It was a surreal moment, having tea in their living room as if this was any normal Tuesday. Despite Sherlock had known John's secret for nearly a half hour now, she still bounded her breasts and wore her jumper to sooth down any odd bumps.

But that didn't stop Sherlock's eyes from roaming over her body when she finally entered the living room. John told herself it wasn't sexual, this was part of Sherlock's method, and she knew he was just looking for clues.

Despite that, she still felt a shiver go through her.

"What was your real name?" Was Sherlock's first question.

This surprised John. She was expecting something a bit more complicated.

"Joanna," she said. "Not very original, was it? Going from Joan to John."

"No, it wasn't," Sherlock agreed, which irked John. "But understandable… would you like me to call you Joan around the flat? When we're alone?"

She never thought she would have the option. But, "No. I still don't feel comfortable with this. Maybe in the future, not now, though."

Sherlock nodded and bowed his head slightly, touching the tips of his fingers to his lips. His eyes were dancing, probably from the thousands of unasked questions he had rolling around in his head.

John had one. "Are you going to tell Mycroft?"

That made Sherlock jerk. "What? Why should I?"

"I don't know. I mean, are there other women out there? Who survived the plague?"

"I'm not going to hand you over like rat for an experiment," Sherlock hissed. He shifted in his chair, offended. "In answer to your question, no. Mycroft looked and found nothing but rumors and ugly men in ugly dresses. I'm sure to this day he has sniffer dogs out there, looking for a possible lead, but I believe he had his hands in bigger cookies jars. Unfortunately genetic manipulation isn't as easy as seen in the movies and I believe he is still years away from a proper subject."

John didn't understand any of that. "What?"

Roll of eyes. "Cloning, John. And it's not just us, the United States, China, Japan- they all have their own little projects. But the female reproductive system is unbearably difficult. There's no point in cloning a woman if she is incapable of giving birth."

John had to put down her tea. All this talk about women as if they were cattle. It made her sick.

"I'm not going to hand you over," Sherlock reiterated, annoyed he had to say it twice. "I'm sure Mycroft would love to have your ovaries, but then I would never see you again."

John had to hold up a hand. "Stop, just… stop."

"What for?"

"Dammit, Sherlock," Fuck, did he really not get it? "You just confirmed for me that I really still am the last woman in the world. So excuse me if I don't feel comfortable knowing my sex will soon be reduced to… breeding stock."

Bowing his head slightly in guilt, Sherlock murmured, "... sorry. I didn't mean… " he sighed dramatically. "How about we change the subject? Do you have an idea, or a theory why you survived?"

Such great subject changers. "None. I took a sample of my blood to a friend of mine, hoping he could find maybe an anomaly in my blood. Something that might have given me immunity."

"Did he?"

Joan's lips thinned at the memory. "Unfortunately," she breathed. "when three billion people die in one day, science is not exactly on everybody's mind."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at that. "He tried to rape you."

"Sherlock-"

"No, no," He held up a hand to halt her. "I won't talk about that. Did he bother to test your blood or…?"

John shook her head. "Or," she said.

"So there could be something in your blood giving you immunity, but never got a chance to prove it. Interesting."

Joan didn't like that tone in his voice. It was his, 'I want to do an experiment' voice. Last time he sounded like that, they had to replace the kitchen table after it disintegrated. "What clues?"

Sherlock jerked out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"To my being a woman? What did I give away?"

"Little things," Sherlock murmured, shaking his head at the memories. "The way you position your legs is not like a man's."

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to her closed knees. "You sit as if there isn't a penis between your legs."

John immediately looked down at her knees touching and blushed. She didn't know why she blushed, and immediately opened her legs in reaction.

That move made her blush even harder. Girls were taught to sit with their legs closed. Opening them had the ingrained life lesson burn angrily deep within her, shaming her.

Sherlock grinned as John closed her legs again. She grabbed a pillow and shoved it atop of her lap. "But as I said earlier," Sherlock continued. "The chances of my flatmate being a woman? Astronomical."

"Good," said John, her throat a little tight from the embarrassment. "If I fooled you, that means I can fool anybody."

Sherlock doesn't respond to that.