He was standing by the coatrack sorting through the mail, when she came up to him.
"You know I love you, right?" she asked.
The envelopes crinkled and crunched in his tightening grip. Sherlock's heart pounded; every muscle in his body tensed. He turned to face her, mouth agape, mind racing through all the catastrophic scenarios that might be behind his partner's uncharacteristic affirmation of affection: she was moving out ... ending the partnership ... she was dying ... he was dying ... oh god no! Mycroft had returned!
"Sherlock?" His face continued to register terror. "Sherlock! Are you alright?"
Calling on every shred of emotional strength he had, Sherlock suddenly exhaled and the words rushed out without censoring. "Whatever it is Watson, I'm sure we can work through it."
Now, she was scared. The color had drained from his face and his eyes had a wild look to them. "Sherlock, it's okay. Come here ... sit down." She led him to the library sofa.
He searched her face. His fears allayed slightly by the concern for him he saw there, he took a few settling breaths before he spoke. "I'm sorry... What did you say?" Perhaps he'd misheard ... surely, he'd misheard.
Joan sat next to him. This wasn't the response she'd anticipated.
"I didn't mean to startle you. I was a bit blunt, I guess. I didn't get much sleep last night thinking about it. The sniper yesterday... that bullet came within inches of your head. One wrong move and ..." She sighed, visibly upset. "The thought of losing you preyed on me all night ... I don't want you to ever have any doubt about my feelings... I know I tend to not say things out loud ... But if I were to lose you like that and you not know ..."
Again she stopped, her eyes cast down as she collected herself, "If something should ever take us away from each other, know that more than anything or anyone else, I have loved you ... do love you." She looked into his eyes - she needed him to understand.
"Oh thank god," his relief was physically visible. "I thought you were leaving me ... or dying ... or Mycroft..." Disgust crossed his face at his brother's name.
"Sherlock!" His name passed her lips in an exasperated whine. She should have known better than to say the words out loud to him. She moved to get up.
He realized that at some point while she spoke, he had drawn her hand into his and now he tightened that hold and kept her beside him.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trivialize ..." He picked up his gaze from her hand to her eyes. "You must know the depth of my feelings ... the merest suggestion that I was about to lose you just threw me into an incoherent panic." They sat quietly for a moment. "You know how much I care about you, hmm?" Sherlock's eyes brimmed with emotion, "I love you."
The words, sincere and unembellished encircled them, drawing them towards each other ... foreheads met, then arms wove round, heads buried in each other's neck... they rocked and murmured words of comfort to each other.
Slowly separating, he reached into his coat pocket, and drawing out his handkerchief, wiped her tears. "We have gone soft, haven't we? Look at us ... Crying before noon..."
She smiled and wiped his cheek with the palm of her hand, "Mmm hmmm." Joan's forehead met his once more, her words caressing his lips. "Totally your fault."
"My fault?" He placed a timid kiss upon her lips. "How is this my fault?" He bravely kissed her lightly one more time.
"You freaked out." Still forehead to forehead, she kissed him back with a bit more vigor.
His nose rubbed against hers, "You scared me ... " The next kiss lasted a bit longer.
"A bullet barely missing you didn't scare you, but telling you I love you..."
The rest of her sentence was lost in the crush of his lips against hers.