ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a homocide

  Bringing herself to stand, hand still ruffing the hounds head   of fur, a smile creeps across her lips. It was nice to see him,   but god, he always looked tired.

                      “—I try to be.”

            Glancing his way once more, she drifts and reaches into             one of the bags, grabbing two plastic forks. 

          “—C’mon, lets eat and tell me about your day.”

      "You're assuming there's something to tell?"

                  Honestly, most of the time he doesn't even leave                   the flat if nobody forces him, and when, then he                    goes far off like the last time.

                  Light shrugging when he releases the dog, head                   tilted just slightly. It's almost funny how they both                   take a similar pose.

      "Shush, Maya — let me just quickly grab stuff        from the kitchen, yeah?"

        “—I heard you were back, so, I thought—food             was a good way to celebrate, I think.” 

    A gentle smirk once he shuffles and cracks the door     open, just enough for her to slip in. Once done, she sets     all the takeout on one of the chairs, before crouching and     petting his four legged friend. 

               ”—hey baby, I would’ve brought treats if                    I knew you were gonna be here,” 

            Ruffling the fur atop the hounds head, blue hues glance up at David. 

                    “—I thought you’d like chinese.”

      "Yeah, it's been a while."

                  He shrugs lightly, teeth dragged over his                   lower lip, and he tries to avoid her gaze.                    Somehow he always ended up back here,                   even if he feels like getting away. It never                   really changes. Some things one can't run                   away from.

      "You're an angel. And she'll be fine — "

                  Better than he is, anyway. 

                      “—-Hey. Figured I’d stop by and say hi.”

      "Not rather that you thought I'd be starved        to death, mh? Pure coincidence?" 

                  And while this is, indeed, a very valid question,                   he is also mocking her, amusement beneath                    his voice and only audible if someone knew                    what to look for. Dog still shoved to the side                    (because she wouldn't have much food left if                   he didn't), he moved aside just enough to let                   her in.

Minimalist Posters: Dante’s Inferno

                                   wasntguardingtacobell

             there’s a knock on his door. 

                                   ”—-david?” 

           she might have some takeout and            donuts hiding behind the small of            her back.

                  The sudden sound does interrupt nothing but                    being lost in thoughts — a thing never good to                   do as it is, and even less so with a troubled                    mind — but it does wake the dog that laid just                   behind the door, and it takes him a moment to                   calm her from barking and shove her softly to                   the side, allowing him to open up.

      " — can't say I expected you." 

She doesn’t get it often, for it’s usually limited to a pat, an awkward smile, and perhaps a squeeze of her shoulder.  And so, this?

Though not necessarily replaced, the grimace did disappear as she shifted to face him.

        “I did something… it was stupid.”

Words muttered, the irritation at herself so blatantly obvious, she sighed, her hands restless as she rested them on her knees.

          “Really… really stupid.”

He's silent, very much so. Talking about things is hard, he can tell — still utterly unable to talk about some of them, after all these years — and he very carefully, very much on the edge to retreating any given moment,  lays an arm around her shoulder  and pulls her a bit closer.

                         "It's fine."

It's not, obviously, but that's not what he means. Things between them are fine, no matter what. She's his friend, the only one he has, and nothing changes that. Ever.

'Are you alright?' — well, that was really an extraordinarily good question, one she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to ponder herself. Not really. Between her search for a new place, the cases, and even Mycroft and Sherlock, there had been little opportunity to finally come to the conclusion——

                      No. No, I’m not. Not really.

Pushing her hair back, she forced that little smile of hers, the kind one makes when wincing. 

        “Something… happened at work.           When I was working on a case.”

He sighs, and it's a hollow sound, deep and what is more expected as the sound of something breaking, much rather than one coming from a human soul. And a  moment later, he forces himself up, just to shift next to her. He's not reaching out. As helpful as physical contact is at times, at others, it can destroy just as well.

                      "You don't have to."

He'd understand either way.

For a second, she looked at him, offering the slightest of scowls in response, though her smile still remained. Still, she shook her head. 

          “I’m not asking to move in with you.”

She wouldn’t do that. No. She hadn’t told him exactly what had happened, had she? No — she tended to avoid that particular subject. Be it their work, or her time locked in that warehouse, wrists bound. The gun pressed against her temple, or watching another — plenty others — being shot point- blank.

She hadn’t told David that.

          “I need a life outside all… that.”

           "I know you don't." 

He does, in fact, not have the slightest clue of what happened. If he had, he would  react a whole different way (most likely,  one not too different from twelve years  ago, gunpoint, Tracy, no word even making it into his head, because she was not Trace, of course not, and the way he loves her is a whole different one from the way he loved Tracy, but she is just as important, and  he would kill for someone like this again,  or do worse). 

Instead, he just gives her a slight frown because he does notice she's keeping something from him.

           "Are you alright, Joan?"

It's rare he ever uses her name, and  the worry in his voice underlines that.

We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it’s common, it’s trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore. I’m setting the example. What I’ve done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed…forever.

Se7en (1995)

     ”I guess so.”

She’s glad she has this. Somewhere she could go where she could feel at ease, trusted, and trusting, but most importantly, where she could do these things without any feeling of obligation. Quite often, the latter was something she didn’t have at the Brownstone. Here, however, was a different story. Here, she could relax. Mentally and physically.

Stepping through, ensuring she wasn’t dragged by Stella rather than going through willingly, she pursed her lips for a moment, hand pushing back her hair.

     ”…I’m looking for my own place.”

Waiting for him to lock the door, before continuing on through the building, she’ll smile, though one might find it to be a little tight.

He's not entirely sure what she's telling him here. Oh, of course he knows what the mere facts are she is informing him about, but there is reason to it, and it isn't just the obligatory asking friends for help with moving, is it? So he blinks up to her, hesitation in his step for the shortest of moments, but she would have noticed anyway. She noticed a lot. After all, she was his Miss Marple, right?

                     " — lost fun at pending between places?"

They weren't really living together, but it wasn't as if she didn't stay around, quite often actually, because she seemed to do whenever Brownstone got too much or when she felt like he needed her —  which really, it was way too often. Maybe it was needed freedom, a place to return to to find peace — or something else. He couldn't tell. If he had been any better in reading people in his life, a lot of things would have gone different, maybe better. No need to think about the past, though.

She’ll hope to God that he doesn’t regret it. Not now, and not any time in the future. They’re not… really a couple. Instead, they’re at the stage where they might act like one, be they alone or in public. Neither have exactly chosen for it to happen, and instead it simply… is. Neither take it to that next step, and they both seem to be quite alright with  that. Content. 

The thumb that brushed over his knuckle was almost a testimony to that, as they made their way down the hall. Nothing she consciously de- cided, and nothing she could imagine him doing so. But here they were.

                       ”Know what I want? A really                         massive cheeseburger.”

It's a nice thing they have, really. Neither of them would be able to name it exactly, tell on point just what it was, but that didn't seem all too important. Those things lost meaning, and that was a good  thing. The only important component here was the mere fact of just how much he could relax  around her, how comfortable she made him feel, that he could trust. It's a feeling he didn't know  ever since Tracy, and he'd admit that the way she does is very similar to the way his wife did, and yet, it was a completely different thing. That was good, though. Very much so.

Those are things left unsaid and yet he was more than sure that she was aware of it. It lays in the  small smile he gives her now, eyes wandering  between the woman and the dog with little change of the obvious fondness laying in them, and in the way he moves when he makes a step forward to open the door for both.

            "Sounds like we have a destination, then."

Her smile will automatically broaden at the rottweiler that barrels its way towards her. Bending over just slightly, she’ll clap her  hands upon her knees, before petting the beast, kissing the top of her head the way she’d not do so with any other animal. Only Stella managed to get such treatment.

Clipping on the lead, hands on either side of the dogs head once it jumped up at her in her excitement, she’ll laugh slightly, as she held her hand out towards her friend.

He made a lot of bad decisions in his life, and he's the first one to admit them. (Not necessarily regret all the right ones, but admit them.) Two things right now he is sure do not belong to them — letting both Joan and Stella in. It had been hard enough after all this time to trust, but somehow Joan sneaked in and — well, it's easy to trust a dog, all in all. 

Patting the head of the impatient dog to  then gently shove it aside — dogs just  didn't seem to get the clue that it was  really hard to open a door when they were in the way — he let a small smile slip, taking her hand just all too willingly.

Answering with an easy smile of her own, she pushed her hair back, glancing quickly around for her jacket. 

               ”No, you know what she’s like…”

Taking the lead from the hook upon the door, she looked up to him, popping her sunglasses on. On days like this, she hated being cooped up, and getting out of the Brownstone was a start.

There was, even if he wanted to —  and that wasn't really the case, he  got his head up into things way too often and getting out of them could  only be good for him — little other  choice than getting up himself,  pulling a light face because he had all reasons to put on the cranky old man that just got out of bed by now  — letting out a low whistle. Not that it was necessary, the sound of the  lead was enough for Stella to run  (and nearly slip) over and then sit in front of Joan, watching the leather in her hand with the tail of destruction.

She’ll remember too, though she’ll attempt to forget, however difficult. It was all over,  he and John Doe, as well as the series of murders that had preceded such an event. But she didn’t need to think about them, not when she knew him. Not when she was well aware of the fact that whatever said in the tabloids wasn’t him. 

        “It’s an improvement,” she sighed, one         hand briefly touching his arm. “Let’s go         grab some coffee, take Stella for a walk.”

He raises his head, and there might be just the slightest hint of a smile lightening up his face, just curling up on the corners of his lips. That was something that came natural around her, something that nobody else could get out of him ever since — well, ever since.

"Yeah, wouldn't be well to let her    wait for too long, would it?"