CROSSOVER VERSION

Joan sucked in a deep, relaxing breath and pushed through the iron gates that guarded the tiny cemetery. She took vigilant steps on the path that cut the square cemetery into two, careful not to trip on the loose pebbles and trip on the uneven pavement. She came across a massive oak tree and stepped off the path to admire its beauty. She went around the trunk with her eyes closed, her fingertips grazing across the bark, creating a mental picture within her mind. If she felt it, smelled it, viewed it, relished it, she would remember it for a lifetime.

Funny, she didn't remember the beautiful tree from the last time she was here. It just shows how often she visits the one who had fallen victim to her worst mistake.

Joan's left knee contacted with something very hard and she winced, her eyes flickering open at the pain. Her eyes locked on the object and she smiled. It was a cement garden bench, the silver paint peeling due to weather conditions. It looked as though it hadn't been sat on in ages. Joan sighed and planted herself on it, gasping at the freezing cold. She shivered and dealt with it, frozen by the view and beauty of the nature surrounding the cemetery along the brick walls separating the cemetery from the busy New York hustle bustle.

The silence was calming, not eerie at all. Joan breathed in a deep breath of air and closed her eyes, tuning her ears to the chirping birds and fluttering of butterfly wings.

She stayed there for a few minutes before squinting out at the cemetery, darker now. The sun was falling and the cemetery was beginning to seem empty, no birds singing or bees buzzing. She leaned down and plucked a red rose from the earth, not holding it too tight so the thorns wouldn't pierce her skin. She took a whiff and smiled at it.

Joan stood, knowing she should be going –she had to face it eventually. She ventured deeper into the cemetery and located her patient's grave. She knelt down, not caring if the dirt stained her blue jeans and placed the rose at the foot of the gravestone.

Joan touched the cold, polished gravestone, her fingers brushing against the engraving of his name.

Grant Nyaga.

Joan reread the message and felt her eyes fill with tears.

Grant Nyaga. A loving husband, a caring father, a reliable brother.

Joan felt the first tear spill over her eyelids, down her face. "A death that could've been avoided…"

Soon, her tears were dripping off her chin and soaking into the dirt beneath her.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. You had a life…this shouldn't have happened. It's my fault…I'm so sorry." Joan sobbed, her hand resting on his engraved name. She ducked her head and kept apologizing, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Joan kissed the gravestone softly. "I'm sorry, Grant. I should be the one in the ground…not you."

"Careful what you wish for." A voice, a British voice, spoke from behind her.

Joan turned in curiosity. She had thought she was alone.

A man, about 5'6'', was standing, hands in his coat pockets, on the pathway. "Sorry, love. I didn't mean to startle you."

Joan stood and wiped her tears quickly. "Don't you know to mind your own damn business?" Joan strode towards the large oak, hoping to get whoever this man was off her trail.

The man walked behind her, easily keeping pace with her. "I just don't think you should wish death upon yourself. It's not going to bring whoever that was back. Trust me, I've been through this –actually, I'm still going through it."

Joan spun around, startling the British man. "Who the Hell do you think you are telling me what I should and should not do?" Her sadness replaced with irritation.

"I'm not telling you what you should or should not do, love. I'm just saying, wishing it could be you in the ground won't help. Whoever that may be that you were visiting, they aren't coming back."

Joan's anger subsided and crossed her arms, rubbing her hands along her biceps, trying to create heat to keep warm. "Blunt. You remind me of my friend."

He smiled. "And you're angry comments remind me of mine."

She let out a soft laugh. "We have a lot in common, don't we?"

He chuckled. "It would seem so." He came closer and offered her a hand. "Walk with me?"

Joan looked into his grey eyes and searched for any danger. She looked down at his hand and placed her small, slender hand onto it.

"Don't you know not to wear heels on uneven ground? You'll hurt yourself." The mysterious man looked down at her six inch heels.

"Don't patronize me." She gave a smile, a tell-tale sign she was joking. "Besides, I need them. My friend is extremely taller than me and without these, I'd look like a hobbit."

"Well you are significantly taller than me now, so I'm feeling quite…hobbit-like, as you'd say." He laughed, catching her as she tripped on a loose pebble.

Joan regained her balance and they reached the iron gates leading out into the big city. "Thank you for walking me out."

He nodded and kissed her hand. "It was a pleasure…even if we didn't get off on the right terms at first."

Joan laughed. "I suppose I do owe you an apology for that."

He let her hand go and returned his hand to his pocket. "Skip the apology. You can just buy me a coffee."

Joan's eyebrows rose. "I see what you did there. Smooth move, sir."

The man offered her his arm. "So, coffee it is then?"

Joan took his arm, wrapping her arm around his bicep, and nodded. "Coffee sounds…nice."

They walked on, headed for a tiny coffee shop around the corner.

…

The British man returned to the table, balancing two cups of coffee in one hand and two croissants in the other. He set them down on the table, handing her a napkin from his pocket, and removed his coat.

Joan let her eyes travel over him. The jacket had made his look huskier than he actually was. He was a lean man, obviously in shape. His grey eyes were matched by his greying hair, which, in this case, made him look more sophisticated. He was about as tall as her –minus her heels, a nice change after being around Sherlock the whole time and feeling like a dwarf.

The man spoke, bringing her back from her observations. "I'm actually quite surprised you didn't run when you had the chance…I'm guessing it's not normal to go out after a cemetery visit here in New York."

"I don't think it's normal anywhere." She laughed. He laughed too, and Joan took a long look at his beautiful smile. She had to admit, he was good looking.

They both took a sip of their coffee, enjoying each other's company.

A lady, obviously the manager of the little coffee shop, placed a lit candle in the middle of their table and winked at Joan. "First date?"

Joan almost choked on her coffee. She coughed and the lady smiled. "We aren't together…" Joan coughed out, embarrassed. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and she felt her pulse rate increase.

The man laughed. "Thank you. We are quite fine now."

This seemed to please the manager and she disappeared into the back.

Joan felt the heat in her cheeks. She avoided looking at the man, embarrassed he would be uncomfortable and leave her.

The man cleared his throat. "Wow, I'm usually the one to say that."

Joan looked up at him. "What?"

His eyes went vacant, reliving a memory in his mind. "My friend…I'd always have to explain to everyone that we were not a couple. But, no. I was still classified as a 'confirmed bachelor'."

Joan laughed, not sure what a 'confirmed bachelor' was.

He smirked. "You don't know what I mean. I don't blame you. You're not familiar with the British term. Confirmed bachelor means that I am a gay man that will never commit to marriage."

Joan nodded, surprised. "Oh, so…your friend...and you…?"

He shook his head. "We were nothing but best friends, close friends. I assure you, I am straight."

"But that's not what everyone thought…"

"Precisely. Just because I worked closely with him and lived with him people began to talk. Can't two men be flat-mates and best friends without being called 'gay'?"

Joan nodded in understanding. "I know where you're coming from. I live with my…associate and we aren't in a relationship. He is pretty much my boss and mentor. I'm his best friend, not his girlfriend."

He smiled. "Finally, someone who understands."

Joan smiled back, thinking the same thing.

A few moments of silence went by before Joan laughed to herself.

He eyed her with a suspicious smile on his face. "What?"

"Oh, nothing…" Joan laughed.

He smiled and leaned in, searching her eyes for any clues as to what made her laugh out of nowhere. "Tell me."

"I was just thinking…I really don't know why I trusted you…I mean, you could be a serial killer for all I know." She laughed.

He looked into the glass window next to their table, analyzing his reflection. "Do I really look like a killer to you?" He asked, half-joking.

Joan spun her coffee cup. "I don't know…I'm just surprised. My 'mentor' told me to trust no one, but…I trusted you."

He smiled. "Then continue to trust me. I'm not a serial killer. I mean…I have killed people, but they weren't nice people."

Joan's eyes went wide and she felt herself shift away from him.

He noticed her about to flee and quickly explained himself. "No, no. Not like that…I was in the army. I was a soldier…well, actually if you want to assign it a title, I was a war doctor. I cured the injured and many died on my watch…" He felt his left hand tremor, so he placed it on the table to stop it.

Joan nodded, feeling herself relax again. "I'm a doctor too…well, was a doctor." She corrected herself quickly.

He cocked his head to the side. "You killed someone… That's who you were visiting in the cemetery, wasn't it?" He deduced.

Joan nodded. "I left medicine because I never want that to happen again."

"I understand your reasoning."

"Well then, you'd be the first." Joan muttered, spinning her cup mindlessly.

He stopped the cup from spinning by putting his hand on its lid. "You don't have to have regret. It was a mistake, we're human…we make mistakes and learn from them too."

Joan sighed. "It sounds so easy when you say it."

He gave a weak smile. "I've had my fair share of mistakes…like letting my best friend commit suicide and doing absolutely nothing to stop him."

Joan gazed into his eyes. "Your friend…he died?"

The man retracted his hand, resting it on the table in front of him and nodded. "You never realize what you had till it's gone. He was my best friend…almost like a brother to me. And now he's gone…and he is never coming back."

Joan placed her hand on his and gave a comforting squeeze. "So that's who you were visiting in the cemetery?"

He let out a soft laugh. "No, actually. I just wanted a place to think, to clear my thoughts. Lately, I haven't been getting much sleep…I needed to get out, go somewhere. So I came here from London, hoping to get away from my problems. But…I've realized, I can't run from my problems, just face them." He looked up into her eyes. "This is really the only fun thing I've done in a long time, love."

"Joan. Call me Joan." She smiled, squeezing his hand one last time before letting it go.

"Joan. Very…beautiful, to put it lightly." He finished off his croissant and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "This has been a very enjoyable…outing, Miss Joan."

"Funny, I thought it was a date." Joan smirked.

"Date. Yes, a date. A very enjoyable…date, then." He checked his watch. "I really must be going, I've promised to call my land-lady, telling her how New York is."

Joan stayed seated. "And how is New York?"

He stared into her deep brown eyes. "Beautiful."

Joan smiled sweetly. "Thanks for coffee, though I thought I was the one to pay."

He grinned. "You didn't actually think I'd make the lady pay on the first date, did you?"

"What about the second one?"

He laughed. "Bring your purse next time."

She giggled.

He began to take his leave when she stopped him.

Joan called out from her seat. "Wait! I never got your name."

He put on a smug grin. "Check your napkin."

She looked down and moved her half-eaten croissant out of the way. She picked up the napkin and noticed a name and a number sprawled out in cursive in the corner.

She read over the name and smiled. Her mystery man revealed.

John W.

I AM PRETTY SURE THIS IS MY BEST FIC…BY FAR. IT WASN'T ENOUGH TO CALL IT A CROSS-OVER SO I KEPT IT AS AN ELEMENTARY FIC. I MAY POST IT AS BOTH THOUGH…
FOR ALL THOSE WHO ARE FANS OF MARTIN FREEMAN (JOHN WATSON AND BILBO BAGGINS), I PUT SOME FUNNY CLUES LIKE: HIM CALLING HIMSELF HOBBIT-LIKE, DWARF REFERANCE, ARMY WAR DOCTOR, ETC. I HAVEN'T REALLY WATCHED ALL THAT MUCH OF BBC SHERLOCK, BUT I HOPE I WROTE JOHN IN CHARACTER. THIS WILL MAYBE BE A SMALL SERIES…OR JUST A ONE-SHOT. I REALLY DON'T KNOW YET. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

THANKS FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!

PLEASE FAVORITE, FOLLOW, AND REVIEW! IT WOULD MEAN A LOT TO ME! :)

THANKS AGAIN!