Work Text:
She knew she wasn´t really unattractive, but she felt she had not much to offer to a potential partner.
At a slight acquaintance she seemed to be nice enough and all, but she was neither good at flirting, nor very charming, nor very funny, which she thought was appealing to most men. Also she could sometimes be quite harsh and acting strange due to her uncertainty.
She was depressive and she didn´t know how to get close to anyone without telling how she really felt.
She had mentioned it once or twice to people close to her, but had never wished to discuss it. Only her therapist knew the whole extend of it. She didn´t want to make others uncomfortable and she didn´t want to excite pity.
On the other hand, a relationship was all about closeness, wasn´t it, that was one of the reasons people did this, so there was a dilemma. She could hardly imagine how this would work. To get close enough to kiss and touch, but to hide her true self, well, at least large parts of it.
Some days she wished to cut herself. To take a knife and make a cut into the skin of her left arm on the inner side of her wrist. She didn´t know why exactly there, other than that the skin was soft and she could see it easily anytime she wished to.
It wasn´t about the pain or to release tension, it was to make someting visible, tangible, to remind her in the day at work, when everything felt quite normal, when she was about to forget, when she felt able and capable of many things, even as if she was another person, to have proof that the pressure in her chest when home alone, was real.
She worked, she smiled, even had fun, but when she got home or on some days even already on her way home to their flat she she suddenly felt as if she had missed a step and a hollow, pressing sensation inside her made her want to die.
She was aware that the sensation was preceded by very unhelpful recurring thoughts like:
I will never be able to be with someone. I will always be alone. Or. I am so angry I want to hit someone. Or. I would like to go on holiday, but the mere thought of choosing a destination, booking it, packing, being in an unfamiliar place with strangers surrounding her, gave her such a disheartening feeling, she hardly managed to set foot into a travel agency at all.
The knowledge that she wasn´t even able to go on holiday, even if she wished to, made her feel such a hopelessness, that she thought about dying.
Those thoughts had been less frequent since she had moved in with Sherlock Holmes, but there were still those days where she thought it would never get better. She had never told him about it, just talked a bit less, retreated in to her room or went out, to not be to closely examined by him.
She had been sitting in her chair some time thinking along these lines, thinking about wanting to cut herself, staring at the muted telly.
She was hungry, but even the mere prospect of preparing a meal exhausted her.
Some indefinable time later Sherlock bounded up the stairs into their flat, starting immediately to talk about his latest case, the stupidity of the Yard and people at large. She answered as always with interest, but maybe less attentive than usual, because he suddenly stopped in his excited pacing and faced her. She felt him watch her sharply then his eyes suddenly turned soft.
Feeling self conscious she looked at the telly. Without another word he went into the kitchen and made some noise that sounded like making tea, though she could hardly believe it.
Sherlock Holmes never made tea.
She got lost in her own thoughts for some time, until suddenly a cup appeared in front of her. He really had made her tea. Did she look that bad? She had to be more careful in future.
She took it with a quick glance at him and a thank you and tried to look more cheerful. She took a sip and set the cup aside.
He still stood beside her and before she could ask what was the matter he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently to his side. She went absolutely still for a long moment, not knowing what to do, when he just spoke one word.
"Joan."
She let out a long breath she had not known she held, closed her eyes and let her weight rest against him. After a few moments he crouched down in front of her, his hands resting on the armrest of the chair. She lifted her eyes inquiringly.
" You know, I rather have you not cut yourself." I startled, but was unable to say anything. " I can see it without the cut" he paused,
" I can see you."
Slowly he leaned forward until his lips touched her in a tender kiss. For some seconds she was to surprised to act, then she let out a shuddering breath, lifted her hands and gripped his upper arms hard.
The she opened her lips and kissed him back.
EPILOGUE
They took things slow. They kissed, they spend long evenings just cuddling on the sofa, when there were no cases of course, but even when there were, she just enjoyed touching him casually, when she passed him in the kitchen, doing his experiments, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he sat at the laptop for hours, but left she him alone when he needed to think.
He rewarded her consideration with tender kisses when she came home after a long day at work, a still surprising cup of tea now and then and just knowing when she needed to be held, when she got insecure and doubtful if this could work.
She knew that not everything would be fine now they were together.
Depression did not dissappear like that, and maybe she would still have difficulties going on holiday, and still some days think she was not nice or interesting enough, but now there was someone who knew, someone who cared, who told her differently and the most important,
someone who loved her just like that.