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"Sherlock, can we talk?" Gregson asked as soon as Sherlock showed up to the crime scene.

Sherlock nodded and they walked away from the chaos to speak in private.

"What's up, Captain?" Sherlock asked when they were out of ear-shot from the other officers at the scene.

"We've got a problem." Captain Gregson replied. He looked side to side to make sure nobody had heard him.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"The INS called me today asking a lot of questions about you…" Gregson trailed off as an officer passed by, "Is there anything you want to tell me, Sherlock?" He asked when they were alone again.

Sherlock furrowed his brow and thought. "No…" He replied after a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Why do you ask?" Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.

"They say that they need to meet with you. They wouldn't tell me why." Gregson paused to look over at his detectives working the scene. He looked back to Sherlock and gave him an accusing expression. "You haven't committed a crime that could get you deported, have you?"

"Of course not!" Sherlock scoffed. "Deported?!" He snorted. He lowered his voice as people started to stare. "I haven't done anything. I'm sure it's just a mix-up. It'll be cleared up by morning…Now, let's get back to the case. Your detectives look like they need a lot of help." Sherlock smirked as he walked away, signaling that the conversation was over.

Gregson sighed as he watched the young consultant jump into his work like nothing had happened. "I hope you're right, Sherlock. I hope you're right."

…

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Joan opened the door and peered out at the man in a suit. "Hello?"

"Hello, ma'am. Is there a Sherlock Holmes occupying this residence?" The man in the suit lifted his clipboard to make sure he got the name right.

"Oh, yes. He's been expecting you. Please come in." She replied with a smile and stepped aside so he could enter. After he was fully in the Brownstone, she closed the door behind him and led him to the kitchen where Sherlock was engulfed in cold case files.

"Mr. Holmes-" The man started.

"Ah yes, the man from the INS." Sherlock stood and extended his hand towards the man. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and you've met Ms. Watson."

The man shook Sherlock's hand and smiled. "My name is Trent Normand-"

"Well Mr. Normand," Sherlock cut him off, "what do you need?"

"I need to talk to you about a claim we received concerning yourself." Trent explained.

"Claim? What claim?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"We got a report from someone about you. He said that you had kidnapped a man and tortured him in an empty warehouse." Trent read the claim off the clipboard in his hands.

Sherlock's mouth fell slightly open and before the man could notice, Sherlock recovered. "From whom did this claim arise?"

"That's classified. The source told us you kidnapped a man named Sebastian Moran and tortured him in a warehouse owned by your father. Is this claim true?"

"Yes, but-" Sherlock started to explain.

"But nothing. You just admitted to the claim, Sherlock. I'm sorry but deportation looks like a huge possibility for you." Trent cut him off.

"The charges were dropped…" Joan protested.

Trent waved her statement away. "Doesn't matter. He committed a crime and I don't know how the charges were dropped but it was still a crime."

"What's going to happen to me then?" Sherlock tried not to show his concern but his voice wavered.

"I'll have to show this case to my boss. We should have an answer for you by morning." Trent extended his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced down at Trent's hand and turned away.

"I'll just let myself out…" Trent turned and began to leave the kitchen. Before he let himself out, he stopped in front of Joan. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Joan was confused.

"I'm sorry that I'm breaking you two up. This is the hardest part of my job."

Joan opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out.

"Have a nice night." Trent left before Joan could say anything else.

After Joan heard the door close and Trent was officially gone, Sherlock burst out laughing.

"Shut up." Joan snapped at Sherlock and glared.

"Awww is my girlfriend mad at me?" He asked in a smart-ass tone.

Joan picked up one of her sneakers by the wall and threw it at him.

Sherlock didn't see it in time and it hit him in the chest. "Ow! Honey that hurt." He smirked.

Joan glared daggers at him and made her way up to her room.

"Goodnight sweetheart!" He called mockingly up the stairs.

Joan replied with a loud slam of her door. Even with the door closed, Joan could hear Sherlock's snickering downstairs. Maybe him being deported would be better for her…Too bad it would never happen…

…

Joan came down the stairs and went into the kitchen expecting to see Sherlock eating his cereal at the table. When she didn't find him there, she looked in the parlor. Sherlock was passed out on the couch with files on his chest and papers covering the ground. As she looked at him asleep on the couch she could tell he hadn't been sleeping for long. There were dark purple bags under his eyes indicating that he had been up all night and the papers covering the ground weren't organized which meant his mind was preoccupied with something else. She knew he was worried about being deported, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Are you just going to stand there, Watson? Or are you going to get me my cereal?" Sherlock asked, opening one eye to look at her.

Joan felt herself blush at the thought of him knowing she was watching him. "You are perfectly capable of getting it yourself." She replied, trying to hide the blush.

He groaned in annoyance and rolled off the couch onto the floor. He stood up and groggily went to retrieve his cereal. "You're not a really great girlfriend, you know." He spoke as he prepared his cereal.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously still making fun about what he said yesterday?"

Sherlock turned his head to smile at her and then returned to making his breakfast.

Joan felt a smile appear on her lips. She went to the fridge to start making her morning smoothie when the phone rang.

They looked at each other before Sherlock made his way to the phone. He looked up at her with a scared look and Joan gave him a supportive smile.

"Answer it. It'll be fine." Joan tried to reassure him but she knew the waver in her voice gave her away. She was nervous for him; she didn't want him to get deported.

Sherlock cleared his throat and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

Joan watched Sherlock's face to see if she could tell what the man on the other end was saying but he remained stoic.

"Uh-huh…Okay…I understand…Thank you." Sherlock hung up the phone and sat in a chair.

Joan pulled another chair out and sat next to him. "So?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He was staring at the floor and didn't seem to be all there.

"Sherlock?" Joan placed a hand on his arm and he flinched.

"Huh? Oh, sorry." Sherlock looked up at her with a glazed expression.

"So? What did he say?" Joan scooted closer to him and waited for his answer.

"I leave tomorrow morning for London." Sherlock's voice cracked and he swallowed. He looked up into her eyes and sighed, "I'm being deported."

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