"You even made a friend...
Me.
I'm talking about me."

It wasn't always something he tried to do; often it just happened. He couldn't help making (admittedly crass when spoken aloud) observations about her physiology. He'd immediately deduced part of the story of the end of her medical career and later gleaned a few additional details. She'd told him about Liam. He'd met her mother and brother, he'd met an ex, he'd heard about a few friends and dates.

He knew she liked to read fiction and essays in ebook format rather than print and went jogging regularly and appreciated a wide range of art forms (the desire to see the armor exhibit had surprised and then informed him: Three dimensions as well as two.). She had been an exceptional doctor and perhaps still was. She was effective at helping him with cases, and she regularly saw through his bullshit. And he could admit, finally, that he wasn't sure he would have remained sober without her.

Making observations and collecting data came as naturally as breath, mostly without effort or intention. How then had he missed it, knowing so much, not to recognize how little that actually was?

Sparks from the jumpstart seared his fingers as the sound of gunshots reverberated through his chest from the phone in his breast pocket and he couldn't distinguish one pain from the other. When she yelled to him to call 911 he almost passed out from relief before fumbling to punch the numbers.

He'd expected to lose her to animosity, to irritation, or simply to the end of her contract. He'd been willing to give her up, along with everything else he had, to avenge Irene, and honestly he couldn't promise not to make that same choice again if the opportunity arose. But this had been the first time he'd feared for her life. That she could be killed, not hypothetically, but right now. Permanently removed from him and from all. From herself. Absurd as it sounded, he truly had not known she could die.

Knowledge was his driving force. He was compelled and propelled by it, sometimes ran from it, always yearned for it. And yet there was so much he didn't know about her.

She had powers of deflection and camouflage he was only just beginning to discern. Her ability to hide in plain sight, once he realized she was doing it, astounded him. Mostly, however, it stemmed from his own egoism, the radical self-centeredness of the addict compounded by inclination and habit to set himself apart from the people literally closest to him. The singular lesson of his childhood was not to trust the people you lived with, and he always learned his lessons.

As he sat at the table and slowly pieced Angus back together, he was ruefully aware of the metaphorical quality of the activity. A little too on the nose, he thought. Then, recalling when he had introduced Angus to Watson, explaining to her his need for a listener, he realized that the proper analogy would be to imagine he was putting Watson back together. If he could presume such a thing.

Before Watson, he had understood help to mean solving the puzzle, providing the answer, explaining the mystery. That was how he could help, what he could offer someone in need. She had showed him that help could take other forms. Her help didn't resolve much. It was rarely the end of the story. Offering solutions sometimes didn't help at all, when the problem never really went away. It had taken him a long time to understand that.

He knew she was broken in places he couldn't see. Previously that had been strategic knowledge, something he might deploy to manipulate or evade. At first he hadn't bothered much about her history, just the potential weak spots he might use to his advantage. But gradually he did come to care, and he had found ways to do more: Encouraging her in deduction, sitting with her when she waited for Liam, praising her skills to her family. He wished he could somehow offer her support or healing as she had done, was doing, for him.

What would come next? They were nearly at the end of the arrangement that had brought them together. Things were changing. She had told him that the only certain thing about people is that they would change. He knew that but wasn't sure he believed it. But that was a foolish thought for any scientist to indulge. What did the evidence demonstrate?

Observe: Right now, Watson was coming down the stairs, and the first thing she said surprised him. So much he didn't know, and he hadn't lost her yet. Instead of making him anxious, the thought was invigorating. There were things he wanted to say to her, and things he wanted to learn.

Deduce: She would surprise him again.