Sherlock's heart began to beat faster. He ground his teeth. That had to be M. Sure, he had never truly seen the villain but he did hear Sebastian Moran's frail words as he leant over the man's bleeding body.
"It was him, the bastard! Dark-dark skinned…your age…a scar on his-his cheek. Get… him! Get your revenge. It's too-too late for me."
"Sherlock."
He felt Joan's soft lips brush his ear and he bit his tongue. He relaxed his grip on her waist and her hand. "Yes?"
"What's the plan?"
"Huh?"
"These masks aren't good enough to disguise us-"
"Ah yes, well we have the element of surprise on our hand. It gives us a slight advantage…other than that…well, see I was hoping that we would formulate a plan once we were here…Keep your head down and stay alert, let's try to move that way."
He shifted his feet and began leading and dancing Joan over to the far side of the ballroom where a dark skinned man in an elaborately feathered mask resided. The faintest hint of a scar peaked out from beneath the mask.
His heart began to beat faster and his blood boiled. Outside it began to rain. That man, that man killed the one woman who ever loved him! The one woman who he had ever loved, would ever love!
The rain pounded angrily on the room's vast windows. The wind screamed.
"Sherlock we should call the police-"
"Watson, I told you why that plan of action is not an option. Gregson and Bell adamantly believe that the note that was pinned to the body of Sebastian Moran speaks the truth. They are wrong, Moran wasn't Moriarty! He was set up, he was killed! They won't listen; they said that I was letting my emotions get the better of me, I saw Moran before he died! I heard him sp-"
"-Sherlock. Look at me!"
He turned his head and glared at Joan, but his glare quickly softened. It would be alright; this was Joan, his companion, his partner. Her teeth were clenched tight, scolding. Yet her brow was furrowed, concerned, maybe even scared. He gazed into her beautiful dark eyes and breathed in her scent. She kept him from getting high, from relapsing, from getting drunk. She was his anchor and now, once again she was going to keep him from losing control, from getting lost. She was going to keep him grounded.
"It's going to be alright, do you understand me?" she said sternly.
"Yes Watson, I understand completely," he muttered in reply, and then as an afterthought, "Now is not the time for revenge."
She nodded. Sometimes Joan confused him, which was certainly something to marvel at. Not many people or events confused him. Irene may have been the only woman he would ever love, but there was something he definitely felt for Joan, and it perplexed him greatly. At times it even scared him; he didn't want to care for someone, he didn't want to put someone in danger. He didn't want to get hurt, not again, not anymore.
All of a sudden Joan gasped as the lights flickered and turned off. People shrieked and shouted. Joan tripped again and this time Sherlock didn't react fast enough to catch her. The room plunged into darkness. Chaos ensued.
