A/N: Hello all, first time Elementary fic, so go gently with me.

I'm always intrigued by unique love stories and the story of Holmes and Watson has always been a unique one in all the literature, one that transcends simple romantic love. In the original material, they were two men, but there was still a romance to their devotion to one another. You can see it in the latest Sherlock movies with RDJ and Jude Law. These two men love each other in a way that doesn't have a traditional interpretation. There is a domesticity to their interactions that speaks of a great intimacy that transcends simple sexual attraction, and so it goes with Elementary's version of the iconic duo. Of course, with Watson being female, there is potentially an easier path to the traditional romance scenario… but would that take away something of the uniqueness of their relationship? It's such an interesting question to answer and arguably, done right, neither path may necessarily be wrong.

Now, having said all that, I just had the urge to write this little two shot to explore the breadth and depth of Holmes and Watson's feelings for one another. When does being important to one another become co-dependence? Is that a continually moving line that requires relentless diligence to stop it shifting from something that grants them both with something more, to where they might potentially be less because of their need for one another? How do you keep the benefits mutual and not have one giving more than the other? Is that even a realistic goal for any human relationship? How do you even define equal when two parties have different roles to play in a relationship? All these things are thoughts the Holmes/Watson relationship inspires me to think about. Whether I've answered them in any tangible way is up for interpretation by the reader, but maybe the very fact that it is so hard to pin down the essence of their relationship is what keeps us so intrigued with this duo, even now.

So, you've waded through all the above guff – well done! May as well crack on with the actual story now, eh?

THE BAD DAY

To the world you may be one person,

But to one person, you may be the world.

~Bill Wilson~

CHAPTER ONE

Joan Watson moved her weight from one foot to the other, doing the time-honored dance of attempting to ward off the cold. She stood on the street corner, looking up and down the New York streets and waiting on her ride. The street was quiet thanks to the late hour. Well, it was more of an early hour, at least two in the morning by her reckoning. Joan didn't know the exact time because she was currently sans a watch which was only the tip of the iceberg that was this seemingly never-ending bad day. She glanced up at the car which pulled into the street, but didn't pay it anymore attention until it pulled up directly in front of her. Her eyebrows shot up as Sherlock climbed out of the driver's seat. "I thought you'd just send me a taxi, not come yourself."

Sherlock didn't say anything, just walked up to her with a great sense of purpose, and came to stand directly in front of her, staring at her fiercely, lips pressed together in a tight line.

Joan held up a warning hand to him. "Don't even start on me, Sherlock. I don't want to hear about how you driving halfway across the city was a huge inconvenience at this late hour. I didn't ask you to come personally. I just rang to make sure you'd be home, so that when I got there, you'd have money to pay the cab fare."

Sherlock just kept staring at her, uncharacteristically silent, eyes boring into her.

Joan let out a long-suffering breath. "Seriously, Sherlock, just don't. I've been up since three am this morning with that call out we got, we worked all day and into the night on the case, then I had to rush home, pack like a crazy person for my conference trip to Vienna. I still think I'm going to make it at this point, but then I get the cab driver from hell who takes me totally the wrong way to JFK airport, claiming it's a shortcut, but we run into all of this roadworks and I miss my flight. I have a yelling match with the guy, because apparently living with you has rubbed off on me, despite my best efforts, and that's how I'm dealing with conflict resolution these days. So, the guy dumps me on the street and drives off, I go to call another cab to get home, but then the next thing I know I'm being knocked to the ground and some jerk is stealing my purse, plus my watch and phone. The thief runs off into the night, and now I'm phoneless and penniless and sprawled out on a New York street. I manage to get a passerby to take pity on me and he let me use his phone, so I called you to make sure you were home, with cab fare, which I think I've already said, but I'm saying it again, just in case I didn't." Joan was actually a little breathless after that tirade. Her breathing was uneven as she looked up at the still unmoving, unblinking Sherlock. "Today has been a bad day," she announced more loudly than she'd intended, but her frustration had been building up in her for hours now, and it felt good to release it.

Sherlock finally blinked, but it was almost in slow motion, which was a little unnerving. When he opened his eyes again, he was back to staring at her. He swallowed hard. "Do you need me to carry your luggage?" he asked hoarsely.

Joan was surprised by the rasp in his voice, but then, he'd probably been sleeping when she'd rung. He'd barely spoken beyond saying her name when she'd called him. Joan held up a set of handles which was once attached to her suitcase. "Did I mention the guy also went for my luggage?" she asked flatly. "We decided on joint custody in the end. He got the case, I got the handles."

Sherlock very carefully took the handles from her.

"Thanks," said Joan acerbically. "I was getting tired dragging those things around all night." It wasn't Sherlock's fault that she'd missed her flight and been mugged, but it felt good to have someone to take it out on, even if it was unfairly.

Sherlock walked over to the car and opened the passenger side door.

Joan followed him and slipped into the seat, Sherlock closing the door carefully behind her. She watched him walk round and climb into the driver's seat. Joan's gaze wandered over the interior of the car. "Who's Lexus is this?"

"An acquaintance's," said Sherlock dismissively as he started the engine.

Joan was trying to think of any acquaintances Sherlock had that she knew of who'd be willing to lend him a car, but then was too tired to continue thinking or doing anything else other than just sitting there and trying to get some circulation back in her body. As though Sherlock could read her mind, he reached for the car heater and turned it up to its full capacity. Joan sighed and settled back in her seat, feeling the exhaustion really threaten to overwhelm her now that she was sitting down and starting to get warm. They drove in silence, which Joan was glad about. She didn't want to hear one of Sherlock's rants about street crime or taxi cabs or anything really. It was her turn to be disgruntled at the universe and she didn't feel like sharing the annoyance with anyone else. She'd earned it tonight. It was hers alone to feel. As she fought against falling asleep in the car, Joan was conscious of Sherlock's gaze continually on her via the rear vision mirror. She caught his gaze multiple times in the mirror, and each time his eyes would flick away, attention back on the road. Joan couldn't help but feel he was carefully constructing a diatribe on her being lax about her personal safety. She gave him a warning look in the mirror. Tonight was not the night for a lecture and her expression let him know that.

Joan glanced at the car clock as they pulled up in front of the brownstone and saw it was after three o'clock in the morning. Great, she'd now been up for twenty-four frustrating hours. She stepped out of the car and headed up the steps in front of the house, waiting for Sherlock to open the door with his key, which he did, letting her walk in ahead of him. Joan made an immediate beeline for the stairs, not bothering with turning any lights on. "I need to get some sleep," she announced tiredly as she took each step with a heavy foot fall. "Then tomorrow I need to get my life back and cancel cards, get new ones, organize a new driver's license, contact the conference organizers and know I won't be presenting my paper—" Joan stopped halfway up the stairs, feeling suddenly guilty that she was being so self-centered. She turned back around to see Sherlock looking up at her from the bottom of the stairs. Joan grimaced down at him. "Thank you for coming and getting me, Sherlock. I'm sorry for my attitude, I don't mean to be ungrateful. It's just that it's been a ba—"

"A bad day," he interrupted her tightly. "I know."

Joan tried to manage a smile, but was too tired to be certain she pulled it off. "I'll see you in the morning." She stifled a large yawn with one hand. "I mean later in the morning, much later."

Sherlock gave a short nod of his head by way of a response.

Joan turned back around and headed up the rest of the stairs. She grabbed a spare set of pajamas and changed into them, not bothering with showering. That was for the morning. Joan ignored the aches and pains she could feel creeping up on her from where she'd been knocked over. That was something else to take care of tomorrow. Right now the only thing that mattered was her warm bed which was going to help her forget this day ever happened. She literally fell into it, pulling the covers up and falling asleep within what felt like seconds. Joan slept a dark, dreamless sleep that she only half-surfaced from briefly when her knee complained about being in one position for too long. She'd fallen on it when the mugger had pushed her over. Joan moved restlessly in her sleep, trying to relieve the discomfort. As she rolled over, her sleep-blurred eyes focused on a dark shape standing over her. Joan gave a gasp of fear, immediately sitting up in bed, heart pounding. She blinked rapidly, attempting to focus on who it was. "Sherlock!" she hissed. "What are you doing in my bedroom? Boundaries, remember?"

"My apologies, Watson," he said stiffly, looking down at her. "I did not mean to startle you."

"Then here's a tip," said Joan, a little flustered as she pushed back her sleep-tousled hair, "don't stand over sleeping women. We find it creepy and weird." She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "What time is it?"

"5:07." Sherlock paused. "AM," he finished off, obviously thinking she might be a little confused.

Joan looked him up and down. "What's wrong? What do you need me for?"

Sherlock stood staring down at her. His whole body was stiff, standing at rigid attention, his hands open and closing into tight fists, the handles of her suitcase still in one of those hands. Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, then closed it again, all without saying anything.

Joan looked up at him expectantly. "Sherlock, what is it?"

He turned sharply on his heel and then marched towards her door, stopping at the last moment to wheel around and stalk right back to her bedside with great determination. Sherlock stood over her again, mouth open, but still no words coming out. His face was flushed, as though he was experiencing some great surge of emotion, eyes darting back and forward over her face, seemingly memorizing every single curve and line. Sherlock made a strangled little sound, and then closed his mouth with an audible click.

Joan shook her head at him. "Sherlock, seriously, I can't believe I'm going to say this to you of all people, but you have to use your words. This goldfish impersonation isn't helping me understand what is going on with you."

"You're tired," he said abruptly. "You should sleep after your ordeal." With that, he turned away again, marching for her door.

"So, you woke me to tell me to get more sleep?" asked Joan in consternation. She groaned and flopped back onto her pillow. "Tell me this is something I don't have to worry about with you, Sherlock. At least not right now."

Sherlock didn't stop in his rapid retreat from her room. "Sleep, Watson. We shall converse further in the morning."

"Great," sighed Joan tiredly, "can't wait." She loved being in Sherlock's life, sharing the brownstone together, and everything that entailed, even the frustrating parts. It's just that she was discovering that a good night's sleep really helped with dealing with some of Sherlock's quirkier idiosyncrasies, and she was a long way from getting that tonight. Particularly if Sherlock was going to be intent on waking her every two hours to tell her to get more sleep. Joan rolled over and tried to find a more comfortable position, and promptly fell asleep in the middle of that endeavor.

It was many hours later when she opened her eyes, this time without anyone standing over her, which was a decided bonus. Her blurry gaze focused on the clock on her bedside table and saw it was well past eleven in the morning. Joan let out a long sigh, the events of yesterday and earlier that morning coming back to her in a rush. Such a bad, bad day. With a great effort of will, Joan forced herself to sit up, and was made instantly aware of every aching muscle from her mugging. She needed tea, then she'd do an inventory of the damage. Staggering to her feet, Joan limped out of her bedroom and headed down the stairs. The old stairs gave their usual creaks of protest at taking her weight, and today she could commiserate with them. She got to the foot of the stairs and walked into the living room. Joan gave a gasp of surprise at the generalized chaos of the room which greeted her as she did. The side table was upended, books from the bookcase were strewn all over the ground and there was broken glass everywhere from shattered cups, plates and vases. Directly in front of her the TV screen was smashed and tilted at a concerning angle. Her head snapped around to where Sherlock was sitting bolt upright in his favorite chair, hands on his knees, one hand still clutching the handles of her suitcase, as though he'd been sitting there all night. "What happened?" she asked in horror. "Were we broken into?"

"We weren't broken into," said Sherlock sharply.

Joan looked around herself again. "Then… what happened?" she asked, mystified.

"You died."

That earned him another sharp look from her. "What?"

"You died," said Sherlock, his voice strained. "Last night, you died."

Joan chose her next words carefully, keeping her tone low and calming. "Obviously I didn't Sherlock. I'm standing right here." Had he had a bad dream? Joan didn't like to think about other hallucinogenic possibilities, not before they'd talked more.

His tone was clipped, almost clinical. "Austrian Airways Flight 88, departing from JFK airport at 11pm and arriving in Vienna at 805 the next morning, crashed upon takeoff last night. There were no survivors."

Joan blanched and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of distress at hearing about such a tragic loss of life involving the flight she'd missed.

Sherlock was staring straight ahead as he waved a vague hand towards the TV. "It was all over the news reports. No survivors, that's what they kept saying. Everyone had died." Sherlock finally looked at her, grey eyes full of tortured grief. "I rang your phone, but you didn't pick up. I rang it over and over and over, but you didn't pick up because you were dead." His next words were choked out. "You died, Watson. You died and left me and I don't know how to forgive you for that."

There was so much anguish in his unsteady confession that Joan's first instinct was to simply hug him and reassure him that she wasn't dead, that she was still in his life. "Sherlock," she said in distress, going to take a step towards him.

"Don't move!" he ordered her sternly. Sherlock launched himself from his seat, long strides covering the distance between them in scant seconds. The broken crockery shards crunched under his booted foot as Joan realized she lacked a similar protection with her bare feet. Sherlock was by her side, picking her up into his arms before her naked feet could be damaged by the minefield of broken glass and porcelain. Joan expected Sherlock to carry her back out into the foyer and away from the generalized destruction but instead he seemed rooted to the spot, just holding her in his arms. She met his traumatized gaze. "Sherlock." Joan said his name in barely more than a whisper.

He shook his head at her, mutely warning her that his emotions were threatening to overwhelm them both, lips pressed together in a white line of pain.

Joan supposed she'd known for a long time how much Sherlock needed her, but she'd never properly acknowledged it in any cognizant way. In the beginning he'd resisted her presence, stubbornly clinging to the belief that it was impossible for another person to add anything to his life other than annoyance and intrusion. Fortunately she'd been as pig-headed as he'd been on the subject, and she'd stayed, even when it would have been easy to walk away, she'd stayed. Joan had always thought she understood what that staying meant to someone like Sherlock, a man who'd determinedly made himself into an island that people were allowed to occasionally visit, but never stake any kind of real estate claim to the landscape. Only she had staked a claim. Joan had ignored his dismissals, his threats, his testing of her motives and resolve. And she'd stayed, she'd earned a place on that island. But looking at Sherlock now, seeing the fear in his expression, Joan realized for the first time that she was more than just an inhabitant on the island of his life to him. She'd become part of the infrastructure that kept it afloat. Without her, the ground beneath Sherlock's feet shifted, there was no secure footing for him to find his equilibrium. Joan put a hand to his neck, cupping it. "I'm here," she said huskily, trying to reassure him. "I didn't die. I'm right here, with you." Joan willed him to let go of his fear and accept the reality.

A shudder went through Sherlock's body at her words. He hugged her more tightly to him, burying his face into her neck. Sherlock sucked in a ragged breath against her skin and just held onto her, seemingly incapable of letting her go.

Joan hugged him back, trying to impart reassurance to him through her touch. She wasn't sure how long they stood there, him holding her in his arms, the two of them standing in the middle of a broken room, but it felt like a long time. Joan could just imagine Sherlock's frenzy last night on hearing about the plane crash. He would have been like a wounded animal, lashing out at all and everything. It made her afraid of what he might have done if she hadn't found a way to call. Would Sherlock have gone back to his old painkilling ways? Would he have found a way to stop himself from freefalling without her there? The questions haunted Joan and made her hug him even more tightly.

A knock came on the door. "Hello?"

Joan lifted her head from Sherlock's shoulder and looked over her shoulder towards the door. Sherlock on the other hand didn't move, just kept on holding her.

"Police Officer." There was the sound of the door being pushed open. The uniformed police officer walked into the foyer and then came to an abrupt halt as he came across the man with the barefoot woman in his arms, standing in the middle of what looked like a war zone. The officer immediately put one hand on his gun, and reached out towards Joan with the other. "Ma'am, are you alright?" he asked in a firm but concerned tone.

"Yes," said Joan quickly, aware of how this must look. "I'm fine. There isn't a problem here."

The police officer looked unconvinced. "Sir, do you want to put the woman down?"

"No," said Sherlock without hesitation, head still buried in her neck as he held her even more tightly to him.

"Sir, put the woman down," said the officer more sternly this time, moving slowly towards them, hand tightening on the gun.

Joan stiffened in Sherlock's arms, knowing this situation could spiral out of control very quickly and very badly if she couldn't get either men to listen to her.

She really didn't need another bad day, and Sherlock certainly didn't…

A/N: And there we have it, folks. Brace for all the real emotional stuff in the next chapter. Really hope you'll join me. Thanks for reading. :D