Joan sat at a café, spoon stirring the cold dregs and left over foam of the sweet drink she had consumed almost an hour ago. She sighed, other hand holding her head up as she stared across the street at the building Sherlock had asked her to watch. She hadn't even been told the why or what she was looking for, as he had promised to meet her there with in the hour that had already come and gone.

It left Joan only to her thoughts, the first and foremost clamoring for attention was, why was she here anyway? She could be nearly anywhere, at least in the huge city that was New York, and yet here she was, waiting for a person who was unlikely to come. On time that is. Her fiddling went from her empty cup to her bag, in which resided the mouth swabs that came with the job of being a companion.

She knew when he did finally show up though, that he would be clean. But this was a habit from her work with patients passed, keeping her hands busy while she usually made up speeches that would fall on uninterested or guilty ears about staying strong. She had quickly learned not to plan such things with Holmes, as whatever was out of his busy mouth first always forced a new thought process.

And she let herself smirk a little at that. He was such a change, refreshingly so, from classic cases of either reform or relapse. While she was not one for the scenes of destruction she had been forced to witness, she admitted to herself that she enjoyed the thrill of the mysteries themselves. The thrill of being part of a partnership that had become that of equals.

That was why she was here, sitting alone at a window seat, observing the people who moved about the city like its life blood. Because she had come to respect and care for the eccentric man who kept her waiting. She enjoyed his refreshingly blunt personality and the odd way his mind worked. She loved how her own mind was starting to pick out those fine details, as well as the way it made her both forget life and contemplate it.

So when Sherlock Holmes slipped in the seat next to her, and they passed the mouth swab with a humorous air, she smiled as he filled her in on the details he had been hunting. She felt her mind begin to really work, trying to piece together the puzzle as he spoke. And at the end, almost as if an afterthought to it all he said, "Sorry to have kept you, Watson."

To which she merely scolded him with a shrug, both standing to continue this new hunt. And she wondered if she was the only one as she pushed away the thought of her nearing departure with a shudder.

A/N: Is Elementary fantastic or what? Had to add to this growing fandom. I'm thinking of writing a companion to this from Holmes' point of view and I am wondering if anyone would like that? Thanks for reading! :)