her off - his eyes portrayed a nervous horror that made her feel as if she was stood with 8 year old Sherlock not the man she knew.
"What's the deal here then?" Larson sneered, "Blagged a hot assistant to make up for your non-existent love life?"
The fury shooting through her body left her vibrating slightly, she was ready to pounce on this miscreant when she sensed Sherlock distressing by her side. Her only duty was to get out of this in a way that protected Sherlock (any pain for Larson would be a welcomed bonus).
She stilled her clenched fist and lifted her arm to wrap around Sherlock's waist, placing a flat palm against his flank.
"Actually he has a girlfriend, me." She kissed him on the cheek to distract from his flummoxed expression. He didn't know what she was doing, that made two of them, "And I am not his assistant, I think you'll find, I'm his partner. We work for the NYPD and you are going to give us your files on your murdered employee Max Donovan right now."
It was a fair bet that Larson wasn't use to being ordered round by a woman, he looked like his brain was trying to compute the right response. Eventually the uncompromising fierceness in Watson's voice convinced him to obey. He handed over the files and Watson reached for them; realising she had to withdraw the hand that was still pressed against Sherlock's side. He glanced between the pair some more, Watson wasn't entirely sure why she'd forced them into a fake relationship, she just wanted to embarrass Larson and prove everything he said wrong.
"We'll be in touch." Watson didn't even bother trying to mask her disgust as they dismissed themselves and exited.
Sherlock's movements as they left the building were small, he was cowering into himself, staying silent. Once they reached the street Watson decided to hail a taxi, she gestured for Sherlock to get in first before clambering in herself and giving the driver the address of the brownstone.
The whole ride they sat in silence, Watson knew it was best to give him some time undisturbed - trying to talk here, now, would be futile. She, however, wanted conversation, wanted distraction from the thoughts rushing through her own head. Sherlock had never spoken much about boarding school, but she knew enough that she was under no illusions it was a happy time. He hadn't spoken at length about his bullying but had mentioned that it was relentless and particularly violent. She also knew that he had begun to glorify the abuse as something that was 'correcting' him, that his classmates had taught him everything special about him made him 'wrong'. The idea that all those thoughts were rushing back to him right now made her feel sick.
They reached their home and Watson paid the driver before slowly ushering her partner up the steps. The silence in the brownstone felt alien, even when they sat and worked wordlessly it never felt this quiet. The pair were stood in the library room, Sherlock with his hands clamped and head bowed, his demeanour uncertain even in his own home. The tension continued to build and Watson had no idea what she was going to say so she just sighed his name. He didn't look up but shifted on his feet slightly.
Suddenly, all the pain she could see overwhelmed her and she rushed forward, engulfing him in a hug and whispering apologies and soothing comforts.
He was Sherlock Holmes so the physical touch left him rather stiff and awkward but Watson still noticed his slowed breathing and the way he leaned into her slightly. After a minute she pulled back to face him, the despondent eyes and tight frown she was met with broke her heart.
"He was wrong, Sherlock, everything he told you, everything he made you believe, was wrong. You've proven that. You've used your gifts in a way that's saved hundreds of lives. You're special, you're talented, you help people, you're the most important person in my life." That last bit caught his attention and he finally made eye contact with her, "School is over, Sherlock, he can't hurt you anymore."
"I know." Sherlock's voice was much lower and quieter than usual, "I know I'm not a child anymore, that the threat no longer remains, it just...it-it just bought back a lot of...memories, things I've avoided thinking about." He pressed his lips tight together and exhaled out his nose.
"God, of course, I know having him stood in front of you must send you back to a place you didn't want to return to. I just need you to know that that mindset you were forced into is harmful and completely incorrect. You spend a lot of time in your own head, and a lot of time putting yourself down, and I don't want you putting yourself back there."
He looked at her, mouth opening and closing a few times, trying to find the right words.
"I'm-I'm an adult, I'm a grown man, I have trained for years to fight off attacks, why the hell did I freeze in there?" His voice was louder now, faster too. "We are working a case, that was a perfect opportunity to ask questions and what did I do? I cowered like a scared child!"
His frustration at himself was mixed with embarrassment, he looked ashamed, as if Watson was going to be disappointed in him for not drop-kicking the man or something.
"Sherlock, you acted like that because that's exactly how seeing him made you feel, like a kid. From what you've told me this guy clearly didn't just tease you, he practically tortured you. It's a perfectly logical physical response to avoid confrontation with him. I'm just sorry there wasn't more I could do to help."
Her last sentence seemed to stun him, he stilled completely and furrowed his brow.
"What are you talking about? You were...you were incredible in there." She noticed him flush a little. "You stood up to him, I-I couldn't. I was pathetic in there, I was panicked and scared but you...you lessened those feelings. You even...you know." He trailed off and flushed a bit darker. "Pretended you were with me, to prove him wrong, I appreciate that."
"Well, it wasn't very hard." She gave him a soft smile. "I just didn't want him thinking he knew you."
"He does though doesn't he, I mean he wasn't wrong, I've loved one woman and she turned out to be a mass-murdering criminal mastermind only dating me as a form of surveillance."
"That doesn't mean he's right, he assumed you wouldn't be with anyone because, as I'm sure he used to tell you, he didn't think anybody could love you. That's not why you don't have relationships, you choose not to have them because you find them difficult, it doesn't mean there wouldn't be people if you wanted. He thinks nobody could love you but that's crap, I love you for one."
He averted his gaze to the floor immediately, began shuffling his hands again and in a very quiet voice spoke, "What?"
"Honestly, Sherlock, you claim to observe everything, of course I love you. I've stuck with you all these years, I live with you, work with you, I always tell you how amazing I think you are, you're my best friend, how could I not love you?"
"Oh, right, yes...no." He was stuttering profusely and Watson would have put it down to his lack of comfort with big emotional concepts like love, except she'd noticed how he'd seemed to grow in disappointment as she spoke. She couldn't work out why her explaining herself would've upset him.
"What is it, Sherlock? What were you expecting me to say?" As she said the words, a thought began to grow in her mind, what if he was expecting a different kind of love. She tried to will away the idea, he didn't think of her like that, she'd accepted that a long time ago.
"Nothing...no...I just-just didn't know that was...how you felt, that's all. I-I'm not used to these exchanges." His hands were gesturing rapidly in the flustered manner that often accompanied his awkwardness.
"Yes, no, I know that." Watson cursed herself for catching his contagious stammering. "It just seemed as though you thought I might say something else, like you wanted me to say something else."
They were staring at each other now - Sherlock's expression stoic and unreadable, Watson's apprehensive but trying to be compassionate. She took a small step closer to him, not wanting to overcrowd him but wanting to assure him she wasn't scared.
"You do not need to concern yourself with my feelings, Watson." He spoke calmly and seriously.
Watson took a gamble and took another step further before saying quietly, "What if I want to?"
Now closer to him she could see past his mask of stoicism and into his eyes as a myriad of emotions flashed past them. He looked alarmed, unsure but also hopeful.
"You need to talk to me, Sherlock, I need to know how you feel first," she whispered.
"Watson, you are the only person in my life I can fully trust, can open up to, I care about you and what you think of me and that's extremely rare, I think you're strong and smart and beautiful and well...I doubt I'll ever understand the phenomenon of love but I imagine all that is pretty close."
Watson knew he was panicking inside, that he said all that against his better judgement so she decided to be brave herself.
"Okay, Sherlock, listen to me, it is very important that you say stop if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"
He began to form a response as Watson cut him off and pressed her lips to his. She tentatively placed a hand on the back of his head and one on his chest, over his heart. He'd inhaled sharply when their mouths touched, his body had frozen like earlier but this wasn't out of fear it was out of pure disbelief. He hadn't responded yet but Watson thought it best to allow him some time before removing herself. She hesitated a bit longer before she felt two hands rest on her waist, their grip cautious but firm. The mouth attached to hers began to move, Sherlock tilted his head and opened his mouth slightly. Watson rejoiced in the confirmation and lifted herself onto tiptoes as to get better access. They stayed there for a while, intertwined beautifully, basking in the touch of each other.
Eventually they pulled apart, Watson smirked at the bizarre situation and giggled when she saw the content grin on Sherlock's face. Neither could fathom the appropriate words and neither wanted to end the moment. They understood each other completely, further discussion would be needed, Watson thought, but not right now.
"I'm going to make us some tea." She announced, turning towards the kitchen, she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she heard faithful footsteps right behind her.