Joan listens even as she roughly set about making coffee, trying to distract herself in the mundane task and finding it steadily becoming harder and harder to remember how many scoops to put into the top or whether she even put the filter in first or enough water until she eventually gives up. Leaning her palms against the side of the counter.
She turns when he begins to speak of her, defensive and ready to snap again until he finishes and she is left once again with her brows furrowed at him.
"I know that." she says after a moment just to-- say something. "I know that."
Repeated to herself. Confounded with how all her objectivity just seemed to have been thrown right out the window in the past day after all this and there seemed no end in sight. She turned and punched a button on the coffee maker and it slowly began to gurgle to life.
"It's such a waste. When I look at you it isn't just another addict. Another "pathetic ass" I was sent to salvage. The things you can do- that you do? You have this great analytical mind, yet you can't work out your personal relationships or your past to save your life almost literally."
Joan understood. She did. She knew that it wasn't her fault and that it couldn't be her fault and to even try to make it so was undermining everything she was taught. Sherlock had to take responsibility for himself and she was only there to cushion it, not take the blame. Blame wasn't suppose to be something she took upon herself.
"And yeah. Okay at first the money was entirely good and the job was something I knew and was good at. I took it, but after-- " how could she say this? It's getting to close, to personal and she wants to just let it go. Call the cops. Turn him over. Wash your hands of this, Watson it isn't worth it.
"-- if there is a way to help you. To make these things not hurt so badly you do this to yourself. If there is even the smallest chance, I have to help. Okay? It isn't for you to decide what I want and don't want to know."
Unspoken still behind it all was the thought, this one selfish thought-- if he can overcome these demons then maybe I...?
She turns back to face him, arms crossed over her chest.
"Who is Moriarty?" she asks, out of sheer defiance. And now they are edging dangerously close to the conversation that started this all. Her breath comes quicker and it is visible she is losing that calmness she was trained so well to have under pressure. This isn't the time and she knows it.
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Date: 2012-12-08 05:34 am (UTC)She turns when he begins to speak of her, defensive and ready to snap again until he finishes and she is left once again with her brows furrowed at him.
"I know that." she says after a moment just to-- say something. "I know that."
Repeated to herself. Confounded with how all her objectivity just seemed to have been thrown right out the window in the past day after all this and there seemed no end in sight. She turned and punched a button on the coffee maker and it slowly began to gurgle to life.
"It's such a waste. When I look at you it isn't just another addict. Another "pathetic ass" I was sent to salvage. The things you can do- that you do? You have this great analytical mind, yet you can't work out your personal relationships or your past to save your life almost literally."
Joan understood. She did. She knew that it wasn't her fault and that it couldn't be her fault and to even try to make it so was undermining everything she was taught. Sherlock had to take responsibility for himself and she was only there to cushion it, not take the blame. Blame wasn't suppose to be something she took upon herself.
"And yeah. Okay at first the money was entirely good and the job was something I knew and was good at. I took it, but after-- " how could she say this? It's getting to close, to personal and she wants to just let it go. Call the cops. Turn him over. Wash your hands of this, Watson it isn't worth it.
"-- if there is a way to help you. To make these things not hurt so badly you do this to yourself. If there is even the smallest chance, I have to help. Okay? It isn't for you to decide what I want and don't want to know."
Unspoken still behind it all was the thought, this one selfish thought-- if he can overcome these demons then maybe I...?
She turns back to face him, arms crossed over her chest.
"Who is Moriarty?" she asks, out of sheer defiance. And now they are edging dangerously close to the conversation that started this all. Her breath comes quicker and it is visible she is losing that calmness she was trained so well to have under pressure. This isn't the time and she knows it.