fic for venusinthenight: First Correspondence
Title: First Correspondence
Recipient: venusinthenight
Author: etherai; 14winters on AO3; joaneuglassiawatson on tumblr
Verse: Elementary
Characters/Pairings: Joan Watson & Kitty Winter
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Warnings: Implied/Referenced Abuse
Summary: Joan receives her first letter from Kitty much sooner than she expected.
Also on AO3: First Correspondence
Joan found the letter the morning after Kitty left the country. It was in her apartment tucked in the box of ginseng tea bags only Joan used. Andrew was next to her, making his coffee, so Joan quietly left the note where it was until after he was gone.
Joan hadn’t expected a letter at all. When Sherlock told her Kitty was leaving the country, she assumed she wouldn’t hear from Kitty for weeks, if not longer, while Kitty found a safe place to settle. Joan understood Kitty’s abrupt departure-she’d just kidnapped and seriously disfigured a man. That Joan did not get a phone call as Sherlock had said nothing to Joan except that Kitty had had a lot on her mind. She’d faced her rapist and allowed him to live. It reminded Joan so much of Sherlock and M, that dark moment when she and Sherlock had had to recover from the dangerous exposure of his pain. Kitty must have felt vulnerable, and a volatile mix of rage and fear-emotions that no one but she could deal with.
Joan was relieved neither Sherlock nor Kitty had chosen to kill. She knew exactly what it meant to have a death on one’s conscience. Contemplating murder hadn’t even been necessary for her. Sometimes she thought death was trying to find her, to drag her back down again. To where or for what, she didn’t want to know.
To Sherlock, the deaths that had touched her-Castoro and the fatally wounded kidnapper-were accidents. Nothing more and nothing less. To Joan they would always be burdens that could never be lightened by being shared. A sort of pain that no sort of exposure would erase or lessen. It was a burden Joan had never wanted to have in common with Kitty, of all people.
The letter was a single page of notebook paper filled with Kitty’s somewhat messy but precise handwriting, written in ballpoint pen. As unremarkable as it looked, Joan was immediately bitter that she would still have to burn it once it’d been read.
I’m writing this as I pack. G is already in hospital. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you before I left. I wasn’t sure you’d understand. While I’ve gotten used to his disapproval, I was too afraid to risk yours. I hope you can forgive me-in that respect.
In fact, you inspired my decision, regarding G. After the third meeting you attended with me, you said your kidnappers had been killed in front of you, taking away even the possibility of vengeance. I thought of you, about choice. You didn't choose to kill your last patient, and you didn't choose to have your kidnappers killed. Your choices were taken from you, like mine were.
With G I had a choice. I decided against killing him because of you. You never chose to kill, yet death has left a mark on you. I could see it in you, at the meetings. There were others reasons I chose to do what I did. But you deserve to know this one.
In my decision, I hope you can see I acted in my best interests. I don’t want you to think I’m asking for forgiveness-you would’ve acted better.
You've given me so much, support I can never repay you for. I wrote this letter in an effort to help you understand-I am not the same as I was when you first met me. You've changed me, for the better I think. One day I will prove it to you, and to him.
It was unsigned. Joan stared at the last sentence, her mind frozen. She reached up and removed her glasses.
Her body was surprisingly calm. Only her thoughts did not know what to do. For a few seconds there was only white noise, then steadily she began to process, in snatches of images and emotions.
She wasn’t surprised to feel that she did not need to forgive Kitty for anything. There was a pain in her chest that resurfaced full force now, that she could not communicate her understanding to Kitty right that moment. That she could not look Kitty in the eye and tell her, I know why you did it. Because Kitty would see what she meant, would know instinctively, as it had been at their first support group meeting together. The first moment they had felt the connection all survivors feel. Those who have been abused, who want vengeance, the energy in the room had filled all of them to some degree, but only in Kitty was it so palpable. In a way, Kitty brought out a harsh strength in others. Perhaps Joan had brought out a different sort of strength in Kitty. For better or worse, only Kitty could determine that.
Joan bit her lip, not sure how she felt about her influence on Kitty’s actions. She remembered that third meeting, how Kitty had finally spoken about her own kidnapping, instead of only its aftermath. Kitty had begun to open up in the meetings, had truly begun to see they weren’t “bollocks”-Joan could see it in how she spoke. So after the meeting, when it had been just the two of them in the brownstone, Joan had chosen to tell her about her own kidnapping. It had seemed the right thing to do, to share something they had in common.
-
“Did Sherlock ever mention to you I was kidnapped?”
Kitty, just setting her bag down on the red couch in the brownstone’s library, turned to face Joan with her big eyes wider than Joan had ever seen them.
Joan smiled slightly. “No, he wouldn’t have.”
She walked further into the room, and when Kitty didn’t move, Joan sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit down. I’ll explain.”
Kitty looked at her warily, but did as she said. Joan’s smile turned wry, thinking she could’ve brought the subject up a better way. Was there a better way to bring up you’d been kidnapped?
“I wasn’t abused as you were. I was more leverage than anything,” Joan said, and she went on to explain the circumstances, what had led to the kidnapping in the first place, how Joan had acted under those circumstances. And how she had never discussed any of this before, not even with Sherlock.
“Why haven’t you talked about it with him?” Kitty asked, her brow knit not so much in confusion, but concern. It was novel, getting concern from Kitty.
Joan shrugged. “The same reason you don’t. The past is the past. But I thought you should know. You’ve allowed me to go to three meetings with you, and I’m grateful for that. You deserve to know more about me, about why…why I told Sherlock to push you to get further help. One of the reasons, anyway,” Joan finished, looking away from Kitty, frowning. She didn’t question this had been the right decision, to tell Kitty, but she wasn’t sure how to feel. That frightening event had not been brought into the open for so long. Now more than ever, Joan felt that it had happened to someone else.
“What happened to them?”
Joan turned back to look at Kitty. “The kidnappers,” Kitty said, a hardness entering her voice.
Joan took a slow breath. “They were all killed. By MI6 agents, when Mycroft came to negotiate my release.”
A beat of silence passed. Kitty looked at the floor, obviously trying to put the pieces together in her head. Joan studied her expression. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to teach you something with this, Kitty. It’s only that…today at the meeting, you talked about wanting vengeance. I understand that. I wanted you to know, I really do understand.”
Kitty glanced at her, but did not move. Her expressions was stiff, a spark in her eyes Joan had become very familiar with.
“Sometimes, the people we most want to hurt, we’re never going to get that chance. Some would say my kidnappers got what they deserved. But I’ve never been sure. I think that…” Joan paused, almost wishing she could take the words back, all of them. A long forgotten fear entered her heart, and she took a moment to bury it again. “It needs to be more about what you deserve. What happened with MI6…it made me consider whether death was really a punishment.”
Kitty did not seem to react. Joan looked away from her, waiting, feeling the new silence in the room like a weight on her shoulders.
“The man your kidnappers killed. The one you tried to save. You said you never thought he deserved it, his death. Why?” Kitty said, a notable curiosity in her voice. It wasn’t the eagerness of Sherlock’s that was so familiar to Joan, but an intensity Kitty often used to her advantage, even as she used it for protection.
Joan tilted her head, considering how to frame her words. “When I was a surgeon, I saved several people that maybe didn’t deserve saving. I ended my career by killing an innocent man. Death, to me, has come to mean less of a punishment to the one who dies, and more a punishment to the living. I tried to save that man, because saving him had begun to feel like saving myself. It was selfish, but it was right. Death is never right. It just is.”
Kitty considered her words, her expression uncertain. Joan was only grateful she wasn’t outright refusing to listen.
-
Looking at Kitty’s messy handwriting, obviously written in haste, Joan considered now what Kitty had decided. In being selfish, it seemed they had both learned how to save themselves.
Joan slowly folded the letter back up as she had found it. She put her glasses in their case, got up, and went into the kitchen. Fishing out a lighter from one of the drawers, she then held the letter over the sink and lit it on fire. Watching the paper become ash, she thought of Gruner’s face, how long the wounds would take to heal, how disfigured he would be afterward. Her expression remained blank, but inside Joan’s heart filled with pride.
Note: A huge thank you to sanguinity for being my beta reader for this fic. And my first beta reader ever! All your feedback was invaluable, seriously, you saw so much that I didn’t. This was my first effort writing with Kitty, so I definitely needed another pair of eyes on this fic.
Just a side-note, this takes place in my inner Elementary AU where Joan never sleeps with Mycroft. I always write Joan with that in mind.
As for Joan’s final visualization of Gruner, I think it could be taken several ways - it’s definitely up for interpretation. But mostly I wanted her tougher side to come through, especially in regards to Kitty. They bring out the best in each other, when they’re given the chance.
Recipient: venusinthenight
Author: etherai; 14winters on AO3; joaneuglassiawatson on tumblr
Verse: Elementary
Characters/Pairings: Joan Watson & Kitty Winter
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Warnings: Implied/Referenced Abuse
Summary: Joan receives her first letter from Kitty much sooner than she expected.
Also on AO3: First Correspondence
Joan found the letter the morning after Kitty left the country. It was in her apartment tucked in the box of ginseng tea bags only Joan used. Andrew was next to her, making his coffee, so Joan quietly left the note where it was until after he was gone.
Joan hadn’t expected a letter at all. When Sherlock told her Kitty was leaving the country, she assumed she wouldn’t hear from Kitty for weeks, if not longer, while Kitty found a safe place to settle. Joan understood Kitty’s abrupt departure-she’d just kidnapped and seriously disfigured a man. That Joan did not get a phone call as Sherlock had said nothing to Joan except that Kitty had had a lot on her mind. She’d faced her rapist and allowed him to live. It reminded Joan so much of Sherlock and M, that dark moment when she and Sherlock had had to recover from the dangerous exposure of his pain. Kitty must have felt vulnerable, and a volatile mix of rage and fear-emotions that no one but she could deal with.
Joan was relieved neither Sherlock nor Kitty had chosen to kill. She knew exactly what it meant to have a death on one’s conscience. Contemplating murder hadn’t even been necessary for her. Sometimes she thought death was trying to find her, to drag her back down again. To where or for what, she didn’t want to know.
To Sherlock, the deaths that had touched her-Castoro and the fatally wounded kidnapper-were accidents. Nothing more and nothing less. To Joan they would always be burdens that could never be lightened by being shared. A sort of pain that no sort of exposure would erase or lessen. It was a burden Joan had never wanted to have in common with Kitty, of all people.
The letter was a single page of notebook paper filled with Kitty’s somewhat messy but precise handwriting, written in ballpoint pen. As unremarkable as it looked, Joan was immediately bitter that she would still have to burn it once it’d been read.
I’m writing this as I pack. G is already in hospital. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you before I left. I wasn’t sure you’d understand. While I’ve gotten used to his disapproval, I was too afraid to risk yours. I hope you can forgive me-in that respect.
In fact, you inspired my decision, regarding G. After the third meeting you attended with me, you said your kidnappers had been killed in front of you, taking away even the possibility of vengeance. I thought of you, about choice. You didn't choose to kill your last patient, and you didn't choose to have your kidnappers killed. Your choices were taken from you, like mine were.
With G I had a choice. I decided against killing him because of you. You never chose to kill, yet death has left a mark on you. I could see it in you, at the meetings. There were others reasons I chose to do what I did. But you deserve to know this one.
In my decision, I hope you can see I acted in my best interests. I don’t want you to think I’m asking for forgiveness-you would’ve acted better.
You've given me so much, support I can never repay you for. I wrote this letter in an effort to help you understand-I am not the same as I was when you first met me. You've changed me, for the better I think. One day I will prove it to you, and to him.
It was unsigned. Joan stared at the last sentence, her mind frozen. She reached up and removed her glasses.
Her body was surprisingly calm. Only her thoughts did not know what to do. For a few seconds there was only white noise, then steadily she began to process, in snatches of images and emotions.
She wasn’t surprised to feel that she did not need to forgive Kitty for anything. There was a pain in her chest that resurfaced full force now, that she could not communicate her understanding to Kitty right that moment. That she could not look Kitty in the eye and tell her, I know why you did it. Because Kitty would see what she meant, would know instinctively, as it had been at their first support group meeting together. The first moment they had felt the connection all survivors feel. Those who have been abused, who want vengeance, the energy in the room had filled all of them to some degree, but only in Kitty was it so palpable. In a way, Kitty brought out a harsh strength in others. Perhaps Joan had brought out a different sort of strength in Kitty. For better or worse, only Kitty could determine that.
Joan bit her lip, not sure how she felt about her influence on Kitty’s actions. She remembered that third meeting, how Kitty had finally spoken about her own kidnapping, instead of only its aftermath. Kitty had begun to open up in the meetings, had truly begun to see they weren’t “bollocks”-Joan could see it in how she spoke. So after the meeting, when it had been just the two of them in the brownstone, Joan had chosen to tell her about her own kidnapping. It had seemed the right thing to do, to share something they had in common.
-
“Did Sherlock ever mention to you I was kidnapped?”
Kitty, just setting her bag down on the red couch in the brownstone’s library, turned to face Joan with her big eyes wider than Joan had ever seen them.
Joan smiled slightly. “No, he wouldn’t have.”
She walked further into the room, and when Kitty didn’t move, Joan sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit down. I’ll explain.”
Kitty looked at her warily, but did as she said. Joan’s smile turned wry, thinking she could’ve brought the subject up a better way. Was there a better way to bring up you’d been kidnapped?
“I wasn’t abused as you were. I was more leverage than anything,” Joan said, and she went on to explain the circumstances, what had led to the kidnapping in the first place, how Joan had acted under those circumstances. And how she had never discussed any of this before, not even with Sherlock.
“Why haven’t you talked about it with him?” Kitty asked, her brow knit not so much in confusion, but concern. It was novel, getting concern from Kitty.
Joan shrugged. “The same reason you don’t. The past is the past. But I thought you should know. You’ve allowed me to go to three meetings with you, and I’m grateful for that. You deserve to know more about me, about why…why I told Sherlock to push you to get further help. One of the reasons, anyway,” Joan finished, looking away from Kitty, frowning. She didn’t question this had been the right decision, to tell Kitty, but she wasn’t sure how to feel. That frightening event had not been brought into the open for so long. Now more than ever, Joan felt that it had happened to someone else.
“What happened to them?”
Joan turned back to look at Kitty. “The kidnappers,” Kitty said, a hardness entering her voice.
Joan took a slow breath. “They were all killed. By MI6 agents, when Mycroft came to negotiate my release.”
A beat of silence passed. Kitty looked at the floor, obviously trying to put the pieces together in her head. Joan studied her expression. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to teach you something with this, Kitty. It’s only that…today at the meeting, you talked about wanting vengeance. I understand that. I wanted you to know, I really do understand.”
Kitty glanced at her, but did not move. Her expressions was stiff, a spark in her eyes Joan had become very familiar with.
“Sometimes, the people we most want to hurt, we’re never going to get that chance. Some would say my kidnappers got what they deserved. But I’ve never been sure. I think that…” Joan paused, almost wishing she could take the words back, all of them. A long forgotten fear entered her heart, and she took a moment to bury it again. “It needs to be more about what you deserve. What happened with MI6…it made me consider whether death was really a punishment.”
Kitty did not seem to react. Joan looked away from her, waiting, feeling the new silence in the room like a weight on her shoulders.
“The man your kidnappers killed. The one you tried to save. You said you never thought he deserved it, his death. Why?” Kitty said, a notable curiosity in her voice. It wasn’t the eagerness of Sherlock’s that was so familiar to Joan, but an intensity Kitty often used to her advantage, even as she used it for protection.
Joan tilted her head, considering how to frame her words. “When I was a surgeon, I saved several people that maybe didn’t deserve saving. I ended my career by killing an innocent man. Death, to me, has come to mean less of a punishment to the one who dies, and more a punishment to the living. I tried to save that man, because saving him had begun to feel like saving myself. It was selfish, but it was right. Death is never right. It just is.”
Kitty considered her words, her expression uncertain. Joan was only grateful she wasn’t outright refusing to listen.
-
Looking at Kitty’s messy handwriting, obviously written in haste, Joan considered now what Kitty had decided. In being selfish, it seemed they had both learned how to save themselves.
Joan slowly folded the letter back up as she had found it. She put her glasses in their case, got up, and went into the kitchen. Fishing out a lighter from one of the drawers, she then held the letter over the sink and lit it on fire. Watching the paper become ash, she thought of Gruner’s face, how long the wounds would take to heal, how disfigured he would be afterward. Her expression remained blank, but inside Joan’s heart filled with pride.
Note: A huge thank you to sanguinity for being my beta reader for this fic. And my first beta reader ever! All your feedback was invaluable, seriously, you saw so much that I didn’t. This was my first effort writing with Kitty, so I definitely needed another pair of eyes on this fic.
Just a side-note, this takes place in my inner Elementary AU where Joan never sleeps with Mycroft. I always write Joan with that in mind.
As for Joan’s final visualization of Gruner, I think it could be taken several ways - it’s definitely up for interpretation. But mostly I wanted her tougher side to come through, especially in regards to Kitty. They bring out the best in each other, when they’re given the chance.