Joan hung up the phone and found herself smiling slightly. The conversation she had just had somehow made her feel slightly more uplifted, and she felt although she still had qualities which were appreciated by others. She was still someone who was liked, was respected and was deemed worthy of the time of others. She glanced down at her watch and found that it was currently just before twelve, meaning that she had just over eight hours before meeting Jake for dinner at his apartment. Although she was looking forward to spending time with someone in an informal setting, and having adult conversations which would not revolve around death or gore, she could not help but feel slightly restless and dejected. She did not understand why this was, which puzzled her deeply. After a few moments of consideration, she decided that this was probably due to her current concerns over her relationship with Sherlock, who was still acting in a strange and fairly cold manner. She hoped that the evening she had planned would help to relax her, and provide her with a new perspective, which would help her to have an open and productive discussion with Sherlock, which would hopefully resolve the issues between them. She nodded to herself, placing her phone back in her pocket, and strolling confidently back towards the room that she had been working in with Sherlock and the police.
Sherlock, Joan, Gregson and Bell spent the next few hours in that room, reviewing information and collecting witness testimony. Miss van Vale's temporary PA, Jodie Haren, had arrived shortly after 3pm, but had been of relatively little help. She confirmed that her employer was engaged in an illicit relation ship with the married CEO she named earlier, and expanded upon this briefly. She informed the police that she had caught them kissing in the victim's office the week before, and stated that van Vale threatened to fire her if she told anyone. Miss Haren assured her that she would not tell anyone, which her employer seemed to believe.
"But after that" the nervous PA offered, twisting her hands uncomfortably in her lap, "she said something quite odd..."
"Which was?" prompted Gregson, after the confused-looking young woman continued to stare out of a window to her right. Her attention was drawn from the window and back to the police by the sound of Gregson's voice.
"Oh, yes, sorry" she began, shaking her head slightly. "She said that it would be of 'little importance' soon enough, as they wouldn't have to hide it for much longer." Gregson nodded in understanding, considering this new piece of information with interest. "Is there anything else I can help you with? Only, my boyfriend is waiting for-"
"No, Miss Haren, thank you. You've been a great help." Gregson rose, extending his arm to the young woman and smiling at her politely, as she gathered her things and slowly left the room.
"So her alibi definitely checks out?" asked Joan quietly, as soon as the door had closed behind the departing woman.
"Yeah, yeah, beyond reproach" responded Gregson immediately, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Joan nodded.
"Makes sense. It seems unlikely that she would volunteer the fact that her boss threatened to fire her, when she was being questioned in relation to her brutal murder." Joan stated absent-mindedly, looking down at her watch. It was three-thirty. "But we know that she was having an affair with Justin Rogers, and it seems as though it was about to be revealed."
"Yes, but perhaps not due to Miss van Vale's cruelty or anger" Sherlock interposed, leaning his chin on the back of his hand. "Miss Haren said that the victim claimed that the revelation of her affair would not matter soon enough, as they would 'not have to hide it for much longer'. The use of the term 'they' and 'not have to' implies that she and her lover were planning on coming clean, as it were. Based on her audacity, and the fact that she did not want the information revealed immediately, I would guess that Mr Rogers was planning on leaving his wife, but implored his lover to keep their relationship a secret until after the finalisation of the divorce."
Joan considered this for a moment, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, yeah I think you're right." She stated, fixing her glance on him. Sherlock looked slowly towards her, raising his eyes to meet her own, before nodding in acknowledgement. "I mean, it seems like that would remove his motive to kill her. She clearly wanted to keep their relationship quiet for the meantime and, as they were going to reveal it eventually, why would he-"
"Perhaps she grew impatient" Sherlock offered, removing his head from his hands and standing up straight. "Perhaps the discussion with the PA riled her, made her realise that she hated hiding her relationship with him." Sherlock spoke simply, glancing from Gregson to Bell, then over towards Joan. "Perhaps she didn't feel able or willing to conceal it any more."
Before Joan could respond, the precinct was filled with the sound of an angry man's raised voice, which was becoming louder and louder. Gregson looked up in confusion, walking towards the door of the room, and passing through it. Bell was at his side, and Sherlock and Joan followed slightly behind, concerned as to what was causing the disruption. In the middle of the precinct was stood a tall, handsome man in his early fifties, well-dressed and with an unmistakable air of authority. Behind him were three middle-aged men in dark suits, holding briefcases and looking confidently around the precinct, eyeing the officers with a mixture of wariness and disdain.
The well-dressed man turned to Gregson and took a few steps forward, before pausing and nodding politely, and beginning to speak. "My name is Justin Rogers, and I have come in to give a statement. I want to make it clear that I-"
"Mr Rogers" interrupted Sherlock, taking a few steps forwards and standing by Gregson's side. "What a coincidence. A statement, you say?" He began cautiously and yet in an animated fashion, clasping his hands in front of him and nodding as Rogers confirmed his previous statement. "Then may enquire as to why you feel the need for a legion of lawyers? If, as you say, you simply wish to give a statement?"
"Because I know how you people work" he stated acerbically, glaring hard at Sherlock, whose expression was impassive. "I am not going to allow you to fling mud at me or my company over... over this tragedy."
"And by 'this tragedy', do you mean the death of your mistress?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side slightly as he spoke. "Or the fact that you have been dragged away from Wall Street?" Rogers looked at Sherlock coldly, before breathing in deeply and turning back towards Gregson. Joan had been watching this scene with interest, and was wondering why Sherlock was acting in such a manner. It was almost as if he were goading him. Like he wanted him to react, to lash out. She sensed the rising anger of the CEO, and quickly took a step forward, standing in front of Sherlock as she addressed Rogers.
"Mr Rogers, I'm Joan Watson, I'm working with the police in the investigation of Miss van Vale's death" she spoke in a polite and kind manner. "I'm very sorry for your loss." Mr Rogers looked at her for a moment, a mixture of confusion and surprise in his expression, before nodding at her and thanking her in a low, solemn tone. "Would you come through to an interview room with us? We'll make this as... as fast and as easy for you as we can."
"Thank you, Miss Watson" he responded, nodding to her politely before turning back to face Sherlock. "I will, of course, assist you in any way I can."
Gregson thanked Mr Rogers and led him and his convoy of solicitors to a free interview room, requesting some nearby officers to bring in some additional chairs. As Bell entered the room behind them, Sherlock turned to follow, but was stopped from doing so by Joan, who stood in front of him and addressed him with confidence.
"Sherlock" she said gently, but in a tone which commanded attention. "What is it?"
He looked at her blankly for a moment, with a cool and impassive expression that betrayed nothing of how he felt. He shrugged slightly and narrowed his eyes in confusion, before attempting to move past her once more. She stepped in front of him again, placing her hand gently upon his chest, which caused him to stop immediately. He did not move away from her touch this time, but remained perfectly still, watching her with interest as she continued to speak.
"I get it. The guy is not only a banker, but a wealthy, arrogant and hypocritical ass" she stated simply, removing her hand from his chest and crossing her arms with conviction. "But what I don't get is why he bothers you so much." Sherlock watched her for a moment, and she was aware of the extremely sad and forlorn look which had overtaken his features as he stared at her with warm yet frightened eyes. He shifted uncomfortably on the spot, before turning towards her and beginning to speak.
"The interview is commencing, Watson" Sherlock stated, glancing from her to the room. "We should assist the police." He then walked instantly past her and towards the interview room, opening the door slowly and peering inside. He breathed in slowly, trying to calm himself, before stepping through and holding the door open for Joan. They took their seats by the police, at the opposite side of the table, and turned to face Mr Rogers and his three lawyers. Gregson leaned towards Sherlock, giving him a look of warning, before turning towards Mr Rogers and beginning to question him.
The interview was fairly lengthy, and could hardly be described as productive. All it really achieved was to confirm what the police already knew, and what Sherlock had accurately deduced. Yes, Rogers had been having an affair with the victim, and yes, he had been planning on leaving his wife for her. He also confirmed Sherlock's theory, that he and van Vale were keeping their relationship secret until after his divorce, to minimise his wife's claims to his vast fortune. At this point of the interview Joan noticed Sherlock's eyes widen slightly, and his breathing increase. She watched him with caution for a few moments, and was relieved to see him relax a few moments later. She found herself wondering what could be causing him to act in such a manner, and to have such clear and unapologetic disdain for a man he did not know. Joan's attention shifted perplexedly from Rogers to Sherlock throughout the interview, as she continued to try and figure out what it was about the man that so riled her partner. Even two hours later, as the interview was concluded, she was no closer to unravelling the mystery. The only explanation that she could come up with was that he represented the people Sherlock disliked: wealthy individuals using their power to command authority over others. He had come in, armed with lawyers in expensive suits, and treated the precinct like his own private club. Perhaps it's a territory thing, Joan mused, remembering how Sherlock had walked towards the man and addressed him as he had entered. Like two dogs meeting by the same lamp-post. When Rogers and his attorneys left the room at the end of the interview, Joan was understandably relieved, and glanced towards Sherlock to find that he was visibly more calm and relaxed than he had been before. Overall, she was fairly impressed with his conduct. He had asked some intrusive questions during the interview, but never once came close to crossing the line. It was a sign of considerable restraint, which she was glad of. As she considered this, she cast a brief glance down towards her watch, realising it was already six o'clock.
"So" Gregson spoke, leaning onto the table as the doors closed behind the departed man and his lawyers. "Whaddya think?"
"I think he is telling the truth" Sherlock stated, rising from his seat and pulling on his jacket. "Although I am certain that he was planning on leaving his wife for the victim, we cannot prove it conclusively. However, the fact that he was having an affair with her is, ironically, one of the strongest indicators of his innocence." Joan watched Sherlock with confusion, as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, before continuing to speak. "The thing he feared was the effect of the news to his reputation or his marriage. No, not his marriage. His divorce. Killing this woman would attract more negative attention towards him than simply casting her aside. He must have known that, if he harmed her, the chances of their relationship being revealed would be fairly high. She almost certainly would have informed her of her conversation with the frightened PA. It would make more sense to him, a man of ruthless intelligence and clear thoughts, to simply leave her, and then deny any allegations made in relation to their affair later." Sherlock pulled his gloves from his pockets and began to put them on, causing the nodding Captain Gregson to look at him with confusion.
"Are you going somewhere, Holmes?" he asked, as Sherlock continued to put on his gloves, not looking towards Gregson as he spoke.
"Miss Watson and I need to be off, Captain. But I will take copies of the files home and consider them this evening. We will both join you in the morning." Gregson, despite looking slightly perplexed, nodded politely at Sherlock, thanking him and Joan for their help. Joan watched Sherlock with confusion, but he was escorting her from the room before she could speak. When they were out in the corridor, she began to pull on her own coat and scarf, and question him as to what was going on.
"Where are we going?"
"Home, Watson" he stated simply, walking briskly through the corridor and towards the exit, looking towards her as he spoke. "I presumed that you would wish to have some time to get ready." Joan looked up at him for a moment, her eyes wide and slightly confused.
"Ready?" she asked, before realisation struck her. He knew. Somehow he knew that she was going out that evening. "How can... how did you-"
"I was in the precinct when you took a phone call earlier today, and I overheard part of your conversation" he spoke in an amiable tone, which struck Joan as being remarkably normal and pleasant. "I wasn't eavesdropping, Watson. I was going to talk to you, but when I realised you were on the phone, I-"
"Right" she said gently, in a tone of understanding. Sherlock reached forward and held the door open for her, which she passed through quickly, before turning back to him as they reached the street. "Thank you" she stated gently, looking up at him. He seemed to be uncertain of what she was thanking him for, and even less certain of how to react. He nodded quickly, before offering her a kind and reassuring expression.
"It is quite alright, Watson." He stated, which alleviated the guilt which she felt, although could not explain. "Again, I apologise if it seemed I was intruding. I assure you it was not my intention." Joan nodded, and before she could address the issue further, Sherlock had walked past her and hailed a cab. He spoke to the driver briefly, before turning from him and holding the back door open for Joan, who lingered for a moment in the space between the door and the car.
"Sherlock are you-" she paused for a moment, placing her hand on the top of the car door and turning towards him. She had done this subconsciously, and was acutely unaware of how close their hands were to each other. Sherlock, however, was not so oblivious. "Will you be okay tonight?" He looked at her with confusion, before removing his hand from the car door and preparing to speak. However, he was interrupted by Joan before he got the chance. "It's just... you didn't seem quite yourself in there. Earlier, I mean" she stated simply, yet with a notable air of concern present in her tone. "If you need to talk, I-"
"I assure you, Watson" he began, in a normal and pleasant tone. "I am quite alright. I will be perusing these case files whilst you are-" he paused for a moment, searching for the right words. From her tone and language earlier, he knew that she was going on a date. At first he had felt overwhelmingly sad and hurt by this, which he attempted to dispel, as he did not quite understand why he felt so. But as he considered it further, he realised that he should be encouraging her. Since her kidnapping ordeal, she had not been out as much. Not just in terms of dates, but in terms of other social gatherings too. And when she was on the phone earlier, it was the first time in over a month that he had heard her voice contain the familiar sweet, kind and bubbly tone that he adored. He was glad of it, and believed that tonight would be good for her. She seemed almost happy. Or, at least, as close to being happy as she had been in recent weeks. "Whilst you are out." He nodded pleasantly to her, before holding the door open slightly wider, and indicating the back seat of the cab. "It is already ten past six, Watson, and the meter is running" He spoke pleasantly, leaning back on his heels as he addressed her in good humour. She smiled, warmly and gratefully, before thanking him and getting into the cab. They spent the rest of the journey to the brownstone discussing the case, and considering their next move. During the brief taxi ride, and their conversation, Joan found herself feeling much happier. Sherlock seemed to be almost his usual self, and was no longer acting as coldly or as aloof as he had been. Instead, he was engaging her in conversation, was clearly interested in her opinion, and was welcoming her input. This was his apology. It was how it always was, she reasoned. He did occasionally say he was sorry, and he always meant it, of that she was certain. But she also knew how difficult it was for him, which is what made moments like this so special and so important. And she relished them. Each and every one.
As the cab pulled up outside the brownstone, Sherlock got out immediately, walking around the car and holding Joan's door open for her. She unhooked her seatbelt and looked up at him gratefully. Instead of standing to the side and out of view, like he had been the night before, he was right in front of her, offering her his hand once more. She accepted it, and he drew her gently from the car, where they remained standing on the pavement, staring at each other intently. As she remained on her spot, her hand in his, their eyes fixed on each other, she became overwhelmed by a familiar, indescribable emotion. It was the same draw, the same feeling of need and of adoration, that she had felt the night before. Standing in front of him now, their hands delicately entwined, reminded her of their dance. She felt her breathing increase slightly as she continued to stare up at him, meeting the kind look of adoration which was emanating from his wide, warm eyes. They remained like this for several moments, neither of them wanting to relinquish the gentle hold upon the other. It was incredible, really. They had left the building that morning with Joan wondering whether he would speak to her civilly that day, and they returned the same way they had left the night before, emotionally linked and gently connected.
"Watson" he stated gently, his voice low and completely calm. The tone he used caused Joan's heart to beat slightly faster, and her breathing to increase. She was also fairly certain that she was blushing. Sherlock nodded briefly, before removing his hand from hers and moving towards the taxi driver, paying him quickly, whilst Joan watched him with interest, her hand still tingling from the memory of his touch. She considered the strangeness of the past few minutes as she ascended the steps with Sherlock, and was puzzled as to why they had acted that way, and what had caused it. She could not remember the events which led to it, but was overwhelmed by the same feeling of familiarity she experienced before. Familiarity, as well as the feeling that it was natural, and so right. It was his apology, she reasoned, drawing herself from her slightly puzzled thoughts. He is showing me that he is sorry. Although she repeated this in her head several times, she could not quite convince herself to believe it. Deep down, she knew it was something different, that there was something more. She wondered if he thought this too.
Joan was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of the door closing gently behind her, causing her to turn instinctively to face him. She offered him a warm smile, removing her scarf and coat in silence, as he did the same. They placed their coats next to each other on the coat rack, before turning to face each other. Sherlock was standing still, reaching into the pocket of his hung-up coat, and withdrawing his phone. Joan had removed her scarf, and was draping it across her own coat. Neither were paying attention to what they were doing, and Joan found her fingers brushing against Sherlock's hand, which had been securing the top of his coat to the rack. As she did so, she found her breathing increasing once more, and turned to find him watching her with soft, gentle eyes. Her heart was racing.
"I-" she began, slowly removing her hands from the coat rack and placing them by her sides. "I should go and get ready. Is there anything you need before I-"
"No" Sherlock returned immediately, turning towards the coat rack as he spoke. "Everything is quite alright, Watson, please continue." She nodded in response, which he did not see, before walking slowly up the steps and towards her room. Sherlock continued to stare at the coat in front of him for a few moments, before inhaling deeply at the sound of her door closing gently behind her. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to the wall, before resting one hand on his forehead and rubbing it soothingly. He was feeling incredibly confused, unable to process the events of the night before, and his feelings during the day. He opened his eyes slowly, glancing up the stairs and towards her room, before closing them tightly once more. He remained like this for a few moments, nodding to himself briefly, before walking into the living area with the files from the police station, and taking up a seat on the floor, before spreading the files around him. He needed to work, to do something, anything, to distract him from the confusion and uncertainty of his own thoughts. He remained like this, arranging and rearranging the files, for almost an hour, before Joan Watson descended the stairs and stepped into the living room.
She was wearing a black skit and heels, a silky white blouse and a fitted black jacket. Her hair was down and her eyes were bright, but there was something about her which seemed out of place. Despite being dressed for an evening out, her expression was that of a person being coerced into chaperoning a relative on a date. She shifted slightly on the spot, and watched Sherlock for several moments, before attempting to speak.
"I'll see you later" she stated simply, resting one harm on the door frame as she spoke.
Sherlock looked towards her face, and offered her a polite and sincere look of reassurance, which she accepted willingly. "Yes. Yes, have a nice evening, Watson" he stated, before staring immediately back down at his files, embarrassed by his own forwardness. Joan nodded, before turning on the spot and walking through the foyer and out of the brownstone. As soon as the heavy door closed behind her, Sherlock lifted his gaze, and focused it on the now-empty spot which had just been occupied by Joan Watson.
Joan spent the drive to Jake's apartment considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, which felt as though they had lasted an eternity. Despite his actions today, it was clear that the issues of the previous night were far from resolved. And, although he seemed to be in good spirits today, it was clear that he was still feeling conflicting, and battling with the same feelings of uncertainty and confusion that she herself had been experiencing. Although, the more she thought about it, and the more she remembered about his touch, his movements, and his kind and gentle words the night before, the more she began to realise that she was no longer confused. This revelation struck her as she pulled up outside Jake's apartment complex, and she found herself feeling nervous and overcome with feelings of fear and anticipation. Her relationship with Sherlock had always been complicated, and almost transcendent of the existing relationships which she had with various other people. It seemed to be above description and beyond definition, which is why it was always so fluid, so uncertain. And yet, it was constantly changing and developing. As she got out of her car, walked into the building and towards the elevator, she considered whether, perhaps, the night before had been just the latest, and most inevitable, stage of its evolution. Or its beginning, at least.
As she pressed the button to take her to Jake's floor, Joan suddenly found herself feeling guilty and slightly apprehensive. Jake seemed lovely, very kind and very considerate, and he radiated warmth and comfort. Perhaps that was why she had felt drawn to him, and given him his number. At that moment, she had been feeling isolated, alone, separated from the person she had been closest to. She was looking for comfort, and she found it. As the elevator doors opened onto his floor, and she stepped cautiously out, she was immediately struck by the awareness of her current situation, and her motivation for agreeing to the date. And she felt as though she had used him. She sighed to herself, holding her purse to her side and rubbing her eyes with her free hand, as she slowly made her way towards his door. She hadn't realised it before, she was unaware that she was using him. But now that she realised, she felt awful. She hoped that, perhaps, they could have an enjoyable, friendly evening, and that would be all. Her previous conversation with Sherlock, and her reviewing of her own thoughts on the journey over, had led her to come to a new and startling conclusion about the nature of their relationship. She did not know what she wanted, or what he would be willing to give or to take. But amongst all the confusion, she found herself understanding something completely, and without question: she did not view Jake in a romantic manner. Not at all. And as he opened the door to her, smiling at her warmly, she realised that she never did.
But she still felt that she owed him. He was kind to her, had been gracious enough to ask her to dinner, and she would make sure that they had a nice evening. She thought it was the least she could do, the absolute minimum he deserved. They would have dinner, talk, and she would leave, and try to focus her energy on understanding what it was that was happening between herself and Sherlock, before they both found themselves consumed by their own confusion and desires.
"Hey, Joan" he greeted her warmly, standing back and inviting her in. "So glad you could make it. Please." He stretched out an arm and indicated the interior of the apartment. She smiled, nodding to him politely as she entered. The corridor was fairly long and wide, and she could see the entrance to the kitchen on the left, the bedroom in front, and the living and dining area to the right. The apartment was light and airy, and not completely unlike her own former residence. As she took a step into the building, she paused instantly, glancing at a glass cabinet to her left.
"Is that-"
Jake turned instantly, his eyes wide with interest. He parted his lips and smiled widely, seeing that her attention was firmly fixed upon the case of antique medical items which were displayed by the door.
"Oh, yeah, kinda creepy, right? They were my grandfather's. He was a surgeon in France, during the war. He bought these back, and they've been in the family ever since. I inherited them recently, and have no idea where to put them. So they're resting here for the time being." He laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair as Joan surveyed the contents with interest.
"It's a pretty impressive collection" she stated absent-mindedly, as she scanned the content with interest. "I think you need a new case though" she muttered, looking towards him. "The glass in this one is cracked."
"Is it?" he asked, moving towards the case. He leaned in slightly, and Joan felt his arm brush lightly against hers, and she was surprised by what she felt.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. She did not feel warmth or comfort, or an indescribable emotion which caused her to feel breathless and weightless, and although she were floating. She did not feel the comfort, and the feeling of longing and desire, which she experienced when she and Sherlock connected, even if just for a moment. She stared at the case for a moment, her eyes wide, as she realised that not only did she feel nothing for Jake, but what she felt for Sherlock was quite something. The opposite of nothing. But still, she was confused. She knew how it made her feel, she remembered how she felt the night before. How she quivered at his touch, how she was comforted by the warmth of his breath on her ear, and how his strong arms wrapped around her made her feel safe and almost invincible. She found her gaze drifting wearily over to Jake, who was watching her with interest.
"Dinner's almost ready" he stated simply, leading her towards the kitchen. "Would you like some wine?"
"Uh..." she mumbled, still finding herself focused on the evening before, her mind running over the moves of their dance yet again. "No, thanks" she stated eventually, as he walked from the kitchen and looked at her with confusion, due to the fact that she had not responded. "Not a great idea, I'm driving."
"Oh" he said, before breaking into his trademark warm smile. "That's fine. Er... coffee?"
"Great, thanks." Joan smiled, walking towards the kitchen as she spoke to him. She knew that she did not want to be involved with him romantically, but she still wanted to make sure that he had a nice evening. They could eat, talk, spend some time together, then depart as friends, and reflect pleasantly on the evening. She was grateful for his friendship, and hoped that hers would be enough for him. "So, what is it you do, Jake?"
Joan spent the next two hours with Jake, and found that they had much in common. They ate a delicious dinner and dessert, had engaging conversations, and enjoyed each other's company thoroughly. Joan glanced down at her watch, finding that it was almost half-past ten.
"Ah, you know, I really should get going" she began, placing her glass on the table as she rose from her seat. "I have working in the morning, and-"
"Oh, really?" Jake asked, placing his own glass down and quickly following her across the room. "Can't you stay a little longer? I mean, we've been having such a great time, I-"
"I know, thank you. I'm glad you've had a nice time, I have too" she stated, picking up her jacket from the back of her seat and hanging it over her left arm. "But I really need to get going. Thank you for everything, dinner was wonderful." She smiled warmly at him, before turning to walk from the apartment. She took a few steps down the corridor, and was so lost in her thoughts that she did not realise that he was behind her. He took a few steps towards her and reached out his arms gently, placing both hands on her shoulders and pulling her back lightly as he called her name.
At that moment, Joan panicked. She found the sensation, the feeling of two large hands on the shoulders, pulling her slightly backwards, to be a trigger for a memory which she had been desperately trying to suppress. As soon as she felt his hands on her, from behind, with no warning, she found herself immersed in the memory of her kidnap. The man who took her, who grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders, and held her tightly. She was immediately filled with feelings of overwhelming fear and dread, so powerful and so strong that she felt herself unable to breathe, to consider, or to reason. At that moment, she panicked. Joan turned on the spot, moving quickly away from his outstretched arms. She acted so quickly and in such a frightened manner, that she lost her footing and found herself falling to the side, the left side of her body crashing into the glass case by the front door.
"Joan!" Jake yelled, rushing towards her and trying to assist her, panic and fear etched on his face. "Joan, I am so sorry, I... Joan, Joan are you alright?"
Joan found herself sobered instantly by the sound of his worried voice, and the sight of his face, which was brimming with concern. She opened her eyes wide and glanced around her curiously, before the searing pain in her left shoulder brought her back to reality. She inhaled sharply, and slowly and gently disengaged her arm from the shattered glass of the display cabinet. Jake was helping her, pushing back some of the glass with one hand, and supporting her with the other. This time, she was not afraid or frightened by his touch. He was in front of her, he was talking to her, and he was clearly upset. Despite her injury, she felt her breathing slowly returning to normal, and she found herself overwhelmed by the need to help him, to comfort him, to explain.
"Joan I'm so sorry, I... I never meant for-"
"It wasn't you, it was-" Joan muttered, clasping her right hand tightly to her arm. Her white blouse was torn and shredded, and pieces of broken glass were caught on her shirt, and embedded in her skin. The lacerations were not too deep, but there were quite a few of them. Blood was pooling from her shoulder, and she could feel the sticky substance trailing slowly down her arm. "I overreacted, I-"
"No, Joan, please, I... I never should have touched you. I was just... I didn't even apply pressure, I mean-"
"No, I know, I... you just caught me by surprise is all." She stated amiably, pursing her lips tightly together as he helped her to her feet. "Please, don't worry, it was an accident. Really" she stated, in a tone which sounded almost like her normal voice. She was surprised at how confident she sounded, how clear-headed and reasonable she was being. She always was with other people, but not with herself, and not alone. Inside, she was trembling.
"I am so, so sorry Joan, I... it was wrong of me to-"
"Please, it's fine" Joan stated, adjusting her grip on her arm. "I'm sorry about your cabinet" she said cautiously, casting a regretful look towards the broken cabinet, fallen medical equipment and cascade of broken glass. "I'm sorry that I-"
"You have nothing to apologise for, Joan" he stated kindly, passing her a white scarf that was on the coat-rack behind him, and attempting to put it over her bleeding arm. Before he could do so, she tilted her arm away from him, before looking up at his wide-eyes with a look of kindness and reassurance.
"Thanks, but I... I'm fairly sure there's glass in the wound, and I don't-"
"Please, Joan, let me take you to the ER, okay? Or can I call you an ambulance?" He asked, relinquishing his hold on the scarf, and allowing it to fall helplessly to the ground. He looked so sad and so frightened that Joan almost forgot about her pain.
"No, God no, thanks, really, I'm fine" she stated kindly, in a calm tone which sounded much more confident than she felt. "It looks worse than it is, really."
"You should see a doctor, Joan, I really think that-"
"I am a doctor" she stated, more bluntly than she had intended. "At least, I was, I mean... it's complicated, but really, I'm fine. I should go."
"Joan, please, you have to let me-"
"Really, it's okay" she stated, adjusting her hold on her arm as she held her bag close to her body. "I will be fine, really. It was an accident, I overreacted and I fell, it was not your fault."
"It was" he said solemnly, his eyes wide and panicked. "I am so, so sorry. I never should have-"
"It really wasn't you" she spoke kindly, offering him a kind smile. "I'm fine, really. It's okay." She gave him another warm smile, before moving slowly to open the door, and passing out into the hallway. She could feel him watching her, his anxiety was 'practically audible', to borrow Sherlock's phrase. She walked quickly towards the elevator, pressed the button to the ground floor, and watched the frightened and sorrowful expression on his face, offering him a small smile as the elevator doors closed slowly behind her, and she felt herself slowly descending. As soon as the doors clicked shut, and she felt herself begin to move, Joan dropped her head slightly and found herself beginning to cry. She sobbed a couple of times, and could feel her whole body beginning to shake. She placed her right hand over her mouth to try to calm herself, and took in a few deep breaths.
It was not her injury that was upsetting her, it was her reaction, her reaction to an event upstairs which had been a complete accident. She knew that Jake had applied only the smallest amount of pressure on her shoulders, and had been attempting to gain her attention, not to hurt her. He was not acting in a frightening or domineering fashion at all, of that she was absolutely positive. But as she leaned back against the wall of the elevator, she found herself considering what it was that had caused her to react as she had done, which had led to her injury. Over the past few weeks she had been thinking of her attack, and found that small things would remind her of her ordeal. She had not been able to drink vodka or use a box cutter since the incident, and had not been alone in dark alleys alone at night. But she thought she was getting better, she believed that she was recovering. And until the night before, when she placed her hand upon the jacket she was wearing when she was taken, she thought that the flashbacks had ended. Clearly, she had been wrong. The one she had just experienced was so clear and so vivid that it seemed almost real to her, she could not distinguish it from reality.
As she felt the elevator reach the ground floor, she lifted her head confidently, breathing in sharply as she rubbed her eyes with her right hand, before holding her arm once more. She knew that she was still bleeding, but was fairly certain that her injuries were minor. She glanced down at her shoulder briefly, and could see the blood and glass matted into her torn blouse. As the elevator doors opened, she took a few steps forward, wincing as she felt pieces of glass cutting her arm, injuring her further. By the time she walked through the empty foyer and reached her car, she found herself feeling slightly comforted by the coolness of the evening air. But as she opened the door and sat in the comfort and safety of her car, and started the ignition, she found herself overwhelmed by familiar feelings of anxiety and fear. It was at this moment that she realised that everything was much more confusing than she imagined, and that she was much less alright than she had believed.