Of Life, Criminals, and Cases

By phaedraphelan

Word count: 9,062

Summary:

Sherlock and Joan must face the bitter wrath of Moriarty and this time she knows that they are in an established relationship. What will happen now? How will Sherlock protect Joan?

Disclaimer:

This "Elementary" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Elementary," the actors, their agents, the producers, the CBS Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson had become a couple. In spite of their resisting it, in spite of trying to refrain from bonding physically in this unique man/woman way, it had happened. And they found themselves both thrilled and happy and relieved. There had been such anxiety in both of them, wondering if their feelings were reciprocated by the other, wondering if it would change the chemistry of their partnership as detectives, which was going so well for both of them. But after coming together, they both found themselves in what would prove to be the defining relationship of their lives.

When finally Sherlock and Joan were able to pull themselves out of the brownstone and face the world again, adding the sexual component to their relationship had molded them into something that made each of them into something completely new. Sherlock was finally calmer, gentler, ever solicitous with Joan, constantly touching her hand or her back or even patting or even squeezing her backside, his heart completely on his sleeve and Joan finally had met her match in every way. She adored him, enjoyed his intellectual games, served him willingly in every aspect of their lives together, submitting to his passions in whatever way he desired, but then coming after him with a passionate response that left him with no doubt of her needs, confident of his love for her. When Sherlock became characteristically twitchy and nervous, she would simply take his hand tightly in hers wherever they happened to be and whisper something so outrageously sensual into his ear that he came under her control completely and she would lead him home to their refuge, their brownstone and take him straight to bed and keep him there till he calmed.

This was one of those times a few weeks later. They had been up nearly all night on a case and it had been nearly a week since they had been intimate because Joan was just coming off her menses when they took the case. By the time the case was closed Sherlock's knee was jumping, his hands were shaking, and he was nearly as tense as in the old days.

"Sherlock, you have to calm down. The case is over," Joan whispered to him, holding both his hands tightly in hers. "Now I am going to take you home and I am going to take care of you. I know what you need, baby."

She winked at him and smiled and he flushed and stared at her in that wide-eyed passionate stare she knew so well.

Gregson and Bell just looked at them from across the desk. He and Bell had become accustomed to Sherlock's panting after Joan these days since they had become a couple, but it was rare that they got a glimpse of Joan in action. Even though they could not hear her words, the nature of them was obvious from Sherlock's reaction.

He and Joan abruptly got up and a very flushed and rattled Sherlock gripped the hand of a very flushed Watson as they left the office.

"Well, those two are quite a pair, aren't they?" Bell stated. "Go on with your woman, Holmes. Go home and get yourself taken care of." Bell chuckled as he reflected on Holmes and Joan as a couple.

"She calms him down, grounds him . . . makes him even better than what he was," Gregson observed.

Sherlock and Joan were in the taxi heading home to Brooklyn and Joan snuggled under him and reached under his coat to wrap her arms around his waist and he just shook helplessly.

"Baby," she cooed softly, "You don't need to suffer. Just wait till we get home."

"I'm in agony, Joan . . . in agony for you. I can't focus, can't think about anything but you. My mind is not distracted by any thoughts of anything else."

They got home and Joan led him straight to their bedroom and they lay together all afternoon making love again and again. Then Joan got up and made peanut butter and honey sandwiches and tea for them and they sat on their sofa and ate and then they were at it again, fondling and kissing and exploring each other and then joining again and again till late into the night when completely exhausted, they fell asleep in each others arms.

It was a special time for Sherlock and Joan as this new complete and intimate physical relationship became the reality of their lives. Joan, who had held back from vocalizing her deepest thoughts in any of her previous relationships came to realize that her feelings for Sherlock were fully reciprocated and confessed to him in words that she did love him, told him all that thoughts that she had kept locked inside her for so many months, and Sherlock who was unaccustomed to receiving such unconditional love and affection came to a full understanding of their attachment and basked in the warmth of Joan's love for him, constantly pouring out his own feelings for Joan in tender words and gestures toward her. Gregson did not call them in on any cases and that was just fine as they both could focus upon one another in full acknowledgement of their changed situation.

Sherlock sent along a note to his father and laid out his plans to marry Joan Watson in the simplest of terms. He was in love with her.

He was surprised to receive a quick response from his father. He tossed the email to Joan when it came and watched her face as she read it.

"My dear Sherlock,

I offer my best wishes on your decision to marry Miss Watson. I will be in New York next week and would like to have dinner with you both. Mycroft tells me that he has met Joan and was quite impressed with her. We can outline some plans I have in mind for you in your changed status.

Your father,"

"Interesting, Sherlock," Joan said. "Do you think he will actually show up this time?"

Sherlock did not respond, but just looked at her as if he were not in the least impressed with his father's words.

"We are going to have dinner with him, Sherlock. That is not negotiable. No matter what you think he has basically been there for you. He even sent you two million dollars when that business with Rhys came to a head with the Dominican cartel."

"He would simply wanted to have something to use as leverage to get me to do whatever he wanted me to do in some future situation."

"But if it had not been for your father, we would have never met," Joan said softly. "He found me and hired me, sight unseen, to be your sober companion."

"Yes, he did, didn't he?"

Sherlock's expression softened and he reached for her hand and kissed it and then drew her into his arms and kissed her again.

It was two weeks later that Sherlock's father came into the city and surprisingly called on them at the brownstone without advance notice.

Joan and Sherlock were having tea at the end of a difficult case when the bell rang. Joan went to the door and opened it and the elder Holmes walked right in without further ado. Sherlock immediately jumped to his feet, caught completely off guard at the sight of his father in his house.

The elder Holmes was a tall, lean, older version of Sherlock himself with a stately carriage that belied his age of more than seventy years.

"Father . . . we didn't . . . expect you. Please sit down and . . . have tea. It's freshly made."

Joan immediately prepared a cup of tea and brought it to Sherlock's father serving it with both hands in the typical respectful Asian manner when serving a prospective father-in-law, bowing slightly, and he accepted it graciously.

"Well, I imagine that you didn't believe that I would show for our dinner plans so perhaps this is better." He turned to Joan. "So this is Miss Joan Watson, my future daughter-in-law."

"I am pleased to finally meet you, sir."

"No need to be so formal. I don't bite, in spite of what Sherlock may have told you."

Sherlock shifted somewhat nervously in his chair as he waited for his father to comment further.

Holmes senior took a long look up and down at Joan and smiled approvingly.

"You have done quite well, my son. I heartily approve of your choice and will assist you in whatever way necessary to accomplish this. There are funds available for wedding expenses and, Joan, I wish to present you with this gift to personally thank you for your assistance to Sherlock in his time of need. I think that I failed to acknowledge this earlier on when you asked to extend your time with him . . . an oversight that I sincerely regret."

He retrieved a check from his jacket pocket and handed it to Joan. She gasped when she realized it was for ten thousand dollars.

"This is not necessary, sir. Everything has changed since then. I care for your son very much and it has nothing to do with money."

"I realize that, but this is the only way that I can prove that I am sincerely approving of what you two are doing. I will plan to be present at the wedding, so let me know as soon as you have decided on a date so that I can arrange to be in the country at that time. Also, Sherlock, be assured that when you and Joan start a family, the education of your children will be completely cared for. It is the least that I can do. How old are you, Miss Watson, if I may ask?"

"I'm thirty-nine."

"Well, you should be able to give me at least one grandchild. I would hope so at least. It is obvious that there is enough passion between you to produce issue. I have waited for a grandchild for a long time. I doubt that Mycroft will have children, given his recent health issues, so Sherlock is our last hope to continue the family line. Also, this place seems to be in dire need of some remodeling at this time-perhaps general maintenance and the addition of a couple of bathrooms. There will be someone around to determine exactly what you want to have done here."

Sherlock and Joan were stunned and before they could really think of how to respond further, Mr. Holmes signaled to his driver that he was ready and was gone.

Joan and Sherlock closed the door behind his father and they fell into each others arms, both of them smiling happily as they recounted the events of that visit that would be the first of many as Sherlock and his father gradually reconciled.

"I think that my father was very impressed with you, my dear Watson."

"I got the impression that he was looking at me as if I were prime breeding stock."

"Well, he has a vested interest in the bairn we might have, and you appear to have all the attributes that would make that possible."

Joan blushed in Sherlock's arms as he teased her gently about her fertility.

"I guess it's time to deal with my parents on this matter. Are you ready for this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, and she knew that he meant it.

Joan called her mother and told her that she wanted to have lunch with her. She wanted to tell her mother face to face that she was in love with Sherlock and planned to marry him.

Joan decided to wear a dark blue silk dress that was a favorite of his that just skimmed her lithe figure and showed off her great legs. Her hair was down on her shoulders and he could not help lifting it aside so that he could kiss her slender neck and inhale the scent of jasmine that she wore. He drew her close to him and kissed her cheek.

"I'm trying to avoid mussing your lipstick, luv, but it is quite difficult when I find you so irresistible."

Joan smiled and gently extricated herself from his embrace, before things got out of hand.

"I will come along and join you," Sherlock said giving Joan a parting kiss and a light pat on her bottom as she left to meet her mother.

The two women ate in companionable silence for some minutes with the reason for the meeting hanging in the air before Joan finally spoke.

"Mother, I wanted to meet you for dinner because I wanted to discuss something very important with you."

Mrs. Watson smiled as if she sensed what Joan was going to tell her.

"Sherlock and I have become lovers, mother. He wants to marry me. He wants to have children with me . . . to give you grandchildren he says."

Joan dropped her head and blushed as she spoke.

"I am not surprised, my dear Joan. I sensed that your attachment to him would develop into something very important in your life. I am happy for you, although I never envisioned your life going in this direction. Finding the man you love is very important for a woman. Everything else has a tendency to fall in place around that."

"Mother, it's been a long time since we had that mother/daughter talk before I went away to college, but recently I have reflected on something that you said to me then."

"Yes?"

"You spoke to me about the woman in our culture adopting a certain attitude of submission when offering herself to her . . . her . . . husband sexually. I thought it was ridiculous when you told me that. I had never imagined meeting a man that I could bring myself to offer myself to in that way . . . until Sherlock. It seemed so old-fashioned."

Mary Watson simply smiled.

"And now?"

"Now it sometimes seems like the most natural thing to give myself to him this way. I love him so, mother. I am crazy about him. I tried to keep from falling in love with him, but I couldn't help myself."

"You have my blessing, Joan. I saw your feelings for him that first evening we spent together. He is not exactly what I would have expected for you, but he is a brilliant man and obviously he makes you happy. I will talk with your father."

At that moment Sherlock arrived, dressed quite nattily in a dark blue suit.

"Sherlock, you're just in time to have dinner and then order dessert and coffee for us," Joan said as he leaned to kiss her lips lightly and then kissed her mother on the cheek.

Mrs. Watson sat and enjoyed watching the man/woman interaction between Sherlock and her daughter. It was obvious that they were completely in love. Sherlock could not refrain from touching Watson and when their eyes met, they were both very rattled.

"I told mother . . . about us."

"Did you tell her that I love you to distraction? I do, Mrs. Watson. I love her to distraction."

Sherlock reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box and opened it for Joan.

"Joan, will you please accept this ring of engagement from me?"

Much to her surprise, Sherlock presented Joan with a beautiful full carat brown diamond ring and put it on her finger.

"I think it rather matches your lovely eyes. Please marry me, Joan Watson."

He leaned forward and gently kissed her as Joan blushed and said yes to him.

Mrs. Watson simply observed, pleased and amused at the interplay between them. When she watched them eating easily from each others plate and then feed each other a shared chocolate mousse, she was satisfied that Joan had finally found her man. She understood how Joan would want to give herself to this man, carry his children. Yes, this was good.

They all enjoyed coffee together and then Sherlock and Joan saw Mary Watson to her car and the two of them walked through the streets of Manhattan hand in hand for a long time. They stopped a few times to just hug and kiss each other as they walked along before finally flagging a taxi to go home to their brownstone in Brooklyn.

Life seemed to be going smoothly for Sherlock and Joan as their relationship bonded them more and more. This was their gift to each other . . . a powerful union based on intellectual oneness and most intense sexual attraction combined with an affection that knew no limit. They were completely and irrevocably in love with each other.

Joan went out for an early morning run and to pick up breakfast for the two of them. The air was crisp and cool and Joan was enjoying reflecting on her changed relationship with Sherlock as she came closer to home. She wanted to be with him again this morning and she began to imagine the two of them together and flushed. It had been a month since they had had come to full recognition of their feelings for one another and the nightmare of Irene/Moriarty had begun to recede from her immediate memory. Sherlock still had fears that some sort of retribution would come from Moriarty's people, but their love was so strong that they couldn't hold back from being together.

Joan did not see the men who approached her from behind as she got within a half block of the brownstone. They grabbed her and dragged her to the ground, kicking and screaming. But she was no match for them as they struck the back of her head, knocking her unconscious and then kicked her repeatedly in her chest and abdomen and thighs and left her on the street.

Sherlock was making coffee, waiting for Joan to come back. He knew exactly how long to expect her to be gone and his flesh was in anticipation of her return. When she seemed to be late, he felt somehow unsettled and decided to look outside the house for her. When he glanced down the street, he saw the heap on the ground and recognized the color of Joan's sweatshirt, he ran to her and saw that had happened.

He was in horror, pulling out his cell phone to call for help as he tried to revive her.

"Joan . . . Joan, darling, please. Hang on, Joan."

Joan Watson was grateful to hear Sherlock's voice and opened her eyes to see him. She had known that he would come if he could, but she had no idea that his brilliant mind would so quickly realize her distress. Now she knew that she could rely upon him for anything, anything at all.

Sherlock literally saw red when he looked at Joan's bruised face and saw the evidence around her eyes of the beating the thugs had given her. There was a piece of paper stuffed into her sock.

"P.S. Not over," it said simply.

"It's Moriarty's people carrying out orders," Sherlock said. "Even inside prison waiting on extradition she is in control."

Gregson and Bell were soon there as well as an ambulance.

"God!" Sherlock groaned as he held Joan in his embrace, smoothing her hair, trying to calm her shattered nerves.

"I was terrified, Sherlock . . . terrified," Joan murmured. "There were two men . . . from out of nowhere."

"It's all right, luv. You will be fine."

Sherlock kissed Joan on her forehead, forgetting altogether that Detectives Gregson and Bell were there.

"Did they . . . touch . . . your body, Joanie?" Sherlock was almost afraid to ask.

"No, they just beat me up. They beat me up, Sherlock!" Joan began to sob into his chest.

"You have to go to hospital. Do you think you have a concussion?"

Joan nodded. She knew that she had been hit very hard and that she had the symptoms of a concussion and she felt herself losing consciousness again.

An ambulance arrived to take Joan to the hospital and Sherlock went along as they put her on a stretcher.

"Sherlock, do you have any leads?" Gregson asked.

"It's Moriarty's people taking revenge for us stopping her. I will kill them, Gregson. I will." Sherlock's expression was fierce and at the same time troubled by this attack on Joan.

Sherlock had sensed that Watson would perhaps be a target after things went down as they did. Irene had sensed that he was in love with Joan, even before he could admit it to himself.

"I think that you should let us handle this one, Sherlock. It's . . . it's obvious that this is . . . personal . . . you and Miss Watson."

Gregson stated this as a fact. It had become obvious to him for a while that Sherlock and Joan's relationship was no longer simply that of consultant and apprentice.

"It is personal, Gregson. We are . . . engaged." Sherlock paused, hesitating to vocalize the feelings that were so new to him. "I love her," he said simply. "I have to go with her to the hospital. We will talk later."

"Well, I totally understand your situation. Joan is a beautiful and brilliant woman. I wish you both the best. But we have to protect her from your enemies."

Gregson and Bell stood looking at each other as Sherlock got onto the ambulance with Joan.

"So what do you make of that?" Bell said.

"So they finally are a couple. It is definitely personal. She is no longer simply an employee," Gregson stated as a matter of fact.

"That's a surprise, eh?"

"Not really," Gregson replied. "She's probably the best thing that could ever have happened to him. We just have to keep both of them safe."

Sherlock sat stunned in the waiting room at BrooklynHospital as the doctors checked out Joan thoroughly and cared for the wound on her head.

They decided that she could go home only if she would have someone to watch her for the next twenty-four hours because of the concussion and Sherlock assured the medic that he would take care of Joan.

It was late in the evening when they finally made their way back to the brownstone. Sherlock had stopped along the way and picked up soup for them as they were on their way home in the taxi. Joan was quiet, huddling in the corner of the taxi. She had refused the standard medication but now her head was aching and she just wanted to go to bed.

Sherlock helped her inside the house and, after putting down the food he had picked up, he took her into his arms and hugged her gently as if she were a fine piece of china. Then he helped her out of her coat and literally carried her upstairs to her bed.

"Just help me take a shower and get into bed, Sherlock. My head is aching."

"Please let me take care of you, my dearest Watson."

Sherlock took her shoes off and began to help her out of her clothes and that is when he saw the black and blue bruises on her torso and on her thighs where her attackers had kicked her.

"I'm so sorry, Joan, so sorry."

Sherlock's eyes filled as he gently touched the bruises and then he bent to kiss each bruised spot as Joan dissolved in tears in his arms.

"I was so scared . . . so scared, Sherlock."

"I know . . . I know. I'll take care of you, luv."

Sherlock stripped his own clothes off and carried Joan into the bathroom and got under the shower with her. Turning on the hot water, he just held her as they stood under the comforting spray. Then he washed her body tenderly as he kissed her on her face over and over.

When they finished showering and drying off, Sherlock brought her robe and wrapped it around her and took her back to her bed. He towel dried her long hair, pulled one of the oversized tee shirts she slept in over her, and then he lay down beside her in her bed, drew the covers up over them and just held her, continuing to comfort her till she finally cried herself to sleep. It was only then that Sherlock permitted the silent tears banked in him to roll down his cheeks.

When next Sherlock wakened, Joan was tossing and turning in the midst of a nightmare.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, help me!" she cried out into the darkened room. "Where are you, Sherlock!"

"I'm here, luv. I'm here. It's over. Your . . . your Sherlock . . . I'm here."

Sherlock held her close, kissing her cheeks and forehead till she wakened completely and calmed. He turned on the bedside lamp so that he could see her face, and carefully checked the bruises on her torso and buttocks. They had turned a deep yellow-tinged purple now. Even her breasts had black and blue marks. Sherlock tenderly kissed each one of the bruises.

They finally lay quietly in bed, clinging to each other as Sherlock's words finally took effect and her frazzled nerves calmed so that she finally fell asleep again.

When morning came, Sherlock saw that Joan was still sleeping and he did not want to waken her, but as soon as he moved away from her, she was awake.

"You won't stay here with me a while, Sherlock?"

"I think that I should bring you something to eat. You should be very hungry by now. We never got around to eating last night."

Sherlock got out of the bed and Joan stared at him as he looked for his clothes. He was naked and unselfconscious in front of her as he pulled on a pair of boxers, and dragged his wrinkled tee shirt over his head. Seeing his chestnut hair going in all directions and his beard so adorable scruffy, Joan's heartbeat surged out of control.

"You stay right there. I hope you won't mind cereal to start with."

"I don't mind. Whatever you bring will be fine."

Joan watched Sherlock leave the bedroom and then she got up and put on the underwear and a loose bright blue tunic that Sherlock had laid out for her. It occurred to her that Detective Gregson would probably be paying a call and she wanted to be clothed properly.

When she came back to the bedroom, Sherlock was coming up the stairs with two bowls of Cheerios with fresh strawberries. He handed one to Joan and sat down with her on her bed. They ate their cereal in silence, both of them very aware of their need for each other as well as their need to talk about their present situation.

"Joan, I am afraid for you to stay here now. I have to protect you and I don't know if it's possible if you are here."

"Do you want me to leave, Sherlock?"

"No, I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay with me . . . always. But I have to protect you."

"You protect me when I am with you. I don't want to ever leave you, Sherlock."

"I am selfish . . . wanting you to be with me even though I know that you are in greater danger because of it. What can I do, Joan?"

Sherlock put his empty bowl aside and threw himself on her lap in tears, embracing her thighs and hips.

Joan put her empty bowl down and fell across his muscled back, caressing him under his tee shirt, holding him as he sobbed on her lap.

"Just love me, Sherlock. Make love to me with no fear of anything. I will give myself to you every single day of my life. I'm yours, Sherlock. I love you too much to leave you."

"Joan . . . Joan!" he cried out in anguish. "What is to become of us?"

When Joan drifted off to sleep again, Sherlock eased from her and lay back to watch her sleep peacefully, her hair fanning all over her pillow. He leaned close to kiss the swollen bruise on her face that Moriarty's goons had left.

"Umm, Sherlock . . . Sherlock," Joan murmured in her sleep, reaching for him.

"Yes . . . I'm here, luv. I'll always be here, darling."

"Sherlock . . . I . . . was so afraid. Please . . . Sherlock . . . I need you."

"I don't want to hurt you, luv . . . you are bruised all over."

"I need you, Sherlock."

Sherlock took Joan onto his chest and she simply melted in his arms in a state of complete satisfaction.

"Oh, yes . . . yes, Sherlock . . ."

They made love slowly, but then their passions took them over and this time Joan gripped him fiercely, fearing the moment would end too soon, even though it hurt her bruised body to hold him tightly to her. Sherlock only encompassed her loosely in his arms, because he felt her flinch in pain from the slightest contact, but his restraint only intensified his own passionate response and he began to tremble uncontrollably. Suddenly they were a roller coaster plummeting at full speed down hill.

"Oh, God! God!" he cried out in ecstasy. "Yes! Yes, luv!"

"Sherlock! Sherlock!"

As the climax swept over them, they knew that they would never voluntarily give each other up . . . not now, not ever as they committed themselves to each other in that moment of supreme communion, surrendering to each other completely with full knowledge of the dangerous possibilities ahead of them now.

end of chapter one

It was the day after Moriarty's people attacked Joan and it found the two of them still trying to recover from the shock of the brutal attack. Joan wakened after a long nap and she went downstairs when she heard Sherlock and Gregson talking.

"I'm very sorry about what happened, Joan. We are trying to find out just who was responsible. We strongly suspect Jamie Moriarty's gang, but we have no proof. I think that we just have to take every precaution. No early morning runs till we find out what is going on," Gregson said.

His voice was subdued and very serious. He had become as attached to Sherlock and Joan as if they were a part of his family. He saw how happy both of them were together and he wanted nothing to interfere with that.

Sherlock was quiet, deep in thought and his anxiety was evident as his knee bounced in his characteristic tic.

Joan went and sat close to him on the sofa and Sherlock absently began to play with the ends of her long hair and then tenderly rubbed her shoulders. Then he shook his head and dropped it into his hands in despair.

"I don't know what to do, Gregson. I can't bear to be away from this woman. If I have to be away from Joan, I might as well be dead. She is everything to me. I don't know what to do here."

"Well, you might start by getting a dog, for protection here in this house. You have to know if your perimeter has been invaded and there is no better way. Cameras can show you but they can't protect you.

"Bees, tortoises, and now a dog?" Sherlock attempted a smile and took Joan's hand.

"I am going to the Brooklyn House of Detention and talk to Jamie Moriarty. She is being held there because she's seeking extradition to England. Maybe she will let some bit of information slip. A criminal as arrogant as she is can hardly resist the urge to boast." Gregson said, outlining his plan for the investigation.

"Sherlock, why don't we go out and look for a rescue dog? I need some fresh air."

"Aren't you still sore, luv?"

"We can take a taxi. And I'll put on dark glasses. I think we need to do something proactive to protect ourselves. We have to get control of our lives somehow."

Joan was adamant so they made a visit to the ASPCA with Sherlock really pushing himself to try to lift the depression that seemed to want to engulf him since Joan was attacked. The dogs did their job of selling themselves but they left with a two year old black Lab who seemed not to care whether he was adopted or not. He had been a candidate to be a seeing-eye dog but had been rejected because of being unwilling to bond with a new handler. He was still obviously missing his original handler, just moping in the corner of his cage.

"His handler was a young woman. She was killed in a car crash at an important stage of his training and he just can't get over it," the animal care worker said. "The seeing-eye program cannot use him, so we have him. He just came in this week. He is a beautiful dog, but he just doesn't respond to anyone."

Joan stood in front of the cage quietly, feeling the angst in the pooch's demeanor.

"I like this one, Sherlock."

The dog got up and came to her and tried to nuzzle her through the cage and slowly wagged his tail.

"Is this the one you want?"

"He is very intelligent and well trained. If he can get past the emotional issue he has, he will be a perfect companion."

Joan took Sherlock's hand and nodded. "We all have something we're trying to get past. He will fit right in."

Joan smiled up at Sherlock in agreement.

"This one it is then. Come along, luv. Let's take care of the business and take him home. What's his name?"

"He was called 'George.' You can change it if you wish."

"No, George it is. No need for further trauma in his life."

They stopped at the same pet store where they got their supplies for the tortoises and the bees and picked up all that they would need to start with for 'George' and then took a taxi back to the brownstone.

The dog came and rested his big head on Joan's lap and she rubbed and patted him affectionately as they sat having tea.

"Now he's getting into my territory," Sherlock said to Joan with a sly wink.

"You will get your time, baby. You know you will get as much lap time as you want."

"I will hold you to that promise, luv," Sherlock winked a second time at Joan and made her blush.

"I want to go to bed, Sherlock. I'm not nearly back up to par. Do you mind?"

"No, I'll come along soon."

Joan walked up the stairs and George followed behind her.

"I guess he's decided who his master is going to be. That's right, George. I want you to protect that woman because I love her more than anything in this world."

When Joan went into the bedroom that she and Sherlock were sharing now, George lay down on the landing between the rooms at the top of the stairs to the second floor, thumped his tail against the floor and stretched out. He was at home finally.

"I think I know where we should put the dog's bed," Joan called down to Sherlock.

"Go get Sherlock, George," Joan said.

The dog came back down the stairs and came to Sherlock who sat in deep thought, his head buried in his hands, still very perturbed by the danger in their situation. He put his head against Sherlock's knee and whimpered softly.

"All right, George," Sherlock said and got up and followed him up the stairs.

And that's how George found his place in their family.

The next day Gregson called them to let them know that Jamie Moriarty had escaped from jail. No one even could tell how she did it. She just did. She had been in the infirmary because of the results of certain medical tests and in the process of her treatment, she managed to simply walk out of the building in a white lab coat, leaving the medical technician unconscious wearing Moriarty's own prison clothing.

"Moriarty has broken out of jail," Sherlock stated as a fact. "I think that I would prefer that you stay somewhere else for a few days, Joan. Gregson is sending someone to pick us up right away. I want you in a safe house."

"But, Sherlock, I don't want to leave you here. I can't leave you here."

"You must, Joan. I will come back here to the brownstone after I know that you are safe. I know that she will come here, but I cannot dare have you in danger. You cannot imagine the depth of the evil in that woman. You mean everything to me. You are my life, Joan darling."

Sherlock bent and caught Joan up into his arms and they kissed as if they would never kiss again.

"Make love to me, Sherlock, one more time before we have to leave. Oh, Sherlock!"

Sherlock pulled back with the greatest difficulty, the timbre of his voice roughened with desire.

"I cannot do what I want to with you. I cannot do you justice . . . as much as I want to stop all this madness and attend to our pressing needs right now. We are going to leave here this very minute. I will not have Moriarty walk in here and find us in flagrante delicto no less. I will not have her become a part of what we are, even vicariously. Come along now, Joan, please. There is no time to dawdle. Come along, George."

They hailed a taxi just as if they were leaving for some normal reason and went to the station to meet with Gregson there. Then another car quickly took them from the precinct before anyone could even realize that they were actually there and drove straight to one of the properties of Sherlock's father that would give Joan cover for a few days.

As they rode along to the safe house, Joan suddenly asked the most logical question.

"Why did they take Moriarty to the prison infirmary? Does she have any underlying health problem that we are not aware of?"

"I don't know. It must have appeared to be serious. I'll ask Gregson."

Sherlock got on his phone and called back to the precinct.

He spoke to Gregson and then paused to wait for the answer. In a minute Joan saw his face register his surprise and a quiet shock.

"It's melanoma. She has stage four melanoma, Joan. The Auriga Constellation . . . Good Lord! It was Capella!"

"Auriga Constellation?" Capella? She has melanoma?"

"Her birthmark . . . on her back, a pattern of moles in the shape of the Auriga Constellation . . . she had Capella removed."

"Capella!"

"The largest star, the one most easily seen . . . The Charioteer . . . that was the mole she had removed. When I saw that is the moment I suddenly deduced that her whole story was a fabrication. That was doubtlessly the source of the melanoma."

Sherlock could almost see Joan's physician's brain deciphering the full meaning of all of this as he spoke.

"That is an absolutely dire prognosis, Sherlock. She probably has less than six months to live," Joan said without emotion and then she began to cry silently.

Sherlock took Joan into his arms and held her as tightly as he could. When Joan lifted her head to meet his eyes, they were brimming.

"I guess we're just not mean enough to wish that on anyone, are we?" Joan said, resting her head onto Sherlock's shoulder and taking hold of his hand.

Sherlock nodded. "Despite the fact that she took so many lives in the most cold-blooded manner, I have suddenly lost all feelings of vindictiveness. Strange, isn't it?"

Joan looked into her lover's eyes and what she saw there melted her heart.

"Joan, I have so much more than I could have ever hoped for in life in finding and knowing and loving you, there is no room for hatred anymore. Do you understand what I mean? I know that she would kill either me or you if it suited her whim or fancy, and until this news I would have killed Jamie Moriarty in a heartbeat if she threatened you in any way. But it is all suddenly gone, isn't it. Her own mortality has taken it away. There is nothing that she can do now that can bring lasting harm to you or me."

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the safe house. It was late afternoon and there were only high louvered windows to the place that looked as if it had once been a machine shop, except for the fact that the interior had been equipped with every modern convenience and it had been quickly fully stocked with the necessary provisions, including a supply of dog food for George.

They quietly set themselves up there, both of them strangely sobered by the news they had received about Moriarty. There was an inviting-looking futon in one corner and while Joan made tea and sandwiches for the two of them, Sherlock lay down and reflected on the current developments in the Moriarty situation as he watched the woman he loved so much go about making herself at home. She happened to be wearing one of his favorite comfortable looks, a grey silk knit long-sleeved tunic combined with black tights and black flat slippers.

When Joan sat the tea on the table beside the bed, instead of reaching for his tea, Sherlock reached for Joan, drawing her into his embrace, remembering how she had been in such need of him earlier.

"The tea will go cold, Sherlock,"

"I think there is something that we need to attend to, Miss Watson," Sherlock said, saying "Miss Watson" in the affectionate way he had begun to use it.

Since coming to terms with their profound attachment for each other, Sherlock was trying not to miss the signs when Joan was especially keen for him and he was rewarded every time for his solicitude because Joan never refused him when he reached out in need for her. That was just one of the things that was different about his relationship with Joan and what he had experienced with "Irene." Irene kept him in perpetual need, giving him only so much of herself, frankly stating that she was doing so. He was never completely sated, because she deliberately never gave him enough to accomplish that. Perhaps she had thought that would diminish his passion for her.

Joan satisfied him completely, leaving him with all of his desires fulfilled, exhausted from lovemaking, his mind at rest with only the memories of their coming together continuing to pleasure him afterward, similarly to the feeling of satiety after eating ones fill which never eliminates the desire for the next meal but only enhances ones anticipation of a repetition of the event.

When he held Joan in this strange place on this day when they had received the shocking news of Irene's situation, he felt closer to Joan that he ever had felt to any other person. Joan was trembling in his arms, her face buried in his chest and when she lifted her face up to his, she was weeping. And when Sherlock saw those tears, the man who had never considered any one else ahead of his own needs felt every thought fly from his brain except his desire to calm his woman and meet the emotional and passionate needs she had at that moment. As strong as Joan was in times of crisis, being with intimate with Sherlock now allowed her to show her vulnerability and need as never before. The sheer understated physical strength of the man was a bulwark of support for her at times like this as she clung to him, her face buried in his chest.

"Joan . . . luv . . . don't fret. All will work out for us. All we need is each other. Imagine that. We have all that we need to be happy. Do you believe that I can take care of you?"

"Yes, I believe that you can do almost . . . anything. I believe in you, Sherlock."

Sherlock's lips found Joan's in kiss after kiss as he continued to calm her, smoothing her hair and touching her all over, reassuring her of his awareness of her needs.

"Please, Joan, undress for me . . . slowly. I want to watch your lovely flesh come into view and not look away for a moment. I want to be totally transfixed. I want to feast on your beauty."

"I'm still so bruised, Sherlock," Joan protested as she turned down the lamp by the futon to its lowest level.

"You are altogether lovely no matter what. It is a beauty of flesh and spirit. Nothing can take that away. And please, take your hair down for me."

Joan sat back and disrobed completely and then raised her arms to loosen her hair from its pony tail and at that moment, when Sherlock saw the outline of the loveliness of her form, the swelling of her breasts and hips and the narrowness of her waist exaggerated by the lifting of her arms above her head in the low lamplight, he was overwhelmed, gasped softly and reached for her.

"Oh, Joan . . . Joan . . . come to me, Joan."

And then they were kissing again and this time their passions knew no bounds as they came together, tossing aside all restraint.

Sherlock lost all thought of anything else except 'Joan,' her flesh, her love for him and his love for her, his devotion to her, the one person who had centered and stabilized his whole life . . . this woman he held in his arms. All thoughts of cases and criminals flew from his mind in that moment when his heart was seized with such rapture that he babbled incoherently his words of love for her. And Joan welcomed him, fluttering like a butterfly in his embrace, soothing and reassuring him with 'yes' after 'yes' till she could only cry out his name again and again as her body went into the helpless spasms and psychic phenomena of the climax that swept over both of them.

It was quite a while before they came around to themselves again. Sherlock wakened, basking in Joan's embrace. She was wrapped around him, hugging him. As he lay there, he thought about their relationship, listening to the soft purr of her breathing while she slept. George, ever the sensitive animal companion, sensed that he was awake and Sherlock felt a wet nose nudge his foot. George needed to go out.

Sherlock began to extricate himself from Joan's embrace and she wakened.

"It's all right, luv. I just have to take George for a walk. There is a private area out back where I will not be seen. Just stay here and rest."

Sherlock kissed Joan lightly and then quickly dressed and took the dog out to relieve himself and as he walked him, his mind was racing, with thoughts of the case, of Irene escaping, of her illness, of what she must be planning next and how it might involve them. When he came back in, his mind was made up.

"Joan, I have to go back to the brownstone and deal with Irene, if her escaping should lead her there. This is what I believe we might call the endgame of this affair and I don't want you to be in danger. I want you to stay here with George."

"Sherlock, I don't want you to face her alone. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

"Do you understand that I cannot have you hurt? That is the only thing that I think I could not withstand . . . the ultimate trigger, if you will. You are the center of my life and I must protect you because I am totally unprepared to live without you now."

His eyes were never bluer than when he looked at her at this moment and stated what must be the case. And Joan nodded and then dropped her head into her hands as she accepted his decision.

"The depths of my love for you cannot be explained with mere words, Joan, but you must know that all my actions now take you into consideration in these matters. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I do," Joan whispered as she took his hands and kissed them both with the greatest tenderness before he bent to kiss her forehead and then without another word quickly left the safe house.

Sherlock quickly made his way to the nearest corner and flagged down a taxi and headed back to the brownstone. When he reached the house, he let himself in and, after surveying his surroundings carefully, he turned on the lights so that things at the place would seem somewhat normal. Then he made a pot of tea and just as he had sat down to contemplate the situation, he heard a sound at the door.

Jamie Moriarty walked in through the unlocked door. She was very pale and even thinner than normal, her skin gray in appearance, her blond hair faded and flat. She was dressed impeccably in a black pants suit, but she looked tired and very ill.

"I thought that you would perhaps come when I heard that you had found your way out of prison. I felt that it would only be a matter of time before you managed to escape."

Moriarty stumbled a bit as she walked to the sofa and caught herself so as not to fall. She finally sat down and crossed her legs. She was breathing quite rapidly.

"I am quite ill."

"I know . . . the constellation Auriga, the star Capella you had removed. It was serious, melanoma, wasn't it?"

"I came to kill you before I die. They say that I will go into a coma soon. It is in my brain already. Nothing can be done. But now that I am here, I think that instead of killing you, and, and . . . your mascot, I . . . I will settle for answers to certain questions. I feel you owe me that."

"Well, Joan is not here. I have her in a safe place. I thought that your intentions may have been malevolent. What do you want to know, Irene?"

"When did you fall in love with her? I know that you love her. That much is obvious to me. However I cannot imagine why you would be attracted to the likes of her."

"I may have begun to love her from the time we met, but we were not in a sexual relationship. I was still in mourning for you."

"But it is sexual now."

"Yes, it definitely is. Only recently it became a full-fledged sexual relationship."

"So when I asked her if she wanted to sleep with you, you had not become intimate?"

"No. We were coming close but had not ventured into that territory yet. I wanted it. I wanted to be with her. And she wanted it as well, but we were still finding our way to that."

Moriarty was seized with a sudden fit of coughing, found it difficult to catch her breath and lay back on the sofa. Her purse slid off and the weapon inside made a loud metallic thud when it hit the floor. She did not have the strength to reach to retrieve it.

"Should I call for medical assistance?"

"No . . . no. I have tumors everywhere suddenly. Nothing can be done. I came here because I wanted to kill you, but I have no desire any longer to kill you. I think that I did love you, Sherlock. You are the only man that I can say I really ever came close to loving. I thought I loved you and I thought you loved me."

"My mistake was in failing to realize that you were incapable of really loving anyone. I thought I loved you, but you were a passionate adventure. I know that now. I had not imagined meeting someone like Joan Watson. I was totally unprepared to fall in love. I realize now that I had never been 'in love.' "

"And you love Watson," she said wearily.

"I do love her."

"So you are screwing the mascot.

"I think that such a crude description hardly defines what Joan and I enjoy now."

"What a waste . . . of life and energy . . . and . . . and everything. All the money . . . the power . . . all futile and meaningless at this point. I should be sorry to have been so, very, very wicked. But I really loved being wicked. I don't believe in hell . . . or God . . . or anything. Should I be . . . sorry, Sherlock?"

"Why . . . why such callous disregard for life? What made you the evil woman that you became, Irene? Who hurt you so badly that you lost all compassion, all heart?"

"My father and mother both abused me . . . sexually from as early as I can remember. They left no stone . . . no aspect of perversion or wickedness unturned. I plotted . . . and planned and finally killed them both when I was fourteen. Poisoned them . . . put it in their gin. Don't you think they deserved it?"

Moriarty laughed sarcastically and began to cough uncontrollably again and appeared to pass out.

Sherlock took his phone and called Gregson.

"Moriarty is here. Please pick up Joan from the safe house and bring her here as soon as you can. It's quite bad. Irene . . . Moriarty seems to be very ill."

"Joan is here at the precinct. She had us pick her up. She was so fearful for you that she asked me to come and get her from that house."

"We will need an ambulance here," Sherlock said flatly.

He put a blanket across Moriarty and sat down across from her. Within fifteen minutes, Gregson was there with Joan in a cruiser. Marcus Bell arrived right behind him. When Joan came into the house, she immediately ran to Sherlock and then turned to look at Moriarty. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow and intermittent.

"She came to kill us both. The gun is on the floor there in her purse."

Gregson picked up the purse and gave it to the officer that accompanied him as Joan checked Moriarty's vitals. George whimpered softly, sensing the seriousness of the situation.

Moriarty briefly opened her eyes and realized that it was Joan attending her.

"Damn you, Watson!" she said and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

Detectives Gregson and Bell took charge of the situation as the ambulance arrived and Jamie Moriarty was taken from the brownstone.

Joan went to the sink and washed her hands and then went to Sherlock who sat stunned at what had transpired.

"I'm going to take Sherlock upstairs. Just lock the door when you finish here. Can we take care of the rest of this business tomorrow?"

Gregson nodded his understanding of the dynamics of the situation, as Joan led Sherlock up the stairs with George following close behind them.

They walked up to the roof of the brownstone. It was nighttime, early autumn in New York. The bee hives were quiet. George rested his head on Joan's thigh and Sherlock broke down in sobs in Joan's arms.

"She won't stop, Joan. She is consummately wicked. Why can't I let go. Why do I still care what happens to her? I thought I was completely over her, that I couldn't care what happened to her. That woman tried to kill me and you and yet I did not want to see her die! What is wrong with me?"

The encounter with Moriarty had left him trembling.

"I am here, Sherlock. I will always be here. Let's go downstairs and get into our bed."

"How can you love me, Joan? I don't deserve your love, your devotion."

"You need me, my flesh to calm you, to take care of the yang."

They went down from the roof to Joan's bedroom and Joan helped Sherlock shed his clothes and got him into bed.

"I'm going to make tea and bring it up to you. Try to relax, Sherlock. Tomorrow we will try to process all that has happened today. Tonight you will drink your tea and just let me hold you close. I'm going to make love to you tonight."

Joan went down and made tea and brought it up to their bedroom with George following closely behind her.

She had not realized that her tears were flowing down her cheeks till she got into bed with Sherlock.

"God, why can't it be over, Joan?" Sherlock groaned as he lay beside her in bed.

"It will end . . . one day it will end. For now you have me, Sherlock. I love you totally . . . completely."

"What would I do without you?" Sherlock's eyes filled and spilled over as he set his tea aside on the bedside table.

Joan pulled off her camisole so that she was naked and climbed onto Sherlock.

"I will give you what you need. Don't you need this, baby."

"Oh, God, yes! Yes, Joan! Forgive me. Forgive me for even thinking of her, but I can't help myself. I want to think only of you. Why can't I get her out of my mind? I have never loved as I love you."

Joan touched his mouth to silence him and then she kissed his lips and suddenly Sherlock growled and took over the kiss, possessing her mouth, tasting her, remembering and wanting nothing except to be inside her.

"Sherlock . . . Sherlock, I'll always take care of you. Sherlock . . ."

End