During the four weeks that followed Sherlock and Joan maintained their usual habits and routines as best they could. However, for obvious reasons, their ability to do so was restricted. When they left the brownstone to assist the police on a new case, or to work on their case against Maria Lennard in the lead-up to one of the biggest trials of the century, they found themselves acting in a natural and focused manner, with their work being as successful and detail-oriented as always. Whilst they were at a scene or investigating a lead or clue, they found themselves falling easily into their previous places, and for several hours of each day it felt as though nothing had changed, that nothing was different. But as soon as they returned to the brownstone, or spent some time together in a non-work setting, their focus shifted completely, as did the majority of their thoughts. During that time, it was almost as if each of them were two people, and the second that their work had ended, the second person emerged, and worked on the issue at the centre of both of their hearts.
Over the next month, Sherlock and Joan spent every ounce of time they were not working trying to figure out the solution to the most perplexing issue they had faced together, or indeed separately. They would sometimes sit up for the majority of the night, talking through possible methods and plans for their child's protection. But as the fire dimmed and the embers cooled, so did their hope. Since reaching her second trimester Joan had been experiencing periods of increased tiredness, and despite attempts at forcing herself to remain awake for their baby's sake, her body always won out in the end. As she remained calm and tranquil beneath the layers of blankets Sherlock adorned her with, he would continue to sit up through the night, running through their fallen plans once more, and desperately searching for something he had missed.
One cold morning, Joan found herself stirring from her sleep, with the familiar feeling of the red couch beneath her small and tired body. The scent of recently extinguished flames swam in their air, and her curious eyes opened as she pushed herself up from the couch. The first thing she noticed was the silhouette of her partner, who she correctly deduced had not left his seat during the night.
"Good morning" he greeted in a low yet amiable tone.
"So it is" she mumbled tiredly, drawing her red cardigan tightly around her.
"We have two hours until we need to leave" Sherlock returned, bouncing from his seat in an animated fashion. Joan closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her face as she remembered what the day was: the first date of the trial. And she was due to give her evidence. "Would you care for some tea?"
"Yeah, sure" she whispered absent-mindedly, before lifting her head and facing her partner. "Sorry. Thank you" she stated, in a sweet and pleasant tone. Sherlock watched her for a moment, his wide eyes burning brightly in the dawn light. He nodded quickly, rapping his fingers gently upon his thigh, before turning abruptly on the spot and heading for the kitchen.
Joan remained on the couch for a few moments, her legs resting over the side of the couch, as the coldness from the from seeped throughout her body. Although she was testifying in a short while, she found her attention was not on the case, the evidence, her experience or even the trial: it was on the baby. The night she went into Greta's apartment and was attacked by Maria Lennard was the night their baby was conceived. She was supposed to go onto the stand and reveal the truth about her experience with Maria, about what she went through and how it affected her, in order to ensure that Maria would be kept in police custody for the duration of the trial. To do that, she had to describe the painful details of her experience, the fear, the terror, the uncertainty. But since finding out that she was pregnant she no longer saw that night as the most traumatic, frightening or soul-destroying, representing misplaced trust and personal anguish. Instead, she remembered it as the night that she and Sherlock allowed themselves to be together in every way. The night was beautiful, perfect, and completely without fault or regret. Not just because they slept together, but because of what resulted from it. Despite the tenuous circumstances surrounding their child's conception, Joan viewed the baby as an incredibly being created out of love. It was for this very reason that she refused to remember that day as one of fear and oppression. The world of their work had taken enough from them both, and was now threatening to take her child. But whatever it took from them, she would not allow it to desecrate the beauty of that night. A night which turned terror and persecution into the most unbelievable and indescribable feeling of love and adoration, which had been between Sherlock and Joan, but now extended to their child.
As Joan processed these thoughts, she pushed herself from the sofa and walked into the kitchen, pulling her red jumper closer to her as she walked into the room. She was instantly greeted by the tantalising yet comforting scent of fresh berries, cinnamon and various herbs, which she recognised immediately: Sherlock was brewing her favourite tea.
"That smells amazing" she smiled, leaning against the door frame as she spoke. Sherlock turned on the spot, removing the kettle from the stove as he did so. He watched Joan with a contemplative look, his reflective eyes running over her as she stood a few meters from him.
"I'm glad you think so" he began, pouring the warm red liquid into Joan's favourite mug. "The last time I attempted it, it had a consistency not inconsistent with rat vomit." He stirred the cup a few times, before turning and walking towards Joan, extending the mug containing the sweet, hot liquid to her. Joan watched him warily for a moment, and glanced cautiously into the cup before sipping it.
"Mmm" she hummed, closing her eyes as the delicious and revitalising liquid swam down her throat. "Well, you've improved markedly since then" she quipped, offering him a small smile. "This is delicious, I mean, really. It's like drinking liquid silk." Joan's eyes lowered and darkened slightly as she continued to drink the tea. Her mind was still racing with her previous thoughts, and the combination of her concern for their child's uncertain future, and her imminent court testimony, caused her to feel slightly overwhelmed, which was very unusual for her, and a thoroughly unpleasant sensation. Sherlock had, of course, observed this the moment she woke up. As she drank the last of her tea, he gently removed the mug from her grasp and placed it on the table. Before she could react, she found that Sherlock had already returned to her, and was standing tall before her. She felt the familiar sensation of his strong, comforting arms wrapping themselves around her, and pulling her gently to him. She closed her eyes immediately, inhaling his scent as she drew her own arms up his back, and embraced him.
"It will be quite alright, Watson, I assure you" he whispered, as she remained perfectly still. "I promise you, Watson. Everything will be alright." Joan smiled slightly, tilting her head to the side so that her voice would not be muffled against his chest.
"You know, when you say it like that, I almost believe you" she whispered.
"I am quite certain of it. As you know, I do not break my promises" he returned, kissing her forehead lightly, before drawing her from him. "And tonight, after a day of notable discomfort, I would like to take you to an event which I believe will be advantageous to you for many reasons."
"What is it?" she asked cautiously, throwing her hair behind her with a swift movement of her head.
"It is..." he began, reaching down and holding her hand, which he swayed lightly, "a reminder that we are not alone. That you are not alone, and... and nor is our child." Joan was silent for several moments, watching him with wide and curious eyes, as he held her gaze with confidence.
"Sure" she replied, attempting a small smile. Sherlock was being incredibly supportive, and the fact that he had sought to take her mind off their fears and worries was touching. "So what kind of-"
"Ah, no, Watson" he began teasingly. "I fear the effect will be reduced should I spoil the surprise."
"I see" she returned, nodding slowly, before tilting her head up and facing him. His kind, compassionate eyes watched her with a reserved and contemplative expression. He was being so kind, so thoughtful, and so very supportive of their current situation. And she was grateful. Before leaving the room, Joan stood on her tip-toes, leaned up, and kissed Sherlock delicately upon the mouth. "Thank you" she repeated gently, running her hand sadly down his cheek, before leaving the kitchen. Sherlock watched after her for a few moments, before allowing his eyes to lower to the floor, as he found himself feeling even more resolute that he would fix this.
Sherlock and Joan arrived at the courtroom thirty minutes earlier, spending some time with Gregson and Bell before the trial officially began. The trial began by the Judge outlining the case, speeches from both prosecuting and defending counsel, and a gentle reminder to all that the information revealed within the room was strictly confidential and, due to the high profile nature of the case, was not to be revealed to the media. Just over an hour after the trial started, Joan was called up to testify. She spoke calmly, succinctly, and with complete confidence and believability. After what felt like an eternity she was finally permitted to leave the dark-oak podium where she had been standing, and return to her seat besides Sherlock in the gallery. They remained seated, silent and completely still, for the next three hours as the trial progressed.
Joan managed to maintain her calmness and composure, which was tried only by the occasional glances which Maria Lennard threw in Joan's direction, as she turned in her seat to face her. This action soon gained the attention of Judge Bertolde, who was presiding over the case. He gave Miss Lennard a few words of caution, after which she remained sitting beside her attorney, her attention focused in front of her. The Judge declared a brief recess for lunch, during which time Sherlock and Joan joined Gregson and Bell at a local diner. Joan ordered a sandwich and some water, but the rising feeling of nausea and unease rendered her incapable of consuming much. Instead, she simply took occasional sips of her water as the others ate. Apart from Sherlock, of course. His attention was removed from his food, and instead placed upon his pale and contemplative partner, whose demeanour was dismissed by their police colleagues as being related to having to face Maria Lennard and testify. After sitting with an unsettled Joan and two friendly police officers, Sherlock requested that his partner accompany him on an errand, which she accepted. As she suspected, there was no such errand. Nor, much to her gratitude, was there any questioning. Instead, she and Sherlock simply walked down streets and alleyways, past various shops and displays, until it was time for them to return to the court. They walked in a comfortable silence, their slow and easy pace manageable for Joan, who felt as though she was about to be sick at any moment. But small sips of her water allayed these feelings, and by the time they arrived back to the court house she found that her strength, both emotionally and physically, had been lifted.
The first day of the court proceedings ended at half-past five in the evening, when the heavy courthouse doors permitted the exit of the weary consultants and police officers. Sherlock and Joan bade farewell to Gregson and Bell, before walking slowly down the stone steps and across the street.
"Are you feeling quite alright, Watson?" Sherlock asked gently.
"Yes" she returned immediately, doing up the last buttons on her coat as they walked beside the lamp-lit streets. "What is it that you have planned for this evening?"
"As I said" he replied, placing his hand on her lower back and gently guiding her towards the subway. "It is a surprise."
After a brief journey followed by a short walk, Joan found herself standing at a familiar gate by one of her favourite locations within the beautiful city. Central Park.
"You bought me to the park?" Joan asked, her tone pleasant but slightly amused. "Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock stopped as they passed through the gates, turning to Joan and smiling slightly at her in the darkness. He reached out his hand and clasped hers tightly, drawing her closer to him, as the warmth of his touch radiated throughout her body, and she continued to follow him willingly.
"For a remarkably intelligent, perceptive and capable woman, Miss Watson, you seem utterly unable to grasp the concept of a 'surprise'" he teased, leading her deeper into the heart of the glorious park.
Before Joan could reply to his remark, she found her attention distracted by the rising sounds of low drumming, cheering and laughter. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, staring cautiously ahead as they continued to walk, hand in hand, towards the origins of the sounds. Joan found herself walking briskly, her pace increasing with Sherlock's, as they reached the centre of Central Park, and a sight which she had not expected to see when Sherlock had first led her from the courtroom.
Sherlock and Joan stood perfectly still for a few moments, gazing in wonder at the sight before them. In the centre of the park, a large stage had been constructed, and a band was poised and performing upon it. Fairy lights adorned the stage itself, some tables surrounding it, and even nearby trees and trash cans. Surrounding the stage were between one and two hundred people, dressed in true concert-attire (unlike Sherlock and Joan's formal court-room dress), donning red plastic cups and hastily-constructed headgear, as they danced to the sensational rhythm of the music. Upon further inspection, Joan noticed that some of the dancers appeared to be wearing neon face-paint, which created intricate patterns upon their faces. As well as the fairy lights, the scene was alight with glow sticks and candles, and the scent of barbecued food and french fries swam in the air, making Joan realise how hungry she was. As she processed the scene before her, watching the happy and care-free individuals dance in unity at this private party, the sound of Sherlock's voice brought her back to her present moment.
"Watson" he began, standing in front of her and offering her his hand. "Would you care to dance?"
Joan was baffled. Of all the things she had expected, it was not the park. And of all the things she thought Sherlock would lead her to once they had arrived, this certainly was not it. But as she glanced from the scene before her and back to the bright and trustworthy eyes of her companion, she found herself wondering how she could have ever expected anything else.
"Yes" she returned, giving him her hand in return, and walking by his side as they approached the dancing people, joining them on the grass, between the dancing candle light on the ground and the stars above.
As they reached a free patch of grass in the midst of the dancers, Joan was reminded of the first time she and Sherlock danced together. He had approached her, turning towards her and extending his arm, as he requested a dance. And, as just now, she accepted. It was in the ballroom when they had been protecting a wealthy individual from a disgruntled former employee who had made multiple attempts on his life. That night they had both been impeccably dressed, were surrounded by some of the wealthiest and most influential of New York's elite, and danced an electrifying yet elegant waltz, which neither of them would ever forget. Despite the memories that this particular evening conjured up, Joan was instantly made aware of the differences: there was no gentle classical music, no wealthy and well-dressed individuals, and no social conventions which needed to be followed to the letter. Instead, she and Sherlock danced, casually and clumsily as they giggled, in the most relaxing and contagious atmosphere that she had ever encountered. Sherlock put his hand around her waist and twirled her on the grass, catching her before she reached the ground, before lifting her gently into the air. She smiled brightly as he did so, before placing her hand up his back and onto his shoulder, clasping his free hand with hers, and dancing merrily with him amongst the others. And for a few magical minutes, Joan found herself completely lost in the incredible atmosphere, the wonderful feelings of freedom and serenity that she was experiencing, and a temporary escape from the uncertain future of their beloved child. After ten minutes of dancing, Joan found herself feeling tired and slightly dizzy, due to the fact that she had not eaten that day. At that moment, Sherlock drew him close to her, and they danced together slowly and gently, as their bodies pressed tightly against each other, and their breathing increased.
"Sherlock, what are we doing?" Joan began, smiling slightly as she spoke. "We're surrounded by college kids, drunken interns and modern artists."
"What we are surrounded by, Watson" Sherlock began, placing his hand on her lower back and drawing her closer to him. Joan's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her whole body quiver. "Is freedom, happiness, and self-expression" he stated, as he watched her with wide, glistening eyes.
"What is this?" she asked gently.
"A flash-mob" Sherlock replied simply, continuing to hold her as they danced slowly to the rhythm. "It was organised between myself and Everyone this morning. We agreed to meet here, at this time, in this setting."
"This is everyone?" Joan asked incredulously, turning around and staring across the sea of dancing figures. "Really?"
"Well, some of them might be, possibly" Sherlock returned with a distinct note of uncertainty in his voice. "But they are most likely contacts of Everyone. People who our associates contacted after I placed the request."
"And what precisely did this cost you?" she asked teasingly, as she swayed gently to the beat.
"Eight minutes of dignity which, I fear, will never be recovered" he returned absent-mindedly, clearly hoping that she would drop the subject. Due to the intricate and well-thought out nature of this plan, she complied willingly. Before she could respond, Sherlock turned to a fellow dancer and relieved them of some of their glow-in-the-dark face paint, which he used on Joan, creating a yellow and green bee on her left cheek as she smiled brightly up at him. When he had finished, she took the green paint from him, put some on her fingertips, and drew it across his lips. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in confusion, before closing completely as Joan leaned up and kissed him passionately, transferring a small amount of the drying paint to her own lips.
"So, what is it? This, I mean" Joan asked, confusion entering her tone.
"What this is, Watson..." Sherlock began, lowering his voice and adopting a kindly, sincere tone. "Is a reminder that you are not alone." Joan watched him for a few moments, before lowering her eyes slightly, and taking in a small breath.
"I don't understand" she said simply. Sherlock watched her with a wide-eyed and kindly expression, before drawing her close to him once more, and continuing to dance.
"As I am sure you are aware, Watson, flash mobs are typically arranged with a particular purpose or goal in mind" he began, watching as she nodded briefly in response. "The goal which I stated was the purpose of this particular event was simply 'saving the innocent'. Of course, that is a terribly vague and uncertain statement, so I reinforced it by attaching a document highlighting the plight of some of the most poverty-stricken children within the city. The flash-mob statement was sent through Everyone to their various contacts in the city, who have a single uniting feature in common."
"Which is?"
"That their jobs focus on the protection of children. From individuals or institutions who wish to do them harm" he began, watching as her eyes glistened in the darkness. "The people surrounding us are some of the city's parents, lawyers, social-workers, government officials, volunteers, even politicians, who placed the safety and well-being of children above and beyond everything else."
"And they are partying like they're at prom" Joan stated simply, as she continued to dance with Sherlock. "Why?"
"Because that was what this particular flash mob was designed for" Sherlock returned. "In the statement I sent to Everyone, I informed the readers-slash-attendees that the evening was to be one of freedom and self-expression, where the burdens and fears they battled during the day were forgotten, just for one night."
"Why?" Joan asked cautiously.
"As I stated earlier, it is to remind you that you are not alone" Sherlock continued gently, turning Joan on the spot as he spoke. "I know that it feels like it at times, especially now. You feel trapped between your perceived need to detach yourself from the baby you fear you will have to give up, and remaining as close to it as possible to protect it from all forms of harm" he continued, watching as Joan looked back upon him with a brave and confident expression. "There are approximately two hundred people here, who came at just half a day's notice, at the behest of Everyone, who sent them anonymous tickets and a complementary gift package."
"And they came here just like that?"
"They believed that the gifts were from some... I don't know, government initiative or grateful sponsor, who wished to reward them for their selflessness and kindness" he returned gently. "And, I suppose, in a way, it was." He paused for a moment, watching as Joan looked up at him, urging him to continue with her expression. "I brought these people here, to you, to demonstrate that you are not alone in wishing to protect those who are born into the world with less advantage and more danger than they deserve. Individuals from various walks of life, of various backgrounds, who are united in a common goal. A goal which, as of a few weeks ago, we found ourselves personally invested in too. These are just a small amount of the people from this city, an exclusive group invited by Everyone mere hours before. This is the tiniest representation of all those in this city, in this country, in this world, who have helped people like you, children like ours. And who will continue to do so in every way they can. Quite simply, Watson, they are living embodiments of the fact that a single person, or a small collective, are capable of protecting a child."
Joan was silent for several moments, and found herself completely lost in her thoughts, as her body continued to sway gently to the music. Sherlock watched her with a wary and slightly nervous expression, fearful that he had overwhelmed her. He had not intended his actions to be an ambush, but a reassurance. As he felt a small amount of panic rise in his chest, Joan lifted her head to face him.
"Is this why you led me to the dance floor?" she asked gently, her mouth forming a small smile as she spoke. "To ask me to join the dance. Their dance?" Sherlock smiled at her in return, before drawing her close to him, and dancing with her amongst the candlelight and glow sticks.
"I brought you here to reassure you, Watson. To remind you that you are not alone, and that your interests and commitment to the safety of our child do not have to be carried solely by yourself. They are carried by people across the city, country and, indeed, the world. In our particular circumstances, the interests are maintained by you and me. I know that our previous attempts to find a solution have proven fairly unsuccessful, with the only potential solution appearing to be the one I proposed to you initially" Sherlock stated, watching as Joan's eyes dimmed slightly, as she remembered the offer he had made her in her bedroom a few weeks ago. "But there is a way, Watson. A way for our child to be happy and safe, and for you to be happy. All of the people surrounding us are a testament to the fact that we are not alone in what we seek to achieve" He continued, dancing gently with Joan as he spoke. "Also, it seems remarkably appropriate" he continued, looking down at her with a slightly bemused expression. "Because this, technically, all started with a dance."
Joan pondered his words for a few moments, swaying with him to the gentle rhythm of the music, as the night grew darker, and the fairy-lights shone across the park.
"Even if you were to leave with our child, Watson" he began, causing her worried eyes to rise and meet his immediately, "I assure you, you would never be alone."
"It's not me I'm worried about" she replied simply, running her hand gently down her back as he spoke. "It seems as though, whatever we do, we are each going to lose someone we love."
"There, Watson, I am afraid I must disagree with you" Sherlock stated resolutely his eyes resting on hers as they danced. "I do not believe that it is truly possible to lose someone that you love." Joan considered his words for a moment, smiling un-convincingly as she turned her face towards him. "As we have both come to realise in the past month or so, love, especially the love one has for a child, cannot be lost or threatened, regardless of the circumstances. Neither of us will lose that, Watson. In the past few weeks, we have gained something infinitely stronger and more versatile than anything we could have dreamed of achieving. And we will protect it, from everything, and from everyone."
"Even if that means protecting it from us?" Joan asked, her voice lowering slightly as she spoke.
"We are not the threat, Watson" Sherlock returned gently, running his fingers down her cheek as he spoke. "The threat is not within, by outside" he stated simply, turning his head towards the darkness of the park beyond their own private function. "But here" he stated, placing his hand on her lower back and drawing her to him, "as well as here" he continued, indicating to the people around the park, who continued to dance, talk, and hold each other tightly. "We are safe" he continued, drawing Joan closer to him. "Here, you and I, together, surrounded by like-minded people with a common goal, we are safe. But not only are we safe, Watson, we are untouchable."