I mean, I've seen it before, but I never knew what it was called," one of them remarked. Vega appeared brighter than the other stars in the sky, but in no other way noteworthy. It was merely one of the few thousand naked-eye stars.

– Carl Sagan, Contact.

The dawn falls over New York. Sherlock is asleep and the city sleeps with him.

I'm on the roof, alone. My old and dusty red coat warms me up and protects me from the wind. The bees are in front of me, rhythmically buzzing. They understand me.

I watch the stars. Sometimes I think how nice would be if I lived by the countryside, where the air is fresh, the sky is clean and all the stars shine without being obfuscated by the city lights. Here, in the middle of this cosmopolitan madness, the only star I can see with perfect clarity is Vega.

As Oren told me when we were kids, Vega is the fifth brightest star in the sky. I smile when I remember this. Two lonely kids watching the sky before going to bed. We used to give imaginary names to the stars, make them our treasures. Vega was always mine. I called it "Joan", in a selfish childhood desire to make the star a celestial reflection of myself. It didn't work.

For a long time I associated happiness to the simple act of watching the stars. Silly thought, I know.

They say you're an astronomer or you're an astronaut. I fit in the first category, always had. While there is something powerful in use your hands to make things happen, there is something… poetic in the simple act of watching. I like to watch. I like to see puzzles in front of me, some of them unsolvable. They challenge me. They fill me with energy. Oh God, how I need energy in my life sometimes.

I accept and embrace my pleasure when I watch. The melancholy existent in this act comforts me.

Some people don't understand my voyeur personality. You, Joan Watson, so determined, so strong, so independent… likes to watch? I can almost see the disappointment in their eyes. Sometimes people forget how necessary is the mere gesture of contemplate something. They underestimate the simple act of being there and pay attention to details.

I have this obsession with very specific things. Bright stars, broken things, damaged people, complicated puzzles. I like to admire them. I like to fix them – or at least try to – so they can work again. I enjoy seeing all their intricate layers dissolving in front of me. The gift is the opportunity to appreciate their real selves, their essence.

I try very hard to see, to find good things underneath all the carcass and damages, find the cure for a disease, and find peace in contemplation. I want to see people, so one day they can see me too.

Maybe someone one day will be able to see the real me, the one who is hidden underneath this whole amount of frustration and guilt. Maybe someone will be able to see a bright and strong spark in my eyes, in my soul. Something ordinary, but meaningful. Something like a star. Something like Vega.