AN: I am sorry if my chapters end up being short, I wanted to make this story go pass five chapters if that is possible. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy my story.
Disclaimer: Products of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Mark Gatiss (BBC Network). I do not own anything but my imagination.
I continued to look at Mycroft in utter shock. "Matthew could uh go to the other room please. Mycroft and I have to talk in private." The sound of the stove died down and Matthew appeared from the kitchen. "Uh, sure I was going for a shower anyway. Yell if you need anything." I nodded, not taking my eyes off of Mycroft. We waited until we heard the shower start, only then did I let go of a breath I did not know I was holding. "Mycroft, speak." He continued to look at me and leaned back in his chair. "He's dead." I slouched a little and gave him the 'do you think I'm some kind of Anderson' look. "Mycroft I know, he killed himself that day on top of St. Bart's." "I'm not talking about that. He didn't actually die you see. Somehow he escaped and faked his death; my hidden operatives have tracked his location and made sure to put an end to all the mess he's caused to London. Turns out he had a bigger organization than expected; but with the fall of their leader, it slowly started to fall."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing, he's finally dead. May the devil give no mercy on that mans' soul. "Finally, Sherlock's death won't be in vain. He can rest easier now that that creature was wiped from the face of the Earth." I glanced at Mycroft; he appeared to be hiding something else. I wanted to ask, but knowing him, it could easily be something about the nation and the British government. So I let it go. "Mycroft how's Greg?" I said smiling my reassuring smile. And that's how the rest of the morning went until I had to leave for work.
Matthew dropped me off and as I entered the building, a group of people were panicking left and right. My boss, Sam, squeezed out of the crowd. "Joan thank goodness you are here, these people are getting sicker and their families are getting paranoid!" I glanced behind him then back at him. "I blame allergy season, Sam. Send a family at a time to me and I'll see what I can do." Sam laughed exasperated, "I don't know how you'll manage that Joan but good luck in there." And with that he was gone. I quickly rushed into my office and got ready for the first family. The Jones came in with a daughter, son, and mother all sick. I asked the father about the filtration system in their home, what they have been doing and if they had any pets. To ask about any of them having allergies would have been a stupid idea seeing as they are all sneezing, sniffling and nearly fainting.
That's how the rest of my afternoon went; patient after patient, problem after problem. By five, Sam and I were exhausted. "What are your plans for tonight, Joan?" We were outside locking up. "I assume dinner. Matthew said he had a surprise for me but he hasn't told me yet." "Sounds like he's reading to give you the rock." I looked at him puzzled. "Sam what the bloody hell are you going on about?"
Laughing, he enters his car, "I'm talking about marriage, Joan. It has been a year already." I continued to stare at him. "Think about it, Joan. Don't doubt yourself; you are still a gorgeous woman." And with that he drove away.