Redefining Redemption (Joan H Watson and GJLestrade)

(and if you're wondering, this is my image of a young punk-loving Greg. I loved this film and if you've never watched it, I recommend it.)

[Only admins are allowed to see this link]

"Sorry." Joan murmured as Greg said his ear tickled. She checked on the pasta, something for her hands to do other than to itch with wanting to hug the man or something. The past was finished within a few minutes and the pasta sauce heated up. Joan put the pasta in a large bowl and the pasta sauce in a small pot to be able to pour out easily. She set it on the kitchen table behind her. "No, you can't have a DI having ear studs." She chuckled. Though, it's pretty hot.

The ex-Army doctor wasn't sure whether to ask Greg if he wanted wine. She didn't know if he drank or if he drank often. "Do you want a beer?" She asked hesitantly. Beer was harmless enough she decided.

[D'awww bad ass looking punk greg! What's the movie title? ]

(Different For Girls. It was a bit of a daring one for him to play as his male co-star was playing transgender. Its a very romantic, gentle and funny movie, and he was great in it. Very 80s. The sex scene toward the end is nicely done. [Only admins are allowed to see this link] Its all there on youtube)

"Mm, thanks. Beer would be great if you have it." He watched her retrieve one from the fridge and then Greg held Joan's chair out for her and grinned. "Complements to the chef...or should I say that after I've eaten it?" He took a seat across from her and watched as she served herself then passed him the bowl. "This is nice. You've no idea how nice I think this is. Food, company, conversation, it's far more than I was looking forward to tonight. I'm sick of being by myself in that dingy flat. I think that's why I sleep through the weekend. Nothing to do, nobody to see." He forked a mouthful of pasta and chewed. "We should definitely do this more often."

[ Omg, starting to watch this now. I love movies about gender. This will be sad but awesome I'm assuming. ]

"Yeah, I do." Joan nodded, searching in the fridge for it before handing it to Lestrade. Joan gave him a look as he held out her chair for her, "Why thank you." She said in an exaggerated tone before smiling, "Psh, you git." She muttered as she served herself pasta and then Greg. She poured sauce on her pasta and handed him the pot, "I'm glad you think it's nice and not like I'm holding you captive or anything." She laughed lightly and took a bit of her pasta. It was pretty good. "Well, I'm glad that you're here and that we can actually have a conversation." She opened up her beer and took a sip of it, "We should." She agreed, "I only hang out with Mrs. Hudson, she's a sweet woman but I'm not really sure what to talk to her about sometimes."

(You'll find this is a feel-good story, promise. The ending is great. I loved it.)

Greg ate slowly, watching her as much as he could without drawing attention to himself. This was going to be even harder than expected. "So what do you want to talk about? Just let's not talk work, I've had more than enough of it. It's like they're waiting for me to screw up so they can kick me out...I know, if you could visit any country at all, which one and why? I'd love to go to New Zealand. Beautiful country."

[Oh man, it's a beautiful movie so far. Everything's subtle but great! Thanks for sharing this with me! ]

Joan tried not to let the feeling of Greg at her dinner table, in her flat after Sherlock's death, freak her out too much. He would be staying the night--hopefully-- and she'd have to get used to the Detective Inspector's presence. "Of course, not work." She agreed, "Well, don't screw up then or screw up." She shrugged and pursed her lips in thought, "Hmm, probably Austria. I've seen pictures and it's absolutely gorgeous. I've been to Germany before with friends and it was surprisingly amazing there." She looked at Greg curiously, "If you could be anything in the world, what would you be? this could be job wise or..." She shrugged, "Whatever, you know?"

"Be? Mmm, that's a good question." Greg laughed. "Rich?" He laughed. "I could retire and leave all this crap behind. I used to want to be an artist, when I was younger but I can't draw for toffee. Lead guitar in a band, that was my ambition when I was eighteen or so. Now? Writer, I think. I'd love to write a best selling series of crime novels, get 'em turned into a tv series. Trouble with that one is you should read my reports sometime. They don't make interesting reading and my grammar is crap. I don't have the talent or the imagination to be a good writer really. So, what about you?"

"Ah, rich. Think we'd all love that." Joan smiled at Greg over the rim of her wine glass before she took a healthy sip, "Did you used to make those flipbooks? I used to, still can't draw." She paused, "Crime novels? A regular Mario Columbo meets James Patterson?" She teased, "I could help you with your grammar, if you want..."

"I would say psychiatrist but I have enough issues for myself let alone taking care of others. I always want to help people I suppose." Joan shrugged, "I probably would still be a Doctor, just, I don't know. Sometimes I wish I never went to war but it made me who I am."

"And who you are is perfect." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. His saving grace was that he meant it, God help him. Oh, shit, now what? He stuffed in another mouthful and chewed, keeping his eyes on his plate. When he looked up, he honestly had no idea what her expression would be. Pretend it never happened, or explain? He couldn't help the consternation in his expression when he did look at her.

Joan's eyes widened, her fork was halfway into her mouth and she almost choked. Did Greg really say that? Shite, he really thought she was perfect? Oh god, she didn't want to be an illusion to him, she wasn't perfect, but she wanted someone to see her for who she was. "G-greg..."She said softly, clearing the lump in her throat. Her blue-gray eyes met his, "I...I....this is cliche, but I'm not perfect. No one is. I just...I just want you to be okay with me." She murmured, "You know? But..." Oh shite, were those tears in her eyes? Christ, it was like she drank the whole bottle of wine and was feeling menstrual rage. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."

"It's deserved. Look, I know...okay? I know I just fucked up there and probably spoke out of turn and I'm sorry but I'm not sorry, because you're just...you're alright as you are, Joan, and do not let anybody tell you different." Greg took a deep breath and ploughed on. "Yes, the army made you what you were and nobody should have had to go through what you went through but...what I meant was... don't change. You don't need to. I am okay with you, more than okay and I'm crossing the line here but I don't actually care. Life's too short, you know? Now let's eat this before it goes cold. I'm as alright with you as I ever was, and things will be okay, you and me, we'll weather this, okay?"

Deserved. You deserve this. Let his words sink in, come on, you can do it. Let someone in for once. But, she had let Sherlock in and look what happened. "Y-you didn't speak out of turn, really." Her tears were now slipping from her eyes and she was actually crying for fuck's sake in front of Greg. ".. I don't regret what I did in the army." She murmured, tears still slipping from her eyes, "I won't change if you don't." She whispered, smiling sadly and eating some more of her pasta. She took two sips of wine this time. "Yes, I think we will weather this..." Her heart was racing, her chest tightening with anxiety. Greg was way too kind to her and such a wonderful man.

"Damn, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." He reached for her hand and grasped her fingers, thumb rubbing gently over her knuckles, trying to convey his regret. "Of course you're proud of what you did in the army, you should be. Jesus, you signed on the dotted line and you went over there and you saved lives, Jo'. If that isn't something to be proud of, then I dunno what is. I didn't mean to belittle what you did. You're braver than I am..."

"N-no, you didn't upset me. I upset myself." She tried to reassure the Detective Inspector as she felt a shiver run through her, perhaps out of nervousness or the fact that Greg was touching her hand. "I know that, I know you were being extremely nice." She smiled, "Tch, you're braver than you think."

"Yeah, well, we can all surprise ourselves, can't we?" Greg grinned. "Hidden reserves and all that." He reluctantly let go Joan's hand and busied himself finishing off his food. "You know, I don't want to sound crass or insensitive, but I am really looking forward to tomorrow. You know, something to do, somebody to be with while I'm doing it. I think you're as good for me as I am for you right now. For the first time in ages, I don't feel..." He stopped, aware of what he was about to admit. "What we just said about being brave. I think I might be about to disappoint you. I'm really not, you know, hidden reserves or no. The reason I've been spending time at work... Frankly the weekends, days off, time to myself scares the crap out of me. Being alone, all I can do is think...and...and you don't need to hear this right now."

He cast his eyes downward, aware that this was not what he had wanted, he hadn't intended to bare his soul and make a confession and knew that what he had been about to say would only raise old pain. Greg found he didn't want to do that to her again. despite the fact that she understood, he had upset her enough for one night. He had come over to check she was okay, for God's sake, not dredge it all up again.

"We can." Joan nodded in agreement. She felt a warmth run through her as Greg held onto her hand and she felt her thumb rub against the back of his hand. She frowned lightly as Lestrade let go of her hand.

"That's not insensitive; what happened happened and now we're making something good out of it." She smiled but it dropped as she saw his face, "You don't feel what?" She whispered taking another sip of wine. "You are, I want you to know that, you are good for me." She looked at him directly, "I want to hear this." She assured him, "It'll be hard to say some things, I know, but I want you to say what you feel, okay?" She asked him.

He glanced up at her, then nodded. "It's just...well, you're a doctor, so I guess you understand, but you. It's just...baggage," he admitted. "I still feel bloody guilty about...that last night. I'm not looking for absolution, I just...I think about what I did and how I allowed them to make me doubt and...I can't forgive myself. I'm sorry..." Greg laid his fork down, aware his stomach was churning.

"When I'm on my own, all I do is I sit and I think, I go over it again and again...I wonder if I could have stood up to them, done anything differently. I don't regret calling you, warning you. It was all I could think of to do. All I can see is Sally's smug face and I...I'm glad they moved me to another unit. I cannot face her or Anderson. I never want to see them again. Ever. I don't actually feel worthy of being here, now. I feel I let you both down, particularly him. Now he's..." he closed his eyes, aware that he had probably blown any chance he had with her. Somehow, it still felt good to get it off his chest, to confess.

Joan finished her pasta, now only sipping at her wine. The alcohol warmed her throat and she felt a tightening in her chest at Greg's words. "Baggage?" She seemed astonished, "Greg, I....you think I'd be worried about baggage? I am baggage." She pursed her lips as she mentioned that one day. "If you hadn't of called me, I wouldn't have known he was there, I wouldn't have been able to say....g-goodbye." She felt another tear slide down her cheek and she sniffled, "S-sorry."

She looked at him sternly, "Don't blame yourself, please. I should have saw the signs, if anyone's to blame, it's me." She admitted. "You did all you could, I..I really appreciate that." She took another sip of her wine, standing up to fill it. She walked by Lestrade, pausing to lean down to kiss his forehead, brushing stray hair away from his forehead, "You're okay, you'll be okay, I'll help you be okay..."

Greg could not believe it when she touched him, never mind when he felt her soft lips brush his brow. Paralysed, he just sat there, no idea what to do. At least, she obviously didn't blame him. Some of the weight he had been carrying lifted. He watched her fill her glass and tracked her with his eyes. I'll help you be okay... Oh, God, what does she mean by that?

He licked his lips nervously. This was such a bad idea, it was unreal. Any minute now he was going to make a wrong move. "Um... thanks. Look, do you...could I grab that shower now? I'm sorry about not finishing the food, it was lovely, but...I guess my digestion is a bit screwed up." He stood up a little uncertainly, fished for his car keys, held them up. "I'll go get my bag." He fled the scene, wanting to put some distance between them. This was getting out of control. Should he just go, jump in the car and drive off? No, he couldn't do that to her but he needed some air.

(did you enjoy Different for Girls btw?)

Oh god. Why did you do that? But, Joan couldn't help but revel in the feel of her own lips against Greg's forehead. God, he was so sad, just like her. she wanted Greg to be okay, she wanted both of them to be okay.

"Y-yeah, we can..." She murmured pouring herself a glass of wine. Her eyes widened as she realized what she said, "You. Yes, you can." She nodded, understanding, "It's okay. I understand." They had bared their souls, they missed their friend, they were lonely. She watched as he left. She got out some towels and soap for Greg, setting it on the bathroom counter before she took out some linens to make up a bed for him on the sofa.

[Yes, I did! I wasn't expecting it to be so good! It was really subtle, romantic, funny, and so truthful. It was beautiful, thanks for showing it to me! Rupert Graves was lovely! ]

(so nice when I can show someone something they haven't seen before. It is a good drama, very poignant and quite a nice one for equality. Hope you are liking the way this is going?)

Greg reached his car and leaned on the roof, exhaling gustily. What should I do? He looked back up at the windows of 221b. He was torn. Go back up and stay with her, endure a night or two on the sofa, try to ignore the close proximity or get in and drive home and not look back and apologise tomorrow when he could think straight.

He dragged his bag from the bowels of the car boot, hoping the contents wouldn't be too crumpled. He hadn't honestly checked them in weeks. He began to lift the bag out and paused. If he went back in to 221, then if anything happened between himself and Joan, there would be no going back. He wouldn't make the same mistakes as he did with his first wife. Was he ready for that? Honestly no, but he had meant what he said. Life was too bloody short. He had that message reinforced at every murder scene he attended. Sherlock had proved it too. Life was often brutally short and miserable.

Huh! No nearer making his choice. He was aware he was taking too long. He toyed with his keys. Stay or go? Resolutely he slammed the boot down.

(chuckles, cliffhanger...will he, won't he?)

[Yes, I love showing people new things. That movie was great for equality!! And yeah, totally liking where this is going! Oohh, cliffhanger. ]

Joan pursed her lips as she cleaned up the kitchen, clearing the kitchen table, washing the dishes and putting them away. She smoothed her shirt and inspected a stain on it. She sighed. Greg had shown up at one of the best and worse times to be around her. He was still sticking with her even after she had opened up to him, cried, been vulnerable. He had told her that she wasn't weak, she was brave, and Joan hoped she could believe it for his sake.

She sipped at her wine, waiting for Greg in her favorite arm chair. She then realized that Lestrade didn't have to come back but she desperately wanted him to.

To anyone in the immediate vicinity he must look like a complete prat. He half expected to get a patrol car cruising by to investigate the nutter pacing back and forth between his car and the door of the flats. He would reach the door and back down, his brain unable to make his body take that final step.

THINK! He stood with his head bowed, still able to feel her fingers against his skin, her lips on his forehead. What is my problem?

You see but you do not observe. The words hit him like a blow. He could hear Sherlock's voice saying them; so clearly, he nearly looked around to see if the man was standing behind him. Of course he wasn't, it was in his head, but...okay then. Observations.

Joan had forgiven him, either that or she more likely didn't blame him in the first place from what she had said. She had been happy to have him stay and had even gone to the effort of making them dinner. You do not do that for someone you don't want to have around. They were comfortable with each other, friends, not feeling the need to fill the void between conversations with meaningless noise. They could laugh together, relax in each other's company. They didn't mind the state the other was in. There was an easiness there, an acceptance. Above all, they shared that unique experience of wrangling an annoying amazing genius with the social skills of a toddler and they had both loved him.

Had she...? He allowed himself a smile. She had slipped before he went out, saying we instead of you when he had asked about the shower. He wondered if she really did desire a closer bond. Maybe she was conflicted like he was, her body desiring something her brain was putting the brakes on. That kiss. He reached to touch the place on his brow and smiled. Nobody kisses like that unless they mean it. There was genuine affection in the touch. Okay, he thought, how was that for observation?

He made his choice. He reached out and turned the handle of the door, walking purposefully inside and slamming it shut, letting his feet take him up those seventeen familiar stairs and toward the one person in the world who understood what it was like to be him. That was the most important observation of all. He whispered a silent thank you before his hand pushed the door of the flat open and his eyes located her in the room.

She was alone again. Joan thought she should get used to this by now. What were you thinking? He was only coming about because Mrs. Hudson told him to. Christ, you made him dinner and he probably wanted to leave. He probably already left. She took another sip of wine. Then another. Then another, letting the warm liquid trail down her throat and make her fingertips numb.

She had wanted Greg. She wanted him here. She wanted to spend time with him. He understood what it was like to wrangle Sherlock around every day, to deal with his mind palace, to live in a cramped apartment with someone that sometimes didn't take the time to notice you. They understood each other. Greg Lestrade was patient, a little self-deprecating at times, but overall a genuine man who Joan noticed didn't put the effort into something if he didn't care about it. Another sip of wine traveled down Joan's throat and she re-positioned herself in the chair. The former partner of Sherlock was half tempted to drown her sorrows once more and watch reality tv if Greg didn't show up. She also wanted to take a shower and remember the feel of his hand in hers, his fingers moving against her palm, his.... Stop. Stop. Stop. You do this to often. You get attached and they leave.

Joan tried to separate her mind and her heart, but with Sherlock, she had always been the heart that used her mind second. She was all heart she supposed but that heart was broken over the loss of her friend, her partner, a man she had loved with every fiber of her being. She couldn't let her heart break again, let it be trusted with someone who would just leave.

But, she wanted to help Greg. She could see the emptiness inside him as well, how no one else at work or around him understood the severity of Sherlock's passing. She understood. She would hlep him. Besides the temptation and desire that might come with this closeness, she would welcome it. She figured it might even save them- think on that- their broken-ness, their will to carry on bringing them closer, Joan thought it extraordinary but not as extraordinary as when she heard footsteps running up the seventeen steps, sounding like Sherlock when he was excited with a case, when she heard the door slam before she saw Greg Lestrade standing in her living room.

She didn't know what to do when she saw him standing there. No words would come out of her mouth. The Army doctor's blue-gray eyes just looked at Greg across the room. she set her wine glass down on the coffee table next to her. She stood up, albeit, a little shakily because of the alcohol and her current mindset. "Y-you're back." She smiled, a little sadly, happy to see Greg. But those were words she had reserved for Sherlock; however, they felt just as satisfying to say to the Detective Inspector, the man who understood.

He dropped his bag and in a couple of quick strides he was across the room and gathering her into his arms. "Steady there, you look about ready to collapse. I'm sorry. I..." he stopped. Just held her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. She was real and solid and there. He dropped a soft kiss to her hair. "Yes," he said, unnecessarily. "I'm back. So, where do we go from here?"