Chapter Ten

"It's not Sherlock's?" Greg asked quietly.

He was driving her home in his car after she'd shaken off Riley. The silence for most of the ride had been uncomfortable to say the least.

"No. It's not Sherlock's." She answered quietly and leaned her head against the doorframe and closed her eyes.

A pause. "Cause it'd be alright if it was. No judgement."

"We aren't together. We're just flatmates."

Greg shrugged, looking sympathetic. "I'm just saying you can tell me the truth. I'll support you."

Jo rolled her eyes. "Alright. I guess I can tell you. It is his. We had a passionate night of lovemaking during the Guthright case. It was everything I'd ever hoped for and more. Sherlock's deductive skills made him the best lover I have ever been with." She told him in a deadpan voice.

Greg's hands slipped on the steering wheel and the car jerked. "What?"

Smiling, Watson turned her head towards him. "No, Greg. It is not Sherlock's. We're just friends."

Lestrade winced. "Sorry. It's just you're always together. I naturally assumed-" He waved a hand vaguely.

Jo smiled but Lestrade was watching the road and not her. "That I've got carpal tunnel?"

Laughing, Greg pulled up across the road from 221. "Now you're just taking the piss."

Warmth bloomed in her chest at Greg's care and nosiness. He was easygoing but cared, not only about her but Sherlock as well. He was one of Jo's best allies when dealing with the chaos that was her best mate. Not only did he care but he respected her.

His eyes drifted away and over her shoulder to the front of 221b. "Now who could that be?"

Watson turned in her seat and groaned. "I don't believe it."

Outside, she spotted an annoyingly familiar black car. "It's Sherlock's brother." A fluttering of the curtains and she knew she'd been spotted and escape wasn't an option.

Greg frowned, looking thoughtful. "Isn't he that posh bloke with the umbrella?"

"Yes." She slunk down in her seat, knowing that she'd have to go up eventually.

Whistling, her friend looked at her sympathetically. "Dealing with two Holmeses is a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone."

Jo snorted. "Don't I know it." She mumbled.

Sighing, the blonde grasped the door handle but looked back at Greg desperately. Well, maybe only a little desperately. "Don't you have a case on? He definitely needs to get out more. He actually was bludgeoning body parts when I left." She knew she was going to have to face them sooner or later. She'd been hoping for later to give herself time to collect herself from the wreck that had been her date.

A squeeze to her shoulder in support and she drew herself up, ready to face the wrath of the, suddenly protective consulting detective and his overbearing, possibly omnipotent, brother. The father of her children. She almost pitied them. They stood no chance growing up to get away with anything under Mycroft's watchful eye; not to mention Sherlock's. Although, he might help them in their future endeavors just to get one over on the elder Holmes.

"You look like you're going to war."

Stepping out of the car, Jo turned around, serious and resigned. "Aren't I?"

Opening the door to 221b, Jo almost considered legging it but she knew that Mycroft probably had an agent ready to drag her back. She'd really only wanted to quickly clean up and watch some mind-numbing telly and go to bed.

Mycroft was sat in Sherlock's leather chair while Sherlock was pacing. The two were complete opposites in their behaviors but it was still concerning. Mycroft was eerily still, his face blank but his eyes like ice. Sherlock, on the other hand, was a veritable whirlwind of chaotic energy. His hair was wild as he moved across the sitting room, face flushed and hands clenching and unclenching. For how observant the Holmeses usually were, it was telling that they hadn't even noticed that she'd stepped into the flat.

She idly wondered if she could manage to traverse the flat to get to her room before being spotted. Before she could finish the thought, Sherlock was on her, gripping her biceps and looking her over with disturbing intensity, focusing on her side and lifting her button-down, dodging her attempts to protect her modesty and muttering deductions at a rapid speed, too fast for her to keep up.

"...small pocket knife, inexperienced based on location...six inch cut, lower left abdomen, right-handed assault. Deep enough to cause enough blood loss to potentially create conditions for fainting, dizziness, nausea. Definitely require stitches but didn't puncture beyond the fascia. Angle is wrong. Definitely an attacking slash but it's as if you leaned into the knife..." His face lit up in understanding. "Oh! Oh! It was when you disarmed him!" His features immediately darkened as he took in the state of her jacket and he immediately pulled it off despite her protests. "Oi!"

Lifting up the right sleeve, he growled. "Bruise marks, upper arm. Shoved hard, enough force to hurt, but not by the attacker. Based on the angle and location of your wound it was towards your attacker as if Patrick used you to propel himself away and to use you as a distraction for his escape." She looked down to where he held her arm gently, a direct contrast to the harsh speech. She hadn't even realized she'd been hurt there.

Jo barely had a chance to remark on Sherlock getting Patrick's name right when he started pulling on his coat.

"Hey! Whoa! Where are you going?" Joanne grabbed his arm, effectively stopping Sherlock from leaving. "I'm fine!"

Sherlock's expression caused her to let go, afraid of him for the first time. He looked her over, his gaze stopping on her blood soaked top. "Clearly." He sneered, his voice thick with sarcasm.

He spun on his heel, flying down the stairs and slammed the front door hard enough for the windows to rattle.

Joanne turned to appeal to Mycroft who was watching silently, lips pressed into a thin white line. His body was tense, hands gripping the armrests with white knuckles. "You have to stop him!"

"Why ever would I do that?" His voice was calm, conversational, and if she was on the phone with him she'd never have known just how furious he was.

"Even you can't get him off a murder charge!" She tried.

Mycroft stayed silent and Joanne shivered, the hairs on the back of her neck rising at the implication.

"I'm not some damsel in distress needing you and Sherlock to ride in and save the day. I'm not really hurt."

"I beg to differ." He stood and pulled his suit jacket straight, stiffly holding out an arm to gesture for her to take a seat on the couch. "As will Dr. Thomlinson when he arrives to ensure your health and that of our children since you not only foolishly took a vagrant with a weapon by yourself but also decided against necessary medical intervention."

Joanne threw up her hands in frustration. "What was I supposed to do? Turn tail and run? He was a desperate teenager who was unpredictable. I can handle myself and I can easily treat myself with my kit in the bathroom."

Mycroft's face turned an alarming ruddy color. "That teenager-" He spat the word as if it was an insult. "-could have killed you. He could have killed our children and I know that would have killed you just as effectively. Had that knife been a few centimeters to the right and we might not be having this conversation." He moved closer, his entire being towering over her. "You should have moved away from him while keeping him in sight, waited for the back-up you knew was available. You should have gone straight to hospital because you. Were. Stabbed!"

She could feel her blood-pressure rising and the front of her shirt starting to get damp. The steristrips must have come loose from her movements. Jo knew she needed to tend to it but she didn't want to back down.

"I can out-stubborn even Sherlock Holmes when it comes to his well-being. I can certainly do so with you. So. Lie. Down. Now." Mycroft demanded obedience and Jo did not respond well to alpha males.

"I can take care of myself." She bit out.

He was about to shout back but he stopped himself, deflating and that was when Joanne saw it. His hands shaking. He was scared.

He put his hands on her shoulders and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and his eyes met hers begging her to concede. "Just because you can take care of yourself, it doesn't mean you should always have to. Please allow me this. Allow me to care for you." He whispered.

Joanne nodded and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief. He gently pushed her to sit and then lie on the couch. She held still while he peeled up her shirt and started to unbutton it to expose the injury and she didn't say a word when he gasped at the sight of her blood.

He quickly retrieved the first-aid kit from the loo and Joanne let him tend to her without complaint, knowing that he needed this. He needed to assert control to calm himself. Watching him as he worked to clean the area and press a gauze pad to her she noticed his left hand held her rounded belly, a thumb gently stroking the skin. He looked so vulnerable in that moment like the mask he usually hid behind had cracked, showing the real Mycroft Holmes.

Reaching up with her left hand, she gently touched his face, stroking up to his auburn hair. He was still a little feverish from his stomach bug he was recovering from but, more likely, it was stress. "Hey, are you ok?"

He turned, surprised at her reciprocated concern and opened his mouth to reply when a sharp knock startled the moment causing the mask to heal itself for him to hide behind once again.

xXx

Mycroft watched as Thomlinson examined Joanne Watson, his anger mounting as each mark was revealed. Had it only been this morning that he had watched her as she had slept next to him, unmarked and at peace?

He cursed himself for allowing her to compromise her safety, himself for following her wishes, and refused to have this happen again. This incident was too close for comfort.

Mycroft couldn't help the small smile when Joanne criticized the stitch Thomplinson was applying to her cut and when she corrected him from an over and over interrupted to a subcutaneous continuous to minimize the possibility of a scar. She truly was an amazing doctor but the worst patient. He could see Thomlinson bristle under her instruction but he conceded when he looked back to Mycroft who nodded in agreement with Jo's suggestions.

The doctor palpitated her abdomen and found nothing concerning, reaffirmed both heartbeats, checked pulse and temperature. All within normal parameters but was slightly concerned about her blood pressure being slightly elevated. Joanne was not pleased when the doctor recommended/ordered a few days rest and for a nurse to come each day to do checks. He was surprised but pleased when she didn't object but she did make the doctor check him over as well which he tolerated to humor her.

After he left, Joanne padded upstairs to change and Mycroft set about making some tea (de-caff but she didn't need to know). He, for some reason, felt reluctance to leave despite the fact that he knew she was safe. His conversation with Sherlock played through his mind.

"Ooh, that is just what I needed."

He handed her a cup and she sat across him in pajamas, her hair loose around her shoulders and face free of her make-up and he couldn't help but think she looked beautiful without the trappings of female vanity. Perhaps his brother was more intelligent than he gave him credit for. He did care for her. Love her? He was somewhat out of his element in this.

"Please tell me you've intercepted Sherlock. I don't need him fighting for my honor." Her eyebrows drew down in worry. "Or going to jail for something that's not important. It's not worth it."

Mycroft did think it was worth it, that she was worth defending, but she did have a point. It was something that needed to be handled with more...finesse. The less she knew, the better. "I can assure you that Sherlock is being handled as we speak."

Jo snorted. "I'll bet he loved that."

"Mycroft, the agent you assigned to me?" She tapped her cup and, again, he struggled to remain calm and in control at the mere mention of him.

"Agent Riley."

"Hmm...right." She bit her lip, clearly considering her words. "Do I want to know why he's afraid of you considering you supposedly 'occupy a minor position'?"

"Probably not." He answered primly.

"Leave him alone. It wasn't his fault what happened."

He did not enjoy it when demands were placed on him especially when it came to how he protected those he cared about. "It was, though. His sole responsibility was your safety and he knew this when he received his assignment." He explained.

"He's just a kid!"

"He's a trained agent." He argued back.

Joanne sighed. "I was told, when I first started my residency, that you aren't a doctor until you've lost a patient. It's when you learn and he's certainly learned. He will become a better agent and more vigilant as a result of this."

Mycroft knew she wore her heart on her sleeve, a weakness that, in this instance, he could use as an opportunity. "Very well. On one condition. Agent Riley or, when he is not on duty, the agent assigned to you is to be allowed more liberty when monitoring and protecting you."

The elder Holmes still had the duty of handling the man who dared to attack someone close to him. This was another part of him that Joanne did not need to see. She may have seen the horrors of war but he'd seen and known far worse. He did not want to tarnish her opinions on him and his duties no matter their necessity nor did he wish to frighten her away. He saw the way she had looked at his brother moments ago and he'd been close to behaving similarly.

He waited as she weighed her options, deciding between protecting the agent and sacrificing some of her freedom in an attempt to appease him or to abandon Riley to his fate (a black ops assignment he'd been needing to find an agent for in South Korea) and still have the privacy she was accustomed to. He was an expert in predicting people (usually but Watson didn't always conform) but he was certain of the outcome here.

"Fine but I still want some privacy and distance."

He inclined his head in agreement.

"There's-" Swallowing nervously, Joanne continued. "-a few other things we need to talk about."

"Yes?"

"I'd say it's probably time to start thinking about how I'm going to explain-" She gestured to her belly. "-this to people. I'm already getting looks and I can only hide it for so long. I'm probably going to have to go shopping at Mothercare by the end of the week."

"What is there to hide?" He asked.

"Do I tell people that...they're yours?" She asked hesitantly.

"Of course. I would recommend not shouting it from the rooftops but I would actually be quite pleased to be known as their father." He was actually very pleased about the prospect of this.

"Oh." Her cheeks pinked. "All right."

Mycroft smiled indulgently. "Did you truly think everything was cloak and dagger when dealing with the likes of me?"

"Shut up."