A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, follows and favs! Every time I get a notification, I grin like a loon at my screen. I think my colleagues are officially spooked now.

Sorry for the late update, but as I said in the beginning, there is no specific schedule.

Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. Also, credit to Ariane DeVere for her series transcripts that had been extremely helpful.

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The spooky warehouse smelt of emptiness and cold concrete. The suited man with an umbrella didn't appear too fazed about the low temperature and menacing echoes. While Joan limped towards him in as much a straight line as she could manage, he watched her down his nose. "Have a sit, Joan" he pointed to the torture device commonly known as a metallic chair.

Blatantly ignoring the suggestion, she calmly stated: "I've got a phone, you know. I know that getting the girl's attention could prove difficult, but you could just phone me. On my phone." She came to a stop, admiring the disconcerted grimace on the man's face. It looked faintly familiar.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." Of course it's Sherlock's fault. "Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down."

"I don't wanna sit down" she snapped back, mildly irritated.

The man eyed her with a hint of curiosity. "You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." And he wasn't. She had stared down knifes and rifles pointed at her heart, done field surgery in a half-burnt building, danced with the devil (the one with bright green eyes and a penchant for womanizing), and talked her team out of an altercation with angry locals. A bureaucrat wasn't about to send her running for the hills.

Even more if the said bureaucrat clearly wasn't aware of his own predicament, as he chuckled, looking faintly amused. "Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?"

She chuckled darkly in return. "Who says it's not plain confidence?"

It made him pause. His gaze sharpened, taking in the smaller details of her. She kept her bearing lax and non-threatening, silently ruminating over the déjà-vu feeling of being subject of such intense scrutiny. The umbrella-man finally resumed the conversation, voice calm and bordering on bored, but with an undercurrent of steel and danger. "What is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?" That's it! The realization flashed in her mind like the metaphorical lightbulb. Now that she had made this assumption, it was easier to spot small details to corroborate her theory.

"I don't have one" she answered, laughing inside. "I barely know him. I met him yesterday."

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Is that supposed to rile me up?

"Why, are you jealous?" she threw a pike of her own, rewarded by a sucking-a-lemon look on her opponent's face.

"Your attempts at sarcasm are highly inspired, I see" he commented.

"Doing my best here."

Her phone beeped loudly in the frozen space. Joan fished it out, checking absently the message: "Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH"

"I hope I'm not distracting you" said the umbrella-man almost petulantly.

"Not distracting me at all." She made a show of putting the phone back in the pocket it came from.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" He doesn't lose sight of his target, huh.

"I could be wrong… but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be." Promises, promises.

"It reaaaally couldn't." Her leg decided this was the moment to remind of its existence and twitched with phantom pain. Joan hid her wince while the man was busy ostensibly opening a notebook.

"If you do move into two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

This is priceless in so many ways. "Why?" she managed to ask calmly.

"Because you're not a wealthy person."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable about."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

Joan couldn't stop snorting in amusement. "That's nice of you."

The sarcasm went unnoticed this time. "But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a… difficult relationship."

"You don't say." The strange dialogue was cut short by another text: "If inconvenient, come anyway. SH" Less than a day after meeting the man, and her evening was much more fun than the last few months combined. Priceless. Joan looked up from the phone to stare the mystery-umbrella fellow in the eyes. "No."

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother." There are things that cannot be bought. He should try it too.

"You're very loyal, very quickly" came a dark laugh.

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested."

The man sighed, as if appalled at the ambient stupidity, and gestured absently to the notebook he was still holding. "Trust issues, it says here."

"What's that?" she frowned. Unfriendly conversations were one thing, but stalking and reading her therapist's notes were another level of creepy altogether. It put a dent in her unapparent good mood.

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Oh, what gave it away? Me moving in with him?" she grumbled, not showing her slight unease at the turn the conversation was taking.

Umbrella-man raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

That's it. "Are we done?"

"You tell me" came the enigmatic reply. She stared blankly at him for a long moment. No, despite the amusing distraction to her evening routine, she didn't like the man. At all. With as much flourish as possible, Joan turned to walk away. But apparently, her kidnapper had more to say, since he didn't seem to take a hint.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."

Oh, now he's done it. The frustration of being continually underestimated and patronized over the months decided that enough was enough, and now was the right moment to strike back. Shoulders tense, Watson turned slowly back to the mystery-man, eyes narrowed in a silent challenge. "You presume an awful lot of things. Some of them are correct, I admit. But it would be better for your health if you stop trying to intimidate me." She was rewarded with two raised eyebrows. "I will move in with Sherlock Holmes, and he will probably become a good friend over time, because these things take time, and you could drop by for a tea and actually talk to him, if you're sooo worried about your brother."

He was looking rather disdainful during her little diatribe, and started to open his mouth to respond, but was left gaping at the end. Assuming they were siblings was a bit of a stretch, but it was a good guess, apparently. His fingers twitched around the umbrella handle. "Oh please, you have the same look when you examine people, or deduce them, was it? Wasn't that difficult to spot family traits after that." The grip relaxed slightly. "Now that we're all clear and good, have a nice evening, big brother. Next time, just phone me, alright?"

The mute scene, with Joan smirking at a slightly perturbed bureaucrat, was cut again by a trill of a text. "Could be dangerous. SH" she read while going back to the black car.

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A/N: Yes,I imagine the logic leap Joan made might seem far-fetched, but she has a bit more observation skills than an average person. And I kinda like being mean to Mycroft...