A/N: hello I'M BAAACK! You know how this works,right? This is sort of like a sequel of my series "Moments", where Joan/Sherlock are together as a couple and living at the Brownstone. If you haven't read the last story "Of heroines and new beginnings" you SHOULD because this story is sort of a sequel from that one...this takes place during the first episode of season 2.

ENJOY!

Don't forget to read and review. I love you guise!

Fran

His arm wrapped protectively around her naked waist, gradually pulling her impossibly closer to him, leaving absolutely no space between them. He dropped feathery like kisses on her forehead, then her nose, then the kiss to finally end on her lips. She smiled between kisses, giggled half way through his gentle touch up and down her back. He knew exactly what to do to make her smile, he knew where she liked to be touched.

It had been two weeks since he proposed, two weeks since his personal nightmare disguised as a woman had disappeared out of his life for good (or at least she hoped) and it had been two days since they had been ignoring phone calls from everyone; her mom, Emily and even Gregson, to spend a decent amount of time celebrating the new direction their relationship was taking. The only times they had gotten up from bed was to eat, use the bathroom and take showers. They returned to bed and stood there in silence, just caressing each other and kissing.

Joan thought she was never going to be able to describe how happy she felt.

"What are you thinking of?" Sherlock asked her.

"I'm thinking that…my mom is gonna be very happy." she told him and smirked at the thought.

Her mother had been bothering her for a couple of years about her being single and not having kids. Now she would be as thrilled and as excited as Joan. "I can't wait to tell her."

"We can tell her now if you want." he spoke as he sat upright in the bed in search for his phone. She pulled him back quickly and giggled as he pretended to struggle with her.

"I'm not gonna tell her over the phone." Joan told him. "I think we should have dinner together; you, me, my mom and Oren. We could invite your dad but I know what your response is going to be so…"

"My father, never. Your mom, yes."

"I'm going to organize one and see how it works. Is there anyone you would like to invite?"

He remained quiet for a second and Joan noticed how a deep frown has settled on her face. He was either confused and clearly didn't know how to respond. Even though they had been together for almost two years, he barely spoke about his family or friends (maybe he didn't have any besides Bell and Gregson) and she never asked him, afraid to make him feel uncomfortable, but right now they were talking about something they had to share with their families no matter what.

"No." he responded after a moment. "Let's just make it your family and us, okay?"

"Okay." she told him.

She decided not to push it any further. If there was something she had learned from all this time with him, was not to push. If he felt ready to speak with her about whatever was bothering him he would. She just needed patience and for Sherlock she had plenty.

.

.

They were waiting in line when Joan noticed Sherlock's sudden discomfort. He shifted weight over and over again, he looked at his surroundings as if he was waiting for something to happen and whenever someone walked passed him he jumped. She could have laughed or made a joke about it to him but she was beginning to feel worried.

"I don't like this." he suddenly told her, she frowned at his words.

"What? The airport?"

"Planes. I hate them."

She suddenly remembered his fear of flying and understood why he was uncomfortable.,

"I should have said no." he told her. "I should have told them I was busy and I couldn't make the trip."

"Sherlock, you're not alone. I'm here." she told him warmly and reached out for his hand, gave it a light squeeze.

"You know the chances of us dying in a plane accident are bigger than dying in car accident." he spoke. The few people behind them glared at them with anger, but he didn't notice or choose not to.

"Sweetie, I don't think you should be talking about this when we're about to board a plane." she replied. Sherlock shook his head and focused on the big screen announcing the upcoming flights. 'London' blinking repeatedly. She felt him squeeze her hand tighter.

"I should have said no…" he whispered one last time.

.

.

The cab pulled over in front of a green colored building and they walked out and towards it. She followed Sherlock close by while he chatted about his old place. He explained how much he cared about it and the arrangement he had made with another man in his absence.

She was paying attention closely though half of her brain was screaming for some sleep and the other half was content to hear him share things about his life in London.

The major surprise though, something he hadn't expected was to find his place not the way it was supposed to be maintained, but completely different. He had complained about being ambushed and rushed upstairs to check the other rooms.

She was left alone, momentarily, because suddenly a blond man walked in and questioned her presence in the apartment. She was taken aback by the man in front of her, but just when her instincts told her she should call Sherlock he came running from upstairs.

"My…god." Sherlock gasped, stared at the man with amazement.

"Mycroft." the man responded. "Hasn't been that long, has it?"

Both men glared at each other for what it seemed to be an eternity, until Joan interrupted.,

"Would someone like to explain what's going on here?"

"Fatty, this is Watson." Sherlock spoke, his eyes never leaving the man. "Watson, this is Fatty."

"Fatty? I'd say I've slimmed down quite a bit." Mycroft spoke, touching is very flat stomach.

"Flat band?" Sherlock questioned him.

"Exercise."

"Exercise requires energy and ambition. You never had either." Sherlock told him harshly, to which the man didn't listen and turned his attention towards Joan who still watched the interaction in confusion.

He took two slow steps towards her, outstretched his hand which she took despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"Miss Watson." he spoke.

"It's…it's nice to meet you." she said, staring briefly at Sherlock, who was too preoccupied with feeling shocked.

"I'm Mycroft." the man spoke. "Mycroft Holmes. I'm Sherlock's brother."

Now it was her turn to feel completely and totally shocked.

.

.

"I can't believe my father gave 221B to Mycroft." Sherlock spoke, as he paced around the room. "He knows how much I love this place."

"You know what I can't believe? That you didn't tell me you had a brother."

"Why would I?" he questioned.

"I don't know, maybe because he's family." Joan responded. "And because we're back at square one with the trust issue? Or maybe because we're about to get married and he is your family which means he will also be mine."
"Our relationship is entirely genetic." Sherlock replied. "And me not telling you has nothing to do with trust. He's an embarrassment."

"Oh, apparently your father doesn't' think so. Is that why you don't like him?" Joan asked him. "Because he gets along with your father?"

"I don't like him because he's lazy and he never applied himself to anything."

"What do you mean?"

"As soon as he was able, he cashed in his trust fund and opened several restaurants around London."

"Okay, so he's a restaurateur…"

"He's an indolent man-child." he complained low enough for her to hear. "And if I'd had my druthers, you would never have crossed paths with him."

"Well, we're here now so better behave and get yourself together, because we're going to talk about this later. Do you understand?" she told him harshly. Sherlock stopped pacing for a second, just when Mycroft walked into the room holding a trade with tea. Joan welcomed the refreshment with joy.

.

.

Mycroft had been kind enough to give them a room with two beds in them, Sherlock had looked at him when he noticed the two beds. His brother was not aware of this situation therefore he wouldn't have guessed they didn't need the extra bed.

She was getting her pajamas out of her suitcase when she noticed Sherlock eyeing her from the corner of his eyes. He knew the fact that he had hidden the information about him having a brother made her angry, but he hadn't said a word since they started to unpack so she assumed he didn't want to discuss it.

"I hope you're not still cross with me." Sherlock asked her. She glared at him for a few seconds before answering with a slight shrug.

"I'm still processing the information. I'm too surprised to be angry."

"I have reason not to mention him." he told her. "As you can tell, we don't get along very well…"

"You know what makes me mad?" Joan suddenly spoke, turning around to face him, showing a little bit of the anger she was trying to hide. "Two nights ago, you said you saw this in our future. That you loved me, but sometimes I think I don't even know you."

"Joan…"

"I get that you want to keep things private about your life, but that was before this started. We're getting married and I still feel you don't trust me enough."

"I trust you with my life." he responded. "And I understand you don't believe so right now, but I do. I also know that keeping this very important fact about my life away from you was not the world's greatest decision. I apologize for that. My brother and I don't get along, as I mentioned before…it is a delicate subject I will like to discuss in the safety of our home."

"Yeah fine, you don't get along, I get that, that doesn't mean he's not your brother." she told him. "And it doesn't mean you're supposed to keep this very big piece of information about your life with the woman you're gonna spend the rest of your life with."

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry." he told her and slowly approached her, his hands reached out to touch her waist. She tried to fight back, to pretend she was still very mad at him no matter how many times he apologized, but she just couldn't resist when he was this tender with her, so she gave in and allowed herself to be pulled towards his body.

"If you lie to me again, I'll be very very upset." she told him as a warning. He merely nodded. "I mean it Sherlock. Very mad"

"Yes, my love. Very mad."

She lost all trains of thoughts when his lips made contact with hers.

.

.

When she woke up the next day, his side of the bed was empty and on top of the pillows (that Joan noticed still had his smell) was a note with Sherlock's handwriting. She knew he had things to take care of, that's why she didn't force him to stay with her or complained. They were in London for a reason, so she accepted that reason and in the meantime tried to get to know Mycroft better. He was, after all, part of what soon would be her family as well.

She found him in the kitchen; he was chopping some vegetables while he spoke on the phone with someone in French. She watched him for a while until he noticed her presence and greeted her with a smile.

"Sherlock is out." he told him. "He probably left very early in the morning."

"Yeah, I know, he left me a note." she said but avoided saying exactly where, or when. He, after all, didn't know about their relationship. Yet. "I'm sure he'll call back later."

He nodded, then his eyes suddenly drifted to her hands, more specifically to the ring on her left hand; her engagement ring. Joan couldn't help but stare back at her own hand and smile.

"That is a big rock you're carrying." He told her, smiling as well. "Who's the lucky man?"

"He's…" she shifted on her spot against the wall, clearly uncomfortable with his question. Not that she didn't want to tell him, she had from day one, but it was Sherlock the one she was worried about, how would he react if his brother knew about their engagement or if he were to be mildly interested in his life. But on the other hand she couldn't avoid the question, and she wasn't going to lie either. "He's your brother."

He smiled. Genuinely smiled upon hearing Joan's confession and she somehow felt relieved. Not that she was expecting a bad reaction or a negative comment, but part of her felt happy because he seemed happy about it.

"Wow, that's…that's fantastic." he told her. "I would have never pictured Sherlock as the married type of man, if you forgive my words."

"I know. It took me by surprise too…" she confessed. "It happened two weeks ago, we haven't told anyone yet. Except you, of course."

"Then I guess my brother wont' be too happy to know you told me about this."

"Don't worry about it, he'll get over it soon." she told him.

"He must love you very much." Mycroft told her. "I've known Sherlock long enough to know he's not the kind of man who believes in marriage, or any long term relationship. But you, you're surely making an impact in my brother's life. It makes me glad to know he won't be alone anymore."

"Well, I'm glad I found him." she whispered, suddenly getting a bit emotional at his words.

Her phone rang all of a sudden with a text from Sherlock. She was saddened that the conversation couldn't go on, she was eager to ask him questions about their relationship and Sherlock's childhood. Sometimes she thought would never find out from the man himself.

.

.

When Sherlock called her to meet him she imagined it would be in some place nice, or warm, because the warehouse he was in was cold and it looked like someone hadn't been there for a long time.

"Hey, why are we in an abandoned theater?" she questioned him as she walked in.

"These places come and go as public subsides wax and wane." he responded, standing next to an old table covered with papers and pictures. "Good place to hide if you're a fugitive."

"A fugitive?" she asked.

"Joan Watson meet Gareth Lestrade, late inspector of Scotland Yard." Sherlock spoke again and pointed at the right side of the room where a man, in his mid 40s, sat reading a newspaper. He took his glasses off and stared at her with a soft smile.

"Uh…pleasure" the man responded.

"Hi." she whispered then she approached Sherlock slowly and spoke in a low voice, low enough for him to ear. "Okay, you found him and then you came back to his lair with him. Is there any particular reason why you haven't called the police?

"Yes. Milk." Sherlock responded, to which she eyed him confused. He handed her a series of pictures she took and looked while he continued speaking. "Lawrence Pendry is lactose intolerant, his wife Mary is a committed vegan so why then there's a bottle of milk in their fridge?"

"Guests?" she told him.

"Oh Miss? " Lestrade spoke from his place on the couch. "No offense, but can you give him a little bit of space, please? Because he's doing that thing. You know, when he's up to something."

"Yes, I know that thing." she spoke to him. "We live together, I've seen that 'thing' more times than you can count." She turned around again to face Sherlock. "Anyways, you didn't tell me one of your brother's restaurant had a two Michelin Stars."

"I didn't tell you my brother was a corporal entity." Sherlock responded. "You've been chatting with Myrcroft?"

"Yes, he wants to take me to dinner." she answered simply, receiving a confused glare from Sherlock "What?"

"He intends to bed you." He told her. "Retaliation from my misadventures with his girlfriend."

"The answer to your question is no, and I wouldn't have called what happened between you and his girlfriend as a misadventures. Besides…he knows about us."

"You told him?" the way he asked the question proved to Joan he was as upset as she thought he would be. "Why?"

"Because he saw the ring and he asked. It's not something you can keep forever and I wasn't going to lie about it. Besides he's your brother and he was going to find out either way."

"So now my brother knows about our engagement. And I suppose that means he must be invited to the celebration." He spoke.

"Of course." she told him. "If I knew you had a brother I would have considered him before, BUT since you decided to keep that information from me…"

"Are we going to discuss this here? And now, when there's a murder case we need to solve?" he complained, Joan decided to ignore him for a second but finally she shook her head and let the topic rest for a few moments.

"We're still going to talk about this." She told him a few minutes later. He merely stared at her.

"Maybe not now, but we will."

.

.

When Joan heard Sherlock say 'now we wait', she only imagined their waiting time would be probably a couple of minutes, half an hour tops. She never pictured a long exhausting four hour waiting.

"We've been here for four hours." Joan complained. Sherlock seemed to ignore her complains for all he did was look around. "Are you sure you're not using this as an excuse so I don't have dinner with your brother?"

"I decided I don't have a problem with it." he responded.

"What, dinner?"

"His attempts of seduction." he told her simply.

"you know what? For the last time, your brother is not trying to seduce me." she spoke harshly, though in reality she was more tempted to slap him in the face, hard. "He wants to get to know me, because I'm your fiancée and I want to get to know him, because he's your brother, period. If anything I should be offended you're even considering I might be interested in him."

"I don't think you're interested, no." he responded quickly. "I do, however, think that won't stop him from trying."

"Well, even if that's the case, I'm sure your brother already understand he doesn't stand a chance. Ever." she spoke. He nodded slightly and smiled weakly. Even though her feelings were completely clear to him, sometimes he couldn't help but feel she one day would find someone different and would realize he's too crazy for her and she deserves another kind of life.

"Right…" he whispered.

The man crashing against Joan's shoulder and her harsh words finally distracted them from their current conversation.

.

.

It was late at night when they finally made it to bed. Sherlock had been so busy with the case, they didn't see each other after long three hours. She had made if home after dinner with Mycroft and changed into her pajamas while she waited for him to come home. The only thing she had waited for the entire day was to snuggle next to him in the privacy of their room.

"You know? As much as I like London I can't really wait to go home." Joan spoke as she laid her head against Sherlock's shoulder.

"Yes, me too to be honest with you." he told her. "Even though this is my hometown, and I should miss being here, there are a lot of things about it that I would like to forget."

Joan didn't need to ask him, she knew he meant his addiction and Irene. That now had become one of the many reasons why she was suddenly homesick.

"Well thankfully by tomorrow we'll be home"." she told him, his arm wrapped around her shoulder so now she laid against his chest. "I miss our bed."

"And I miss you." Sherlock whispered against her head, she looked up to see his face.

"Well, I'm right here." she told him.

"You know what I mean." he responded. "We haven't been able to do anything, and I'm not talking about sex, with Mycroft around. When I agreed to come back to London I pictured us alone in my old house with quality time together and that definitely did not include my brother."

"Well we're going home soon, so you can have me all to yourself." She snuggled impossibly closer, smelled the scent of his shirt and felt the warmth of his body against hers. She missed being alone too, but most of all missed the touch of his hands against her skin…

"I really can't wait." he whispered as he dropped a tender kiss on her head.

She drifted into a peaceful sleep, the soft beating of his heart against her ear.

THE END.

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