Joan stared ahead at the figure in front of her, her eyes widening as the doors slowly opened, and the darkly-dressed individual took a step towards her, raising the knife slightly in the air. The figure was completely covered by dark clothing, with the only sign of life beneath being a pair of piercing blue eyes which were glaring at Joan. As soon as the doors opened enough for the figure to pass through, it did, walking straight towards Joan, the blade raised in the air. Joan acted immediately, raising her hands to grab the knife. She wrapped both of her hands around the bottom of the blade, pushing down with force upon the gloved hand of the bearer. They struggled like this for a few moments, before the assailant twisted Joan's hands slightly, before pushing her against the wall with such force that she found herself being temporarily winded.

As Joan struggled to regain control of her breathing, her attacker's free arm was pushed against her throat, pinning her to the wall. The two individuals fought each other for a few moments, Joan battling to maintain her hold on the knife which was glistening in front of her, whilst attempting to breathe normally. The pressure on her neck was increasing, preventing her from breathing steadily, let alone scream. Joan's breathing increased and she began to feel tired and light-headed, as she continued to attempt to pull the blade from the hand of her attacker, who increased the pressure on Joan's neck at the action. After a few moments, Joan felt her arms feel heavy and her limbs become tired and weak, and her grasp slowly fell from the hilt of the knife. As she did so, she felt herself slump against the wall slightly, her head falling slightly to the side. She was willing herself to stay awake, forcing her eyes to remain open, and fixed upon the hand holding the knife, which was just inches from her face. After a few moments, Joan felt the arm which was pressed against her neck relinquish its hold slightly, and her eyes widened as she took in a deep, revitalising breath. As the attacker's arm moved slightly from her neck, their other hand was drawn back to near their head, raising the knife in a threatening manner, their intentions clear.

Joan's eyes were drawn to the risen blade, which she found to be an incredibly sobering and action-inspiring stunt. Within a second, adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and she found herself feeling more alert than ever before. As the attacker attempted to stab her, she grabbed their wrist, leaning slightly to the side as she forced the blade of the knife into the wall. The first inch or so of the blade was firmly implanted into the wall, in a space mere inches from her face, as she continued to attempt to push the attacker back. The attacker was pulling at the blade desperately, but was prevented from removing it by its position in the wall, and by the renewed strength of Joan, whose eyes were ablaze. After a couple of seconds, the attacker pulled the knife from the wall, and would have made another attempt on Joan's life, had it not been for the fact that the noise from the hallway had attracted the attention of the detectives working in the room at the end of the corridor. Before the attacker could attempt a second blow, the sounds of the struggle had drawn Sherlock and Gregson from the room, and the pair were standing at the other end of the corridor, having rushed from the crime scene to the sounds of distress. Joan was aware of movement from Sherlock, and could vaguely make out some instructions which Gregson was barking at a small cluster of officers who were pooling out from the crime scene.

"Watson!" Sherlock yelled, running towards her as he saw the hooded figure brandishing a blade inches from the face of his companion. Joan's eyes turned to face him immediately, but her hands did not loosen their grip upon the wrist of her attacker. However, the sight of Sherlock and Gregson, as well as a couple of other officers who had rushed from the room to investigate the commotion, caused the assailant to re-think their actions. Joan felt the hand which she was holding be pulled back instantly, with such force that she fell against the wall once more, her shoulder aching from the repeated contact. Instead of approaching her once more, the figure moved past her and ran back towards the elevator, leaping inside and pushing the buttons furiously. The elevator doors closed behind the figure almost immediately, and Joan watched the elevator absent-mindedly for a few moments, until the sound of the 'ping' as the doors fully closed drew her from her reverie. Joan closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, placing a shaking hand over her mouth as she attempted to re-establish her breathing. She was vaguely aware of the sound of approaching footsteps, and found her eyes snapping open as she felt a pair of strong and familiar hands grip the tops of her arms tightly, pulling her gently up the wall and into a more secure standing position.

"Joan" the voice called breathlessly, drawing her attention to Sherlock's face, as he pulled her tightly to him. She found herself leaning into him gratefully, her head resting on his shoulder, as she moved her hands slowly up his back. She found herself regaining her self-control and confidence, the contact they shared alleviating her fears. She turned her head slightly so that her left cheek rested against his own, and she began to whisper earnestly in his ear, her voice still uncertain and slightly shaken.

"It's okay, I'm fine" she stated simply, as she felt his grip upon her tightening. "I'm okay."

Joan felt herself sobered by the her renewed sense of safety and comfort, but more so by the surprising actions of Sherlock. Despite their recent romantic encounters, which had brought them together in a similar level of physical proximity, there was something different about their current encounter. This level of closeness, of platonic intimacy, is something which they usually only experienced in private. The fact that he was holding her close to him, supporting her with one hand whilst running the other gently down the back of her neck as she leaned into him, whilst Gregson, Bell and a couple of other officers were staring at the scene before them, was something which made their closeness seem so surreal. Sherlock had never shown this level of physical closeness or consideration for Joan to anyone other than her, which made their current embrace seem so different and so unusual. And yet, despite them both being aware of the eyes which were glaring at them with such incredible intensity, they did not feel uncomfortable or unnatural. In fact, their current embrace felt more natural and more comforting than anything else that they had shared to date. Despite their previous conversation on the boat, and the fact that Joan was clearly concerned about where their relationship was leading, they were both comforted by their current level of physical contact. They stayed in this position for several seconds, with Joan repeating that she was 'okay' and 'fine' every few seconds, in an attempt to reassure Sherlock. Although he appeared perfectly calm, the way in which he was holding Joan, and the closeness which he was attempting to establish between them, made her realise just how much he was struggling to hold

himself together at that moment.

"Sherlock" she whispered, as she felt his heart race against her own, just as it had done when they had been dancing. The memory of the dance, and of the feelings of exhilaration and invincibility which she had experienced during it, gave her a new degree of confidence and reassurance which she did not realise that she was capable of possessing at that moment. "Sherlock" she repeated, in a much more confident and normal tone than she had done previously. She felt him adjust himself against her, lowering his hand down her back as he slowly drew his head from hers, cupping the back of her head as he stared down at her intensely, his eyes darting all across her. "It's okay" she soothed, pressing her hand against his heart, causing him to release a shuddering breath. He stared at her for a few moments, his eyes softening as they met hers, before his face adopted a guilt-ridden expression which she desperately wished to alleviate.

"What happened?" He asked delicately, inhaling deeply as he did so.

"I..." she began, glancing from Sherlock to Gregson, who was standing a few steps away from her, with Bell and the other officers rushing about the scene, looking at the elevator before organising themselves quickly. "Something was off with the elevator, but I didn't know what exactly. I came down here to investigate it and-"

"Wait, Watson" Sherlock began, his voice low and tentative, with just the slightest degree of surprise entering his tone. "You thought something was wrong and you chose to investigate alone? Without telling anyone of your suspicions?"

"I didn't have suspicions" she returned, speaking to him gently in order to attempt to reassure him, and placate his rising concerns. "I just noticed that something was off, and I thought that I could-"

"Go off? By yourself? Without telling anyone?" he responded immediately, his voice becoming agitated as he drummed his fingers against the side of his legs, his eyes blazing. "Watson you cannot-"

"Hey, you do it all the time" she returned, a look of incredulity lighting her features. Before she could continue, she realised how distressed Sherlock seemed, and how disturbed he was by what had happened. He was not angry at her, he was angry at the situation she had been in. It was obvious that he held himself responsible, and was currently blaming himself for being unable to protect her from yet another threat to her life. His blame was unnecessary, and she did not believe him to be at all accountable for what she had just experienced. She just hoped that she could make him realise it too. "I didn't know that someone was behind the door, I couldn't possibly know. I came down, realised that the sign was written quickly and recently, and figured that something was being concealed inside. I didn't know that it was a person." She stated gently, tilting her head towards him so that their eyes met. "I didn't know what was in there, I didn't even know exactly what it was that drew me to it. But I didn't think there was a person inside. How could I?" she began, speaking gently to him as she saw the concern and repressed anguish dancing in his eyes as he stared at her with a mixture of fear and amazement. "We go off and investigate things all the time, without informing the other of precisely what it is we are doing. I didn't... I didn't think this was dangerous. As I said, I had no reason to believe that someone was hiding in the elevator-"

"That's because no one should have been" Sherlock said simply, his eyes glazing over for a moment, before he turned from Joan to face Captain Gregson, who was standing a few feet behind him in the corridor, watching Joan with concern. "This area should have been cleared, Captain." Sherlock stated bluntly, as Joan's glance shifted from Sherlock to the Captain, who inhaled deeply and leaned his head back slightly, preparing himself for what he knew would be an argument.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Watson" Gregson began compassionately, staring from her to Sherlock as she addressed the latter's statement. "But my guys did check the area, and they-"

"Oh yes, well, they did a bang up job, Captain, yes" Sherlock began, taking a step towards Gregson, who simply maintained his position, watching Sherlock with caution and anticipation. "Yes, they only missed the knife-wielding serial killer hiding out in a lift, but apart from that, well, yes, fantastic. Commendations all round!"

"Sherlock" Joan stated in a cautionary and authoritative tone, causing his glare upon Gregson to waver slightly, and the anger from his voice to dissipate momentarily, before returning with full force.

"Your error almost cost Watson her life" he stated coolly, his eyes wide and reprimanding, as he took a further step towards Gregson, who remained planted on the spot.

"Holmes, I get it, you're right, we did screw up. And I am sorry, Miss Watson. I don't know how we could have missed it-"

"Nor do I, Captain. But you did. And as a result-"

"So did you, Holmes" Gregson returned, planting his hands in his pockets as he took a step towards Sherlock, whose eyes were burning with anger and repressed rage. "You saw exactly what I saw, you knew the elevator was there and you saw the signs. You saw what I saw, what my men saw, what we all saw. But you didn't connect it to the crime, you didn't connect it to danger. You didn't see anything out of place. Only Miss Watson did." He stated calmly, watching Sherlock's expression as he continued to speak. "She succeeded where she failed, and she almost paid the highest price for it. And you're right, we should have checked that area, it should have been cleared. But the failing was not just mine, Holmes."

Joan could sense the tension in the room, and knew that Sherlock was teetering on the edge of calmness. She knew that it was taking all of his self-control and all of his sanity to maintain the current level of calmness that he was displaying. She took a step towards him and placed a hand on his left arm, which was incredibly tense beneath her touch. She looked up towards his face and saw that his eyes bore a glassy and bewildered expression, which concerned her greatly.

"Sherlock" she called gently, tightening her grip on his arm, but with no affect. He remained standing firmly on the spot, his eyes wild, his entire body tense. "Sherlock" she repeated, before moving her hand slowly down his arm and placing her fingers over his clenched fist. She felt him shift slightly in his position, and his arm trembled before becoming slightly more relaxed, comforted by the familiar feeling of her touch. His fingers separated slightly, not much, but just enough to allow her to place her fingers over his own and squeeze gently, which seemed to draw him from his reverie. He blinked a couple of times, and his head tilted slightly to the side, so he was facing her once more. His eyes were wide and glassy, and he was looking at her with deep concern and complete adoration. She returned his stare for a moment, before beginning to speak, glancing from Sherlock to the Captain as she addressed them both.

"What happened was nobody's fault, alright? No one failed, no one screwed up. The elevator appeared to be out of order, there was no reason to question that. It's understandable that it was overlooked during the primary clearing of the scene." She stated with conviction, before staring at Sherlock as she continued. "We literally only just got the call, and the latest victim has not been dead for more than an hour. There was absolutely no reason to believe that the killer was still on site, and certainly not that they were hiding out in a broken-down elevator."

"That is precisely why scenes must be cleared, Watson" Sherlock spoke gently, all traces of remonstration and anger removed from his voice. "The strangest and unlikeliest of places often play refuge to those who do not wish to be found." He watched Joan for a few more moments, before closing his eyes briefly and turning to Gregson. "You're right, Captain. Not about the scene, of course. It was not cleared properly and it should have been. And it was your error that almost cost Miss Watson her life." He stated brazenly, causing Joan to shift uncomfortably on the spot. Before she could respond, Sherlock continued to speak. "You are right in what you said, though. About errors and about failure. You didn't notice, your men didn't notice, but nor did I." His voice adopted a reflective and absent-minded tone, which disappeared as soon as it had arrived. "But we all failed her, Captain. Not just you, not your team, not me. All of us."

"My men gave chase, Holmes" the Captain answered placatingly, temporarily regretting the tone which he had adopted previously, and the words he had uttered in anger. He and Sherlock were doing the same thing: each were blaming the other to avoid the worrying conclusion that they themselves may be responsible for the nearly-fatal incident which had just befallen one of the people they cared about. Both men shifted their focus from each other and to Joan, who was considering what to say next. She felt tired and emotionally drained, and her recent shoulder injury was throbbing, with the same burning sensation which she had experienced before. Not that she would admit this to Sherlock and Gregson, of course. It would simply reignite the embers of their most recent argument.

"Watson, are you alright?" Sherlock asked kindly, his voice heavy with concern as he turned to face her completely, his back blocking her from Gregson's view.

"Yes, Sherlock" she returned immediately, offering him a small smile. "I'm unharmed."

"Are you." He stated, in more of a declarative tone rather than a question. "Watson, I do not believe that you are." Joan watched him for a moment, her eyes glistening as they met his. In all honesty, she was not okay. But the adrenaline which she had experienced just a few minutes ago was still running through her veins, causing her to feel as though she were flying high, and was almost invincible. She could feign good health and contentment for the moment, but she knew that it could not last forever. She would crash, and she knew it. She was just absolutely determined to ensure that no one else would be there to see it.

"It's okay, Sherlock. It happened so fast, and you guys were here in no time. I'm fine. Now, we need to get to the scene, in order to-"

"Watson, no, absolutely not" Sherlock stated incredulously, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he met her puzzled expression. "I am taking you home. We will return to the precinct in the morning if you are feeling fully recovered, and we will-"

"No" she stated simply, shaking her head slightly. "I'm fine, Sherlock, really. Right now, we need to focus on the case. We're here now, and the scene is just at the end of the corridor. I'm not gonna let you take me home and let me wallow in self-pity. I'm going to do something constructive and I am going to help with this case."

"Watson" he stated calmly yet with conviction and an unmistakable air of authority. "After what you have been through in the past few hours-"

"Someone has killed three women in less than forty-eight hours, Sherlock. We don't have time for this conversation, or to carry out what you are suggesting." She was speaking authoritatively yet tentatively, her tone kind and gentle, almost soothing. She needed to make him understand that her taking a temporary leave of absence from the case would be counter-productive, personally and professionally. "Look, we'll... We'll go in now, spend a few minutes at the scene, and then head to the precinct. If there's an issue, if something is wrong, we can leave. But right now, we need to examine the scene. Okay?"

Sherlock watched her for a moment, and she felt as though she could almost see his thoughts and his array of logical arguments racing through his mind. He knew he would be unable to convince her otherwise, and he knew that she would only continue to fight his suggestions, which would eat up the reserves of her energy which she was currently low on. Still, he did not feel comfortable allowing her to investigate such a bloody and brutal crime, especially when the body of the young woman which was lying mere meters from their current position could have very easily been her own.

"Alright, Watson" he stated in a low, barely-perceptible tone. "We will examine the scene. But on the strict condition that you tell me the moment you begin to feel-"

"Yes, yes, fine." She stated, offering him a small, weak smile. "I will." Sherlock watched her uncertainly for a few moments, before nodding regretfully, and turning to face Gregson.

"Captain, may we?" he asked cordially, in an attempt to rebuild the bridges between himself and Gregson. Gregson nodded politely, indicating towards the door at the end of the corridor, as Sherlock and Joan walked forwards. Gregson followed closely behind, watching Joan as she walked. She was slightly shaken, and her steps were tentative and cautious. Underneath her mask, and beneath the bravado, she was not okay. It was not until this moment that Gregson realised just how far past alright she truly was.

As they approached the opened door which led to the office where the young woman's body lay, Gregson watched Joan intently. She did not hesitate or appear uncomfortable. She did not pause to reflect, or ask a question, or do anything which would deflect from the current situation and allow herself time to prepare herself. Instead, she walked confidently through the threshold, nodding politely to the officer standing on duty, and passed through the office space until she reached the leather couch beneath the window on the fall-right wall, where the familiar sight of the bloodied body of a young woman greeted her. This time, the woman was lying on the couch, one leg over the edge, her head facing the back of the sofa. Her right hand was raised, and lay closed-palmed by her face, which was obscured from view. Like the other women, she was a young, dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties, in an expensively tailored suit, working late in her office. Joan walked slowly across the room and towards her body, considering her from a distance, before taking a step forward and examining her more closely. Sherlock and Gregson watched her with a mixture of interest and concern, before the latter broke the silence with the familiar sound of his deep, confident voice.

"Victim's name is Alana Morentez, aged thirty-two. She has a high-managerial role here at the company, and was known to the previous victim, who worked in this building. Apparently the two of them used to have lunch together, and occasionally worked together on some work-related issues. The most recent one was the negotiation of a business deal with a client in Japan. Miss Morentez is engaged, and resided with her fiance in the Upper-West Side. He is being notified of her death as we speak, as are her mother and father, who are currently visiting relatives in Hawaii." Sherlock nodded in understanding, informing the Captain that he was listening. However, all of his attention was fixed on Joan, who had moved from her position near the body and was approaching Sherlock and Gregson.

"There are some cardboard boxes in the corner of the room, and her desk is almost bare" Joan began, indicating towards a small area at the back of the room. "Was Miss Morentez moving?"

"No" Gregson began, speaking gently as he addressed her question, impressed by her insight and awareness, especially after recent events. "No, our victim had only just moved into the office. She's been working here for about two weeks, recently transferring herself from a rival company in the city. She had been in a smaller office, but required a larger one to deal with one-to-one client negotiations, so her bosses moved her in here. It's why she was staying so late, according to her PA."

"Is her PA here?" Joan asked. "Can we talk to her?"

"No, no she's not here." Gregson stated, rubbing his hand across his chin as he glanced from Joan to the body of Alana Morentez, and then back to Joan. Seeing them in the same vicinity, examining the injuries of the victim alongside the physical well-being of Joan Watson, made the reality of Joan's near-death experience all the more harrowing. She had been through so much recently, first being kidnapped, and now this. Watching her talking so calmly and so normally after such experiences filled him with a mixture of awe and confusion, which he tried to analyse. He knew that Joan Watson was the type of person who is wonderful at concealing her pain, and her anguish. But he also knew that, like all people, she had a breaking point. And he feared that she would not be able to handle much more pressure and strain. Certainly not from an area which he had recently been made aware of.

"The PA's name is Maria Lennard, who called the office number a couple of minutes after my guys arrived. One of them picked it up, identified himself as a cop, and spoke to the woman. Miss Lennard was apparently very upset, very emotional, and informed the officer that Miss Morentez was staying late this evening to finish unpacking the office. Miss Lennard

was calling her to make sure she was aware that an appointment for the next day had been moved forward an hour." Joan nodded in understanding, before turning back towards the body, then facing Sherlock and Gregson once more.

"I'd say she's been dead for just over an hour. She has four penetrating stab wounds to the abdomen, but no defensive marks. But that may not be too surprising..." she stated, her voice trailing off as she turned and walked back to the body. "Has your ME examined her fully?"

"Yeah, yeah" Gregson began, as he and Sherlock walked slowly towards her. "Go ahead."

Joan put on a pair of latex gloves and slowly approached the young woman's body, before placing one hand on the top of her head and the other on the base of her jaw, before tilting her head slowly towards them.

"It's not completely clear yet, but there is slight discolouration just under her chin" Joan stated, before taking a few steps back and removing her gloves. "I think the assailant stabbed her with his right hand, whilst pinning her back against the couch with his right arm. He applied pressure to her upper neck, which prevented her from moving or crying out." Joan's voice lowered slightly, before trailing off completely. She then turned to face Sherlock and Gregson, before continuing to speak in a much more normal and confident manner. "Is there anything else we should be aware of?" she asked Gregson, who was watching her with concern. Her focus was so devoted to Gregson, in an attempt to avoid the gaze of Sherlock, that she did not see the pained expression upon the face of the latter. Which was just as well, really. It is unlikely she would have been able to handle it.

"No, no. As with the others, no evidence was recovered from the scene, and no immediately connection has been made between this victim and the first. Although she and the second are linked, it isn't exactly a breakthrough. They worked in the same building, so it's understandable."

"It's still relevant, Captain" interceded Sherlock, as he glanced across the room once more. "It's certainly worth investigating further." Gregson nodded in agreement, before verbally agreeing with Sherlock's statement.

"I think we've got all we can get from here" began Gregson, glancing from the room to the doorway. "I'll have my guys examine the elevator and the surrounding area. We'll also examine the wall, it should confirm whether the knife used on Miss Watson is the same one that was used in the crimes."

"Of course" responded Joan, eager to speak before Sherlock had the chance. Whilst she did not fear another outburst on his part, she did anticipate one. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I'll need a statement, Miss Watson" he replied hesitantly, shifting slightly on the spot. Joan nodded in understanding, pulling on the latex tip of one of the gloves she was holding, before walking slowly towards the doorway.

"Absolutely" she stated simply, offering him a kind smile, before strolling confidently through the office and towards the door. Sherlock and Gregson exchanged a look, before following closely behind her.

The trio arrived at the precinct a few minutes later, with Detective Bell and a few other officers close behind them. Gregson led Sherlock and Joan through the doors to the building and towards the familiar investigation room, which hosted the boards and files containing all information relating to their current case. Joan stepped slowly into the room, crossing it and walking towards the empty table, before taking a seat. Gregson, Sherlock and Bell entered the room immediately afterwards. Bell walked slowly towards Joan, drawing a chair out from a nearby table, and sitting himself down directly in front of her. She watched him with interest for a few moments, already aware of what he was about to ask.

"Miss Watson, do you feel ready to give a statement about earlier?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course" Joan replied simply, in as normal and confident a tone as she could muster. "Whatever you need."

Bell turned towards Gregson, who was standing next to Sherlock at the other end of the room. Gregson returned the stare, before turning to Sherlock and leaning towards him. "You got a minute?" Sherlock hesitated, not moving his fixed glance from Joan.

"Captain" he began in a low and barely audible tone. "I hardly think that-"

"She'll find it easier to talk if we aren't here, Holmes. You know that. She will talk more openly and more freely without fear of upsetting you."

Sherlock sighed, nodding slowly at Gregson's statement, before pursing his lips and turning from the Captain to Joan, who was talking quietly to Bell.

"Watson, Captain Gregson requires my assistance. I will be in his office if you need anything."

"Of course" she stated in the same pleasant and amiable tone she had used with Bell. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded, before walking from the room and towards Gregson's office. The Captain moved ahead of him, unlocking the door and indicating for him to go inside. Sherlock walked past him, his arms resting by his sides, before turning on the spot to face Gregson as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. At first, Sherlock had believed that Gregson's words had been nothing more than a rouse to get him out of the room, and allow Joan and Bell the chance to discuss the incident in the best and most comfortable situation for all parties. But now, he became acutely aware of the possibility of there being more to Gregson's words than he had initially realised. The Captain was standing in an imposing yet notably agitated manner, and had his hands planted firmly in his pockets, whilst he stared at Sherlock with a mixture of remonstration and confusion.

"What is it, Captain?" Sherlock asked after a few seconds.

"Take a seat" the Captain stated kindly, indicating towards the couch at the back of his office.

"Thank you, but I'd prefer to stand" Sherlock returned, in a voice which was devoid of cruelty or difficulty. He simply had no wish to make himself feel comfortable when Joan was reliving one of the most traumatising and frightening moments of her life. "What is it?" he asked, wishing to draw his attention as far from the subject as he could.

"It's Joan" Gregson stated simply, walking over to his desk and leaning against it, placing his hands on the top of it as he watched Sherlock with interest. His features were soft, but could not hide his concern. He was speaking gently, and in a comforting and reassuring tone, but one which clearly revealed deep-seated fear and reservations.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked cautiously, uncertain of where this particular line of questioning was leading.

"Look, I-" Gregson began, raising one hand in the air before allowing it to fall by his side once more. "I don't know the exact... nature of your relationship, but... but what I do know is that, until recently at least, it has always remained one of... friendship. Complex, yet. Not traditional, of course. But then again, I doubt that you have traditional or conventional relationships, even ones with friends." Gregson stated, as Sherlock continued to watch him with concern and mild confusion.

"I'm sorry, Captain" Sherlock began gently, turning on the spot to face his colleague directly. "But I am not quite sure what it is that you are asking me."

"It's none of my business, Holmes. God knows it isn't. Please understand that I am only bringing this up because I care about you. Both of you. And I wanna make absolutely sure that you are both alright." Sherlock did not respond to this statement immediately, but slowly nodded a few seconds later, permitting the Captain to continue. "Are you guys involved?"

"Involved?" Sherlock repeated, pronouncing the word very carefully, as he continued to watch the Captain with an impassive expression.

"Romantically, I mean." Gregson added for clarification, but in a gentle and non-accusational tone. He did not wish Sherlock to feel uncomfortable, but he felt certain that this line of inquiry was necessary.

"I don't understand why you-"

"The way you were with her today" he responded simply, anticipating Sherlock's next question. "The way you acted after her attack, the way you comforted her, and how you-"

"A serial killer had almost slain her in a corridor less than thirty yards from a small army of police officers. I think I can be forgiven for comforting-"

"Holmes, Holmes, this is not an interrogation, okay? And it certainly isn't some kind of criticism. It's just... something that I observed, something I have been wondering about for a few days now, and something which I felt I needed to address."

"Needed to address" Sherlock repeated. "Why?"

"I told you, Holmes. It's because I care about you both. And when you care about people, you sometimes find yourself asking them things, posing questions, that they find uncomfortable. And believe me, I take no great pleasure in invading your privacy. And even less so in invading hers."

"Then why are you?" Sherlock asked, his voice low and confused, but not cruel or confrontational. He was not being difficult or rude, instead, his tone simply revealed his uncertainty at this line of questioning, and its rationale. "And why is it something you believe needs to be discussed?"

"Because I don't think you are aware of just how much she cares about you."

Sherlock paused for a moment, allowing Gregson's words to sink in, and considering them for a few more moments before responding. "Surely if we were romantically involved, I would have a fair understanding of how she... of how she feels?"

"No" Gregson stated gently, shaking his head as he continued to talk to Sherlock in the same kind and paternal tone that he always adopted when they had these kinds of conversations. "I think Joan is one of the most complex people you have met, and that's part of what attracts you to her. Platonically, romantically, whatever." He stated, ensuring that Sherlock was aware that this conversation was not some gossip-driven attempt at invading his or Joan's privacy but was, rather, simply a friend expressing his concern for people he cared about. "And one of the greatest things about her is her compassion. It's what makes her who she is, and it is one of the reasons why she sees things that other people miss. She understands people, Holmes. She knows how best to reach out to people, to protect them. Everything she does, and everything she has done, has revolved around taking care of people. Physically, when she was a doctor. Emotionally, when she was a companion. And now, she is protecting people physically and emotionally, often at the expense of herself."

"You believe she is sacrificing herself for me?" Sherlock stated simply, his tone lowering. "Or to me, perhaps?"

Gregson breathed in slowly, considering how best to phrase his response. "I believe that... whatever you guys have, is your own. It's something that has nothing to do with anyone else, just yourselves. Which is why I find this particular conversation so difficult. I don't wanna be asking you these questions because I respect you. As an investigator, and as a human being. I also respect Joan Watson, and everything she stands for. It is out of that respect that I am discussing this with you." Gregson paused for a moment, pushing himself against his desk so he was standing in an upright position, and facing Sherlock directly. "Whatever you guys have, whatever your relationship entails, is something which many people will not understand. But whatever it is, whatever you have, works. Usually. When there are clear boundaries between two people, boundaries which are agreed upon and which are strong, their friendship or their partnership can remain strong. But when those boundaries are blurred, it becomes confusing. Less certain, and more problematic."

"What are you saying, Captain?" Sherlock asked after a few moments, his mind a whir with Gregson's words. He was not overly offended by what could be perceived as Gregson's intrusion into his and Joan's personal lives, as he truly believed that Gregson was being honest about his reasoning, and that his intentions were genuine.

"I'm saying that she needs stability now. More than ever. She needs support, she needs comfort, and she needs consistency" Gregson began, pronouncing each word with care. "What she does not need is confusion. She has enough of that going on right now. After what she's been through, she needs to be able to relax, to breathe, to take a break. Adding to what she's going through already, no matter how good your intentions or how sure you guys believe you are, may be detrimental to her."

"You're saying I am hurting her?" Sherlock asked, his voice unable to conceal the pain her felt at uttering those words. "Captain, I assure you, I-"

"I know you would never intent to, Holmes" Gregson responded, raising an open-palmed hand in a defensive gesture. "I know you care about her deeply. More than you understand, and more than you can describe. I also know that you're aware of just how vulnerable she is right now."

"I would never take advantage of her-"

"I know" Gregson stated with conviction. "You would never intend on taking advantage. You've taken advantage of her abilities before now, in the beginning of your partnership. But since getting to know her, respecting her, you have done everything in your power not to. But the thing is, we all do it, even to the people we care about. Without realising it, we gain from them. We take from them what we believe we need, what they are willing to give. Usually, one of those people, usually the giver, realises that they are unable to continue doing so, because of what it is doing to them. But Joan is not one of those people" the Captain continued, watching Sherlock as he continued to speak. "She will give you everything, at the expense of herself. I don't mean romantically. I don't believe she would give herself to you in that sense, not if it wasn't what she truly wanted. What I am saying is that she needs time to recover before she is able to make that kind of decision. She is the giver, Sherlock. And she needs to stop. She needs to focus on herself right now, and the only way she can do that is with your help."

"I am helping her, Captain" Sherlock began in a sombre tone. "I am doing everything I am capable of to ensure that she feels able to deal with what she has been through. And I believe it is working. She has recently began to open up about... about the incident. She is making progress. But these things take time."

"Exactly" Gregson stated amiably. "She needs time, Holmes. She needs to focus on herself right now, not on anyone else. Certainly not on something as huge as a change in your relationship" he continued, watching Sherlock with interest. "Do you get where I'm coming from? I don't wanna intrude or cause problems, I just-"

"I understand, Captain. And I am grateful for your consideration, of myself and of Watson." Sherlock began, speaking in a soft, low tone which he did not recognise. "And I... I believe you may be right. She is uncertain of what it is that she would like, and it is important that this subject is subordinated to her own health and well-being. But I cannot help but think that the two may be linked."

"Whaddaya mean?" Gregson asked.

"I am concerned that it is too late" Sherlock stated simply. "And that, whatever happens between us, will not alter what has already happened."

"You mean... you guys have-"

"No" Sherlock stated simply, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he spoke. "No, Watson and I share quite another type of intimacy. It is something which, before tonight, I believed that she wished to develop further. But she is clearly uncertain, and I made it clear that I had no intention of doing anything to influence her desires, or make her feel uncomfortable."

"That's because you care about her, Sherlock." Gregson stated simply. "And to put another person before yourself. Especially for you to be able to do that" he stated, the latter part of his statement uttered in a slightly lighter tone. "Speaks volumes about how you feel about her." Sherlock did not respond to this statement, but simply considered the words for a few moments as they swam in his mind. Discussing this matter with Gregson felt incredibly surreal, and yet, the Captain was usually the one who acted as his moral-compass, the angel on his shoulder, in all issues Joan-Watson.

"I do not wish to influence her decision either way, Captain. It is something she must decide upon by herself."

"I agree, Sherlock, in the long term" he stated cautiously, which attracting Sherlock's attention. "But for now, the best thing you can do for her, if you truly care about her, is make sure she focuses on herself."

"You're telling me to push her away."

"I'm telling you that she needs protection. And that to protect her, emotionally and physically, some distance may be necessary."

"Physically?" Sherlock asked, turning towards Gregson and eyeing him with curiosity.

"The danger she was in tonight was because of her role as an investigator. It is what we rather callously refer to as an 'occupational hazard'" he began, before proceeding with caution. "Her relationship with you does put her in an increased amount of danger. Being your associate, someone who is close to you, makes her a prime target. For the work you both do, and for you. But if your relationship were to turn romantic, and your enemies were to find out, she would be in even more danger. She would be an even greater target. But, as I said, this is a decision for you and her, and nobody else's. I just... as a friend, as your friend and as hers, I am concerned. Due to her recent experiences, and to her current state, we need to minimise any and all risks to her safety. Not increase them."

"You believe that being romantically involved with her could kill her?"

"I believe that being romantically involved with her, at this time, considering her current well-being and the threats to both your lives, could destroy you both." Gregson continued to speak in a kind and gentle tone, but with the unmistakable air of authority and caution. "I understand how you feel about her, Holmes. I know how you-"

"No, Captain" Sherlock stated, his voice adopting a slightly more pained edge than before. "I am quite certain that you do not." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, before re-opening them and continuing to address Gregson. "I appreciate your concern, Captain, and I want you to know that I have listened and considered all that you have said. I understand your concerns, and will devote closer consideration to them." He stated simply, before turning and walking from the office. Gregson watched him for a few moments, before leaning tiredly against his desk. He spent the next few minutes running over their conversation in his head, and wondering whether he had done the right thing.

Sherlock walked straight from the office to the small room where Joan and Bell had been talking. He peered through the glass panel in the door and, after ascertaining that they were not sitting down and discussing the event, opened the door and glanced around. He was slightly surprised to find that only Detective Bell remained in the room.

"Where's Watson?" he asked, his voice calm and his expression impassive.

"We just finished. She headed to the bathroom, I think" Bell replied, lifting his head from a file he was reading. Sherlock nodded in appreciation, before leaving the room and walking towards the bathrooms. He paused just outside of the ladies' for a moment, considering what he was planning on saying or doing, before the sound of a pained gasp drew his attention to the door. He pushed it open immediately, stepping inside a moment later, and found himself face to face with Joan, whose was holding a thick wad of tissues over her arm, which had once again bled through the bandage.

"It's fine, Sherlock" she said placatingly, watching as his eyes widened as he slowly approached her. "I'm fine."

"No" he replied in a low tone, pressing the tissues gently onto her arm, applying pressure as she gazed up to face her, their eyes meeting once more. "You're not."