Joan did not respond immediately to Dr Costello's statement, and simply held the phone tighter in her hand as she parted her lips and tried to speak. She felt her mouth go dry and her stomach clench, and was temporarily overwhelmed with fear and confusion. She turned away from the house and faced towards the road, which was lined with several other beautiful homes. Joan was staring into suburbia, watching the people on the street thoughtlessly, and was only brought out of her reverie when the doctor spoke her name gently for the second time.
"Miss Watson?" she asked, concern clear in her kind voice.
"Yes, yes I'm sorry." Joan responded quickly, sounding much more composed that she felt. "It's just... I wasn't expecting you to-" she paused, placing her left hand over her mouth and breathing in deeply before continuing. "Are you positive? I mean, you're sure?"
"Yes, Miss Watson." Dr Costello replied gently yet confidently, and Joan could hear the sound of a file closing. "I just got the results back, and there is no question. You are pregnant."
Joan nodded slowly, and thanked the doctor for calling. She slowly looked down at her abdomen, and placed her left hand on to it slowly and cautiously, before spreading out her fingers gently, and running her fingertips from one side to the other. For some reason, this movement calmed Joan, and made her feel reassured for just a few moments, before she once again felt afraid. As she was about to hang up, Dr Costello began to speak once more. "Miss Watson, I understand this is unexpected. Why don't you come to the surgery after we close, at around six? I'll be here for another hour and so, and we can go over the results, confirm it officially, and discuss your options." Joan was grateful for the doctor's kindness, and was aware of just how much she was going above and beyond her duty, but she felt as if everything was happening too quickly. Joan suddenly felt very warm and panicked, and exhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself. It worked, and she sounded much more confident when she spoke next.
"Thank you, yes, that would be great. I'll see you at six." The doctor offered her some reassuring words, which Joan thanked her for before hanging up. She pressed the phone to her bottom lip and breathed in deeply once more. Joan felt her mouth go dry once more, and again she was struck by the same feeling of fear and apprehension which was overwhelming her. She moved the phone away from her mouth and checked the time. It was just after eleven, meaning that she had seven hours to go before she could see her doctor again. Although she did not doubt the diagnosis. In her years in medical practice Joan had run many such tests, and their reliability held up to scrutiny. She never had a false positive from a blood test in all her years, and did not believe she would encounter one now. As she stood staring across the street, Joan's mind raced back to the night she and Sherlock spent together eight weeks ago. Vivid memories of that evening had come flooding back to her the moment the doctor first used the word 'pregnant', and as she processed these same memories again, she was once more overcome by fear. She was carrying Sherlock's baby. Her mind was racing, and she kept switching her thoughts from the father of her child to her health in general over the last eight weeks. She had been feeling run down lately, and had experienced dizzy spells, but she attributed that to her injured arm and heavy workload. She could not believe that she had missed the signs, that she had not realised what was happening. After thinking about what had been happening to her body, she began to considering what needed to happen next. She knew she needed to tell Sherlock, but as she turned towards the house, knowing he was inside, she felt incomprehensible fear and anguish at the prospect. What if he was angry? Or upset? What if this was too much for him to handle? She could not bear to hurt him, and she certainly did not want to do anything that could compromise the progress he had been making in his life, both personally and professionally. Joan also thought of the case they were working on, and realised that discussing this matter with him now would have an unfathomable affect of Sherlock, which could compromise the safety of the two little girls they were searching for, which she would not risk. Joan remained on the pavement for a few more moments, agonizing over what to do. In the end, she decided to continue to work for the rest of the day, go to her doctor's appointment in the evening, and then consider what to do next. Taking things one step at a time seemed comforting to her, and she felt that it was the right thing to do. In fact, she felt it was her only option. Joan took a slow and cautious step forward before strolling confidently up to the front of the house, her walk and her demeanour not betraying a hint of the fear and conflict which was overwhelming her.
Joan found the door to be wide open, and walked slowly into the large house. The bottom floor was beautifully laid out and modernly furnished. To the immediate right of the door was the living area, which had dark leather sofas and modern furnishings. There was a fireplace in the centre of the room, under a mantle piece which held several exquisitely framed photographs of the Devereaux families. To Joan's left was a dining area, which was decorated in a similar manner, and these two rooms appeared to lead to a large white and chrome kitchen dining room at the back of the house. There were an array of original water colour paintings which hung on the walls, and large chandeliers hailed from the ceiling. As she took a few steps further into the house, she saw the entrance to the staircase on the large wall to her right which, upon initial inspection, appeared to be just a doorway leading to another room. But the sounds of familiar footsteps rushing down to meet her made her instantly aware of what was behind the doorway, which was confirmed as Sherlock passed through this entrance and walked briskly towards her, talking as he did so. For a few moments, Joan could have sworn that she actually stopped breathing. Everything felt quiet, cold and not quite real. She was watching Sherlock with interest, staring at his mouth as he spoke. He was wearing a white shirt, black waistcoat and jacket, which he adjusted slightly as he paused just slightly in front of her. The scent of his aftershave combined with his proximity drew her slowly from her thoughts.
"Watson?" He began, a slight degree of concern present in his voice.
"Yes, sorry, I was just admiring the place." She replied immediately, in a bright yet calm manner, as she took a few steps forward and began walking past Sherlock and towards the kitchen. Sherlock turned slowly and watched her walking towards the other end of the building, examining the artwork and the décor, before turning sharply and walking towards him once more, pausing just a few steps in front of him. As she opened her mouth to speak, Captain Gregson and Detective Bell entered the building, and she smiled politely at them, before Sherlock turned and began to address the group.
"Ah, so glad you are here, Captain. And you, of course, Detective Bell. Sherlock began, leaning back on his heels before taking a few steps towards them and continuing to speak. Joan followed him slowly, and gazed towards the living room as he spoke, her attention fixed on the fireplace. "Since arriving, I have examined the downstairs rooms as well as the bedrooms. The girls share a bedroom, and from the layout of the room and the articles in it, it is evident that they have fairly dissimilar personalities. Jenny is a keen drawer and painter, with her artistic accomplishments scattered across the walls, and her small sculptures signed with her initials and placed proudly on display. Her work, including the designs and her use of colour, imply that she is extroverted, confident and extremely thorough. She clearly spends a lot of time on her work and prides herself on her precision. Her sister Kate appears to be much more introverted, with her side of the room being very tidy and well organised, everything remaining in its place. She also has a passion for reading. Although there is a fairly sizeable bookcase with an impressive collection of children's literature in the room, which is presumably for both sisters, Kate sleeps in the bed closest to it, and has placed a stack of her favourite books within an arm's reach. She also keeps a small torch under her pillow, presumably for late night reading when she is supposed to be asleep." Sherlock paused for a moment, watching the reactions of the faces of the individuals in the room. They seemed impressed by his observations, but notably perplexed. "Understanding these girls will help us, Captain, I assure you. An understanding of their personalities, habits and preferences could help to predict their likely reactions in given situations. From what I have discussed, I believe it is possible that Jenny would act boldly and spontaneously in a time of crisis, whereas Kate would be much more reserved, and is more likely to follow instructions and think things through carefully than her sister. With these opposite personality types, however, it is difficult to establish how they will react together." Gregson and Bell nodded at Sherlock, before the former turned towards Joan, who had remained quiet.
"Everything okay, Miss Watson?" Gregson asked kindly, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. Joan did not reply immediately, and was still staring into the living room. Sherlock turned towards her and followed her gaze, noticing that she was staring at the mantelpiece.
"Watson?" Sherlock asked, drawing Joan from her thoughts.
"What? Sorry, I... It's just" she began to talk, before moving briskly towards the mantelpiece and picking up one of the framed photographs. The photograph was one taken of the family at the beach. Mr and Mrs Devereaux were leaning towards the camera, and their identical twin girls with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes were standing in front of them, beaming towards the camera. The photograph was held in a shining silver frame of an ornate design, with curved pieces of silver entwining itself around the border of the frame. The photograph and the frame were not particularly relevant, but as Joan carried it back towards the patiently waiting detectives, she realised what it was that had drawn her attention to it, what seemed to be out of place. She walked towards Sherlock and stood slightly in front of him, her calmness and resolve returning to her as she focused her energy completely on the case. She held the frame out in front of him and began to speak. "This frame is beautifully crafted, hand made I would say, and of an ornate design. The material they have used is silver, but if you notice here," she indicated to an area in the middle of the top section of the frame, which was decorated with the silver interlaced materials, "this piece of silver has been damaged. Not accidentally broken, but intentionally cut using some kind of tool, which is evident from the straight edge of the cut. There is a similar line about an inch to the left, too. And the piece of silver which is between these lines is not the same colour as the rest of the frame. It is a good few shades lighter." Sherlock looked down at the frame and nodded, before Gregson and Bell leaned in to look.
"Well done, Watson." Sherlock stated, warmly and kindly. Gregson and Bell looked confused, and turned their attention from Joan to Sherlock, then to each other.
"I'm sorry, I don't see the significance of a damaged picture frame." Detective Bell began.
"That's just it, detective. Miss Watson has established that the frame was not damaged but was intentionally tampered with, and a small piece of it removed and replaced with something else." Sherlock spoke whilst Joan turned the frame around, and gently pushed on the lighter silver between the two lines, causing it to fall into her free hand. She lifted up the piece of silver and handed it to Sherlock, who thanked her. He turned it over in his hands before smiling with satisfaction, nodding to Watson as he turned to face the police officers. "Gentlemen, Miss Watson has found a hidden camera. This family were being watched."
Gregson nodded in amazement, complementing Joan on her observation, before holding his hand out to Sherlock.
"Yeah, and I think we have a pretty good idea who is behind this." On the final word of his sentence, the Captain held up the small metal device. "We looked into the guy Mr Devereaux mentioned earlier, Roberto Massetto, who is currently being held on remand until trial. We had his jail cell searched, and a phone was found hidden inside his mattress. Initial reports suggest that over the past few days he has made several calls to a disposable cell phone. The latest call was made this morning at six forty five, less than an hour before the girls went missing." Sherlock nodded slowly as the Captain spoke, as Joan slowly walked back towards the living room to replace the frame, before standing by Sherlock's side. "The tech guys are trying to trace the call and find out any hidden secrets the phone contains, but it may take a while. In the meantime, we are having Mr Massetto transferred from prison to the precinct, where he should be arriving in" Gregson paused for a moment and stared down at his watch, "about ten minutes. I'd certainly appreciate both of you being present at the interview." Sherlock and Joan assented, and walked briskly from the house. As Sherlock and Joan reached her car, Joan opened the driver's side door and turned towards the house before getting in. She surveyed the house completely, from the bottom to the top, before resting her gaze on the window of the children's bedroom, the glass of which was decorated with several brightly coloured drawings. She considered the ambition, the talent, and the passion of the little girl who produced such beautiful images, and could not bare to think of the very different situation she was in now. She lowered herself slowly into her car, spoke warmly to Sherlock, and followed the Captain's car back to the precinct.
Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct shortly after midday, and found themselves waiting for almost half an hour before the prisoner entered the building. Apparently he had strongly protested to the accusations being made, and was incredibly reluctant to leave prison and be interviewed. By two o'clock Sherlock, Joan, Captain Gregson and Detective Bell had been in the interview room with Roberto Massetto, an attractive man in his mid thirties who was bald, extensively tattooed and wore a permanent expression of the utmost disdain for whoever he happened to be talking to. In the first hour of the interview very little had been ascertained, except for the fact that the prisoner was extremely uncooperative, and strenuously denied any knowledge of the phone. He was also unsure of why something so simple as the possession of prohibited articles meant that he was "dragged kicking and screaming" from his cell to the precinct. By this time, Captain Gregson was fast running out of time and patience, and began to question him in a more direct manner.
"Mr Massetto, we know you have some knowledge of the phone, it was found in your bed and your finger prints are all over it. And I am gonna give you the compliment of assuming that you are not so stupid as to believe that such a find would have us haul you all the way down here." He was leaning forward in his seat and staring intently at the suspect. Joan and Sherlock were stood behind the seated Gregson and Bell, and were watching the interview with great interest. "You made several calls to a disposable cell phone, using this phone" Gregson tapped the evidence bag which contained the phone, drawing Massetto's eyes down to the table. "Now why don't you make this easier for all of us and tell me who you were calling?"
"Like I said, man," Massetto began, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "I don't know nothing about no phone. And I haven't been callin' no one."
"Mr Massetto, I understand that you find this tedious, possibly even amusing" began Sherlock, taking a step forward and staring intently at the prisoner. "But I don't believe you are aware of the gravity of the situation. The children of the man prosecuting you, ADA Devereaux, were abducted this morning, and their mother assaulted. Now, unless you wish to add another two or three decades on to your already inevitably long prison sentence, I suggest you co-operate."
For the first time in the interview, the arrogant expression which was displayed upon the face of Massetto disappeared, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting curiously around the room.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, placing his cuffed hands on the table. "I don't know anything about that, I didn't even know he had kids." Massetto was speaking in a slightly agitated manner, and was clearly now becoming aware of just what the police suspected him of.
"You threatened the man in open court, Mr Massetto. Do you really expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?" Sherlock asked, pressing the issue further. "if you used the phone to arrange the kidnapping of those children, legally you are just as responsible for anything that happens to them as your associates. So I suggest you start talking."
"Whoa, whoa. No, hold on." Massetto began, shifting again in his seat, pressing his chest against the table and leaning forwards. He looked from Sherlock to Gregson, and sighed deeply, staring at the wall for a few seconds before staring back towards Sherlock, who was watching him expectantly. "Alright, man, look. The phone is mine and I did use it, but not for the reason you think, okay?" He shifted once more in his seat, and Gregson leaned back, and was notably more relaxed. It was clear that the prisoner was about to talk. "Okay, I did make some calls to an associate, but it had nothing to do with that ADA guy. I was calling a contact of mine to" he stopped talking suddenly, and rubbed his lips together before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "I called a guy I know who owes me a favour, and I arranged for him to deal with Bennett and Cairns." Gregson looked slightly confused, and looked towards Sherlock, who spoke immediately.
"Phil Bennett and Jessica Cairns? Two of the key prosecution witnesses at your trial?" Sherlock began, interest clear in his tone. "And what was it exactly that you were hoping to 'deal' with?"
Massetto sighed once more and glared reproachfully at Sherlock, who maintained his interested and expectant stare. "Bennett owes ten grand to a loan shark buddy of mine and Cairns is sleeping with her husband's business partner. I was using this as a way of... ensuring that they... have my best interests at heart during the trial."
Gregson snorted as he stared directly at Massetto, his eyes blazing. "You mean you bribed one witness and threatened the other?" Massetto nodded begrudgingly. "Well, that's very interesting, and you can bet we will be looking into it. But if you are capable of that, what is to stop you looking for dirt on other people associated with your trial, huh? Is that why you bugged the Devereauxes' house? Huh?"
Confusion passed across Massetto's face, and he arched his eyebrows with uncertainty as he looked from Gregson to Sherlock, before addressing the Captain. "Bugged what? I didn't bug anyone's house. I don't know anything about that, I swear." He was becoming more and more agitated, and lifted his hands from the table in defeat. Gregson gave him a cynical look, clearly not believing a word he said, so Massetto looked to Sherlock, his pleading eyes imploring his attention. "Look, I admit that I tried to deal with two of the witnesses at my trial, okay? I hold my hands up to that. But I don't know anything about any bug, or any kidnapping. I tampered with those witnesses to try to get myself off the charges, right?" Sherlock nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact with the prisoner, who was becoming more and more desperate. "Okay, so what possible good would doing something to the prosecutor do? Huh? If something happened to him, or to his family, that does not help me at all. There is nothing that I could do to him or his family that would help me at trial." He spoke confidently and with great certainty, pressing his finger on the table for emphasis. "Those witnesses had secrets, right? Secrets I offered to ensure never saw the light of day. I work behind the scenes, I was subtle, I didn't do anything that could be traced back to me. Taking his kinds and hurting his wife, that's risking attention I just don't need, you know? Besides, these witnesses were in the palm of my hand. Until about five minutes ago, I had nothing to worry about in relation to my court date other than what time I needed to be up and showered." He leaned back once more in his chair, and tapped his feet impatiently on the ground. "I don't know what happened to those kids, but I do know that I had nothing to do with it."
The room was silent for a few minutes, until Captain Gregson stood from his seat and addressed the prisoner. "Well, you'll forgive us if we don't take you for your word" he stated, before moving to leave the room, closely followed by Bell, Sherlock and Joan. Once they were out of the room, Joan pulled the door shut and turned to the others. "So, what do you think?" Asked Gregson.
"I'm sorry to say that I believe he's telling the truth, Captain." Began Sherlock in a low, earnest tone. "And he's right, overtly threatening the prosecutor's family would achieve relatively little for him. It was a bold move, very bold and very brazen, which is inconsistent with the other methods which he employed in a vain attempt to secure his freedom. No, Captain, I do not believe that this man had anything to do with the kidnapping. You saw his behaviour change, he was arrogant when he came in. He was so certain that there was nothing we could prove, even if we suspected him of witness tampering. Yet the second I mentioned the kidnapping, he changed completely. He was shocked, it was not expected. In fact, due to his early morning cell check, I very much doubt whether he watched the news this morning, so was probably unaware that the event we are investigating even occurred."
Joan nodded, and turned to Gregson. "I agree with Sherlock. The guy's whole demeanour changes when Sherlock mentioned the missing children. He was terrified, not because of guilt, but because he had no idea what was going on. He no longer had the upper hand in this interview which, with the serious allegations which he clearly knew nothing about, completely changed his whole pattern of behaviour." Detective Bell agreed, and Captain Gregson nodded slowly, rubbing his face with his hands.
"Captain, I appreciate that this was not the result you were hoping for. But there is no cause to completely abandon the gang-related link yet. There are other individuals in the gang who may want to secure their friend's release due to an existing mission, or out of some sense of loyalty. Although, I must tell you, I do not believe this is likely. I think the motive may be something unrelated, I just don't know what that is yet." Sherlock shifted on his feet, shifting his gaze from the interview room to the police officers, then towards Joan, who was looking down at her watch.
"Is there somewhere you have to be, Joan?" Sherlock asked kindly, an air of confusion present in his voice.
"I have a follow-up appointment with my doctor at six, I saw her this morning but she wanted me to come back in the evening for a secondary consultation, although she is confident everything is fine." She spoke calmly and confidently, surprised by the sound of her own voice. She strong disliked lying, especially to Sherlock, but she was confident that waiting for a while before discussing her pregnancy with him was the best course of action, for him and for the missing girls. It would also allow her time to prepare herself for the conversation, and to figure out her own feelings on the subject, before raising the issue with him. She looked up at his face, and looked into his eyes. He was watching her curiously, but did not appear to doubt her.
"Of course, yes." He responded, nodding. "Well, as you have just over an hour before you need to leave, would you care to go over the current evidence with me, see if there is anything we may have overlooked?"
Joan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to continue assisting with the case. She also hoped that a fresh perspective on the evidence may prove to be illuminating.
"The files are in my office, which you are both welcome to use." Gregson stated, before lifting his phone from his pocket. "In the meantime, I'm gonna go and talk to our tech guys, see if they've found anything on the device Miss Watson found this morning." He nodded to Sherlock and Joan before departing with Detective Bell, who thanked them for their assistance, and told them to call him immediately if they found anything. Sherlock and Joan spent the next hour in Gregson's office, trawling through some of the cases which ADA Devereaux had been working on over the past couple of months, as well as examining the witness statements and preliminary reports pertaining to the current case. After a rather fruitless hour, Joan rose to leave, telling Sherlock that she would meet him at the brownstone later that evening. Sherlock looked up from the file he was reading and watched Joan as she spoke, wishing her well and stating that he would be at the brownstone by the time she got there. She smiled kindly at him and departed.
On the car ride over to the doctor's surgery Joan found that, for the first time sine her phone conversation with her doctor earlier in the day, she was dedicating every ounce of her thought and her being into thinking about her pregnancy. Due to the events of the day, and the surprise of the news, it did not feel quite real. Despite this, she felt the same pangs of fear and apprehension which she had experienced before, and felt her mouth dry yet again as she pulled into the car park. The car park was virtually empty, with just a few staff vehicles present. The surgery itself was equally quiet, and Joan strolled past a janitor who was cleaning beneath the seats. She walked directly towards Dr Costello's room, paused outside the door, and raised her hand to knock. Before her hand could connect with the door, she stopped herself. For the first time that day, she felt as though she was experiencing a moment of complete clarity regarding her condition. She was pregnant. She was carrying Sherlock's baby. And she was about to talk about it with another person. Joan swallowed before raising her hand and knocking confidently upon the door, before opening it slowly at the invitation of the familiar voice on the other side. As she opened the door, Dr Costello turned in her chair to face her, offering her a kind and sympathetic smile.
"Miss Watson, hello. Please, take a seat." She picked up a file from her desk and flicked through it as Joan took her seat. She placed her bag by her side and clasped her hands tightly in her lap, watching as the doctor perused her file.
"Okay, as we discussed earlier on the phone, your test results have come back and reveal that you are pregnant. I had these double checked for you, and the result was confirmed." Dr Costello closed the folder and placed it on her desk, before turning to face Joan. "Now, as you have sustained an injury recently, and due to the symptoms you were describing earlier, I would like to make sure that you and your baby are okay." She spoke gently, a small smile crossing her lips at the end of her statement. "That is, of course, if you are happy to proceed with the pregnancy. I understand that you need some time to consider-"
"No, no I don't need time, thank you." Joan began, recovering her confidence as she continued to speak. "I want to keep the baby." She said, pausing and reflecting upon her words. Joan had been thinking about her options on the way over, considering each one both medically and emotionally, in an attempt to prepare her for this conversation. She had felt certain that she wished to keep the baby, and as soon as the doctor mentioned something otherwise, she found that she could not stop herself from interrupting. As she was reviewing her thoughts, her hands unclasped themselves and moved slowly towards her stomach which she seemed to be completely unaware of. Dr Costello had noticed, though, and smiled at her reassuringly.
"Okay, Miss Watson. Then, if you are comfortably, I would like to give you an ultrasound, just to be safe." She smiled once more and watched Joan carefully. Joan nodded, placing her hands on the side of her chair and standing up. Dr Costello also stood, and walked towards the bed at the far right of the room. Joan approached the bed slowly, her attention leaving it for a moment as she stared at the ultrasound machine to the side of the bed. Seeing the machine reawakened her previous fears and anxiety, and she breathed in deeply before seating herself on the edge of the bed. "Miss Watson," began the doctor as she moved towards the ultrasound machine, "when you are ready, I need you to lie down, make yourself comfortable, and unbutton your blouse for me, okay?" Joan nodded, and began to undo the buttons on the bottom half of her smooth, white blouse. She then pushed each side of the blouse aside and eased herself back onto the bed, leaning tiredly into the comfort of the warm, soft pillow. For the past few minutes she had been trying to remain calm, to focus. She was worried about her baby. Although she knew that dizziness was perfectly normal, ever since discovering that she was pregnant she found herself running through all the medical conditions she was aware of which had dizziness as a symptom. She exhaled slowly as she felt the cold gel pool onto her abdomen, before Dr Costello began to move the wand across her abdomen. Joan looked up at the ceiling, afraid to look at the monitor. She was worried that, by pushing herself that morning, she may have harmed the baby that she did not know she was carrying. The thought of the baby being harmed in any way terrified her, and she felt torn between her current state of uncertainty and panic and looking towards the screen. But she was drawn from her thoughts instantly by her doctor, who posed a question which Joan assented to immediately.
"Miss Watson, would you like to see your baby?" Joan exhaled slowly and nodded, before turning her head towards the screen. Her eyes welled up with what she saw. As soon as she saw the image of her baby on the screen, she felt as though her breath was taken from her body. She felt an indescribable pull towards the beautiful, tiny human being whose heart was beating strongly and healthily inside her own. For a few minutes, the fear and anxiety which she had been battling melted away, and she stared at the screen in absolute awe and amazement, before smiling. "Your baby is perfectly healthy, Miss Watson. Very strong heart beat, developing nicely." The doctor stated, turning to face Joan. "From this scan I can tell that you are around eight weeks along. And everything is perfect, you have absolutely nothing to worry about." The doctor smiled at her reassuringly, before printing off a picture of the baby and passing Joan some tissues, which she used to wipe the remaining gel from her stomach before re-buttoning her blouse. As she did so, the last words of her doctor swam in her mind. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Joan breathed in deeply, rethinking the words over and over again. Her baby was safe, healthy, strong and developing wonderfully, which provided her with the greatest degree of comfort and happiness that she had ever felt before. But after the last words of the doctor, Joan found herself thinking of the main thing she was worried about: telling Sherlock Holmes that he was going to be a father.