I didn't like how I originally wrote it.

AU: Joan is a former surgeon turned addict, after the death of one of her patients by her hand and redicule by her friends and colluges and the constant pestering of her family, especially her mother and brother.

Sherlock is a former British sober companion turned detective by the death of his American lover Irene Adler at the hand of a mysterious man named M.
Mrs. Hudson lives with Holmes as a housekeeper.

Has a whole heck of a lot of reference to the BBC Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes was listening to his six televisions and police scanner, while reading a stack of fourty cold case files-solving ten of them in the past two hours, at the same time to alleviate the mind numbing boredom he was falling victim to, to avoid shooting holes in the wall, that had a large yellow circle with two dots and a smile, and pissing off his house keeper, Mrs. Hudson, for the one hundreth time since he allowed her to move into his New York City home the Brownstone with him.

Just as he was about to give up and throw caution to wind by going to where he kept his gun and giving his grafiti on the wall a whole new makeover-Bullet Addition- he heard his cellphone ring. He thanked whatever dieties existed as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone from his pocket instead of the gun on the third shelf of his bookcase.

"Yes?" He hid his eagerness at the prospect of whatever cast out addict Hemmingdale was going to throw his way.

"Hey, Sherlock. You remeber that surgeon you asked me about?"

"Yes, Mrs. Joan Watson. Quit her job because she couldn't handle keeping it up while taking Dilaudid she stole from work."

"Well, listen to this. She asked for the resume of our best companion. I know your busy with your detective job, but-"

"It's no trouble at all. When do I pick her up?"

"I texted you the time, you know the place. The date is a week from today."

Sherlock put the phone on speaker as he moved to his texting log "7:30, Friday morning. Any reason why it is so early?"

"That's the time she said she gets up."

"Ah. I shall arrive on time, perhaps earlier so I can get to know Mrs. Watson before we begin."

He saw her parents, and even her older brother-who also asked for weekly textes on her progress, were paying him a pretty penny for her services. He was set for a while, it was shocking.

"Any other questions?"

"Just one. What kind of a last name is Watson?"