Joan watched Sherlock for a few moments, completely bewildered as to why he was gazing at her shoulder with wide, frightened eyes. This look only lasted for a moment, before his expression was once more impassive and indifferent, and his eyes rose to meet her own.

"Sherlock?" she asked, calling him from his thoughts. Joan adjusted her grasp on the tissues that she was pressing to her shoulder as she continued to watch him with concern. "What is it?"

"Do you require assistance?" he asked, ignoring her question. Joan felt her chest tighten at this response, as the familiar edge of painful formality entered his voice. Although he was being kind and compassionate, and undoubtedly wanted to help her, the boundaries between them which they had just so recently eroded had begun to resurface. She wondered why.

"Thank you, I'm fine" she stated, dropping her gaze from his and dropping the bloodied tissue into the toilet, before wetting some more and cleaning up her shoulder. "I had a feeling this might happen, these kind of injuries tend to bleed a lot. I bought some extra bandages just in case."

"Yes" Sherlock stated simply, his eyes adopting an unusually vacant expression as he watched her tend to her injury. "And you are quite certain that you do not require-"

"Yes" she replied gently, raising her eyes to meet his. Whatever he was concerned about, whatever it was that had disturbed him, was something which she knew that he would not be rushed into discussing with her. Joan knew that the best thing she could do to ensure that he felt able to talk openly with her was to assure him that she was alright. It took more than a verbal statement, though. He would need to be shown. And he would be. "Really, there's more damage done to my blouse than my arm" she stated, giggling slightly at the end of her statement. Sherlock did not respond verbally, but simply nodded, and continued to move between clenching his fists and drumming his fingers on his thigh as he watched her bandage her arm. It was awkward and fairly tricky, and took her a couple of minutes, but she managed it perfectly well. In the time it took her to do this, two female officers had entered the bathroom and observed the scene with confusion and concern, but were instantly reassured when they realised who the bleeding woman and out-of-place man were. Joan looked up at them and offered them a polite smile as they entered, nodding reassuringly to them, which alleviated their remaining concerns.

As Joan secured the bandage to her arm, and pulled her shirt closer to her before doing up the buttons, she faced Sherlock once more, watching as he shuffled awkwardly on the spot, glancing around the room as she dressed herself. She wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or concerned by this action. He had seen her in a similar manner of undress, in the same circumstances, less than twelve hours before, and had acted incredibly maturely and chivalrously. His apparent aversion to her now utterly perplexed her. Instead of addressing the issue immediately, she decided to try a different approach.

"Were you looking at me for some reason, Sherlock?" she asked gently, which drew his eyes to her own. "Or are you in the habit of visiting ladies' bathrooms?" Sherlock turned to face her directly, staring into her eyes as she did up the final couple of buttons on her blouse, and pulled her fitted jacket over her, completely covering her injury. Visually, at least.

"Yes, Watson, I was looking for you" he began, his voice low and husky. He watched her for a few moments as she moved some of the medical supplies she had used from the sink and placed them into a bin. She moved a piece of hair behind her ear and then turned to face him, crossing her arms across her chest and watching him with a warm expression which failed to ease his discomfort. Sherlock drummed his fingers against the side of his leg as he and Joan stood opposite each other, just a couple of feet apart, in the silence of the bathroom, which smelt of bleach and cheap perfume. Sherlock continued to stare at her with uncertainty, as he was struck by the realisation that he had no idea of what he wanted to say to her. After his conversation with Gregson, he felt an indescribable, almost innate need, to be close to her. After what the Captain had said about the risks to her well-being, the danger she was in, and the threat which a romantic relationship between them posed to her happiness, Sherlock needed to see Joan. To be close to her, to consider the evidence for himself. But now, as he stood before her, the words of the Captain running through his head, on a painfully accurate and persistent loop, he found himself completely overwhelmed by his inability to speak, or to deal with the situation. He wanted to ask her dozens of questions, but was unable to pose a single one of them.

"Sherlock?" she asked, uncrossing her arms and tilting her head slightly to observe it. "It's alright" she added placatingly, taking a step closer to him. As she did so, Sherlock inhaled deeply, and stood up in a straighter and more rigid fashion. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Joan wished to comfort him, to reassure him. But she was not quite sure of how to do so. It was difficult to know how do help him when she did not know what the problem was. At first she had assumed that the sight of her in distress, and the fact that her life had been threatened once more, had frightened him. It would certain explain his current behaviour, and his inability to deal with the situation. But what this did not explain was Sherlock's clear confusion. After the past few days, they had been discussing their feelings and their relationship, and the things which they had been struggling with, in a much broader and open manner than they ever had before.

"Are you happy, Watson?" he asked, rising his eyes to meet hers, as he spoke in a voice which sounded like an echo of his own. She was not expecting that. Joan watched him for a few moments, staring into his large, wide eyes as he flexed his fingers, before drumming them on his thighs once more.

"Happy?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"It is not rhetorical, Watson. I am not trying to trick you" he spoke gently. "Are you happy?"

"Are you?" she countered, shifting uncomfortably on the spot and recrossing her arms.

Before either of them could answer the questions posed by the other, the door behind Sherlock swung open, and Detective Bell rested his head sheepishly on the door frame. After glancing around the room, and assuring himself that he was not intruding on any female staff or visitors, he began to speak. "Sorry to interrupt, guys. But we think we might'a got somethin'." Sherlock and Joan did not respond immediately to his statement, continuing to stare at each other for a few moments. Joan broke the silence first, removing her gaze from Sherlock as she drew her eyes to the ground, before looking up to meet the confused expression on Detective Bell's face. Bell was glancing from Joan to Sherlock, whose back was to him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah" Joan mumbled, offering him a weak smile. "What have you found?" The sound of Joan's voice, and the normality of its tone, drew Sherlock's attention back to the current situation. He turned on the spot, placing his hands in his pockets as he stood tall, and watching Detective Bell as he responded to Joan's question.

"We found a possible connection between the three victims. It isn't solid, not exactly, but it's something" Bell began, glancing from Sherlock to Joan. "So, when you guys are... ready, come to the incident room. We'll talk you through it."

"We're ready, Detective" Joan stated, picking up her bag from the side. "Thank you." Bell nodded, and held open the door for the consulting detectives to pass through. Sherlock turned to the side, pressing his back against the sinks, to allow Joan to walk past him. As she reached him, she turned her head to face him, offering him a grateful smile. Sherlock nodded in response, his wide and glassy eyes unable to meet her own. Joan swallowed slightly, walking past him and strolling confidently to the incident room, where Captain Gregson was standing, hands in his pockets, facing the boards.

"Captain?" she asked, drawing him from his thoughts. Gregson turned on the spot, and removed his hands from his pockets as he found himself faced with Bell, Joan and Sherlock.

"There you are" he stated simply, glancing from Joan to Bell, before focusing his gaze on Sherlock. "Is everything alright?"

"Quite" Sherlock answered immediately, walking past Bell and Watson and leaning against a table facing the boards. "What have you found?"

"As we discussed earlier, victims two and three knew each other. Now, this may not seem surprising, as they worked in the same building. They ate lunch together occasionally, and worked together on a couple of business deals. What is interesting is that our third victim, who was employed by this company just a few weeks ago, was previously employed by Salacito and Deverly, a legal firm. Two years ago, our first victim, Melissa van Vale, occupied a high position at that very same office."

Sherlock and Joan took a few moments to consider this information, and found themselves amazed by the connection. Joan looked from Gregson to the three notice boards in front of them, which were filled with information on each of the victims. These three women who, as of a few days ago, had been almost unknown to each other, were now connected.

"So all three of these women have links, somehow. But not necessarily with each other" Joan stated simply, glancing from one board to the other. "A third party, perhaps? Someone who knew them all?"

"Yeah, it's possible" Gregson conceded, nodding his head as he crossed his arms. "We can't find anything else between these women. I mean, vics two and three had some connection, but it was professional, not overly personal. There is no direct link between these women and our first victim, but the fact that victims one and three are associated with the same company has got to be more than a coincidence."

"You are well aware of my opinion on coincidences, Captain" Sherlock stated simply, pronouncing the term 'coincidences' with disdain. It reminded Joan vaguely of how he uttered the word 'banker' on the night when they first danced together. Gregson nodded at Sherlock's response, shifting slightly on the spot, before continuing to address the room.

"Whatever it is that links these women, its both personal and professional. It's something that we missed. So we need to go back to the beginning. The clue isn't the companies necessarily, but the women. We need to look deeper into their lives."

"I agree" Sherlock stated simply. "The mistake we have made is by focusing on their lives immediately before their deaths. The answer to this mystery lies further back. For some of the women, at least." He continued, his eyes drifting towards the boards, glancing at the photographs of the women, before resting his gaze on victim number three. Watson was so close to meeting the same end, he thought, shuddering slightly at the thought. He was drawn from his thoughts by the familiar sound of Joan's voice, as she continued to elaborate on his statement.

"We need to go back to the women, not the work. They are the focus. Figuring out the connection between them will help us to understand how our killer chose them, and why. The sooner we find this link, the sooner we stop him. At the rate this guy is killing, we could potentially expect another victim within the next thirty-six hours."

"I agree" Gregson stated, his confident voice filling the room. "Let's get back to basics. Check the victims' histories. Their education, their employment, friends, families, associates. Look into their emails, diaries, social network and other online profiles. We have found an indirect link, but nothing concrete. But there is one, you can be sure of it. From the nature of the crime, and the victim profiles, we know that these crimes are personal. So we need to find the connection fast." Sherlock and Joan nodded in agreement, taking steps closer to the tables which held the files and evidence pertaining to each victim. "The ME says that the medical report of our most recent vic should be ready in about six hours. After that, we can discuss the similarities between the attacks, as well as the differences. Also, the PA to the latest victim is coming in in twenty minutes. We'll interview her in interview room four. Until then, we go over everything we got on our latest victim, alright?" Everyone agreed, and the team spent the next twenty minutes delving into the files of the victim. They looked into her finances, clients, business deals and connections, diaries, schedule, emails. But there was little time to go over these in depth before the PA arrived.

Maria Lennard was escorted to an interview room by a police officer, who spoke to the young woman kindly until Gregson, Bell, Sherlock and Joan arrived. Gregson and Bell took up their seats opposite the young woman, a tall, attractive though slightly meek-looking woman in her early twenties, with over-sized glasses and a vacant expression. She was dressed impeccably, and her hair was perfectly done, which gave the elusion of wealth and position. Neither of which were possessed by Miss Lennard. After the formalities and some polite conversation, including Gregson's most sincerest condolences, the young woman began to talk.

"Thank you, Captain. That means a lot. Alana – sorry, Miss Morentez, was a wonderful person."

"How long have you worked for her?" Joan asked kindly, clasping her hands together as she leaned against the wall. Her shoulder was aching again, and she was experiencing the familiar burning sensation which had plagued her throughout the day. She tried to shift her position so that her shoulder was pressed lightly against the cool tiles of the wall, which alleviated the pain slightly, but not much. Her attention was so focused on her injury and on the face of the woman in front of her, that she failed to notice the look of concern which Sherlock was placing on her. He was glancing furtively to the side, watching her discreetly, whilst he listened with interest to the response of the young woman.

"Oh, just a few months. I was an intern at the last place she worked in, and she asked if I would come with her. I said I would."

"Why did she leave her previous place of employment?" Sherlock asked, his voice low yet gentle.

"She... well, I guess-"

"This is a murder investigation, Miss Lennard. Now, I understand you wanting to protect your boss, and respect her memory, but you gotta understand that if you aren't straight with us, you're impeding our investigation. And if you care about your boss as much as you claim to, you'll wanna do everything you can to make sure we get her justice."

"Miss Morentez was amazing. She did pro-bono legal work for low-income families, and volunteered for several local inner-city homeless charities. She was very kind to me when I first started, very patient. When she left her last place, she asked me to come with her, and I didn't hesitate. She was very good to me, very kind. I can't believe she's gone." Maria glanced down at her hands, and began to chew nervously on the side of her cheek, a nervous habit which reminded Joan very much of herself.

"Maria" she spoke kindly, in a sweet and reassuring tone which drew the PA's attention to her face. "The best thing you can do to help Miss Morentez's family, and to honour her memory, is to assist us in any way you can. She was good to you, was she? Kind, compassionate?" Maria looked up at Joan with suspicion, before warmth and calmness swept across her features, and she nodded readily to her words. "Then show her the same degree of kindness and compassion. Help us to find out what happened."

"Alright" Maria answered after a few seconds, shifting uncomfortably in her seat before leaning back against the hard back of the chair. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did Miss Morentez leave her previous place of employment?" Joan asked tentatively. Maria blushed momentarily, before shifting in her seat once more, and inhaling deeply. "Maria?" Joan prompted gently.

"About four weeks ago there was this... there was a thing, at work" Maria began, her eyes resting on the table, as she clasped her hands tightly together and rested them on her lap.

"Go on" Joan spoke kindly, her warm eyes resting on the nervous young PA in front of her. Maria was clearly unsure of whether she should reveal the information which was playing on her mind. Joan suspected it could be something which reflected negatively on her employer, whose reputation she wished to protect. After a few seconds, the young woman continued to speak.

"It was late, about nine o'clock. Miss Morentez was closing a deal in Europe, and had been waiting in her office for the conference call. She hadn't eaten in a while, she was always forgetting to eat" Maria added absent-mindedly, a small smile warming her expression at the memory of her late employer. "Her fiance sometimes called her in the evenings to remind her to eat." Joan smiled, nodding at her to continue. "Anyway, the call hadn't come through yet, and I was catching up on some paperwork at my desk. When I saw how late it was, I asked if Miss Morentez was hungry. I was expecting her to blow me off, she often did. She said she'd eat when she got home. Instead, she said she was hungry. She opened her purse and passed me a hundred dollars, and told me to get something for myself too. I declined, of course, but she insisted. She was very kind" the young girl repeated, smiling once more at the memory. "I came back about a half hour later with some chinese food. When I got to the door of her office, I could hear raised voices. There was a man in there with her. I recognised his voice, but could not place him." She paused for a moment, chewing her cheek once more, before looking up at Joan, who was watching her kindly.

"What happened next?" Joan asked kindly, taking a step closer to the girl. Her shoulder was throbbing, and her voice had adopted a tired and slightly pained edge, which Sherlock picked up on immediately. "Maria?"

"The man said something about Miss Morentez thinking she was 'above everyone', which wasn't true at all. Miss Morentez was a wonderful woman, she really was. And incredibly humble. Despite her education, position and wealth, she was the least imposing person you could hope to meet." Joan nodded encouragingly, which gave Maria the strength to continue. "He accused her of being cold and unfeeling, and said that he deserved better. She told him that he needed to leave, that her PA would be coming back soon. He said something about not caring, that it didn't matter, that he would be gone before I arrived. He told her she needed to remember what he said."

"Then what?" Joan asked, her voice warm and gentle.

"Then he said that he would call her again, that he would be back if she didn't 'agree to his terms'."

"Do you have any idea what he was referring to?" Interposed Sherlock.

"No." She returned immediately, shaking her head for emphasis.

"But you know who he is?" Joan asked, drawing the young woman's attention back to her.

"Sort of" she replied, looking up to meet Joan's gaze. "He's an independent accountant who does the books for several companies, including the one myself and Miss Morentez worked at previously. He was odd, really. Good looking, smooth, but quite... I don't know" she stated, shifting her position in confusion, as she became frustrated at her inability to describe the man. "He didn't like taking no for an answer. He flirted with us a lot, the Pas, secretaries, interns. He was pretty... successful in his attempts. But not with Miss Morentez. I opened the door at that moment, and acted as if I hadn't heard what happened. Jake turned and looked at me, before turning back to Miss Morentez, and then walking from the room. He smiled at me as he left, like nothing had happened."

"Did your employer explain the incident?" Sherlock asked.

"Miss Morentez didn't mention it. I asked her if she was alright, and she just smiled at me. She said she was fine, and then started talking about the food. We ate together, but she barely touched hers. A couple of days later, he grabbed her arm in the hallway and turned her towards him. I couldn't hear what he said, but it clearly frightened her. She walked straight back into the office and stayed in her room for a while. The next morning, she told me that she had resigned, and asked me to come with her. She said that she valued me, and appreciated my discretion. I was grateful, you know?"

"And this man, 'Jake', does he have a last name?" Joan asked, her voice rising slightly. She had a strange feeling about this.

"Thompson" she replied instantly.

Joan's breath caught in her throat, and she shifted slightly in her position.

"Watson?" Sherlock asked, turning his body to face her. Joan did not address this, but simply continued to talk to Maria.

"Does he have sandy coloured hair and dark eyes? About six foot tall?"

"And a birth-mark on his neck, yeah." She stated simply, nodding as Joan spoke. "Why?"

Joan faltered for a moment, but just a moment. She felt panic rise in her chest, and her eyes widened in fear. She was only drawn from her fears by Sherlock's reassuring presence, as she felt the warmth of his body next to her own. She looked up at him, realisation dawning on him, as she nodded slowly to confirm his suspicions. She turned instantly from Sherlock to face Maria once more.

"And you're sure you don't know what they argued about?"

"No" she stated simply and with certainty. "Miss Morentez didn't mention it and I didn't ask. She said she appreciated my discretion and I wanted to make sure she knew that I would always be discrete. Working for her was a great opportunity for me, you know? I only graduated from college three years ago, and so I'm incredibly fortunate to have been given this opportunity. And Miss Morentez was... wonderful. Really, she was." She stated, her voice filled with emotion. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's okay" Joan soothed, taking a few steps closer to her and balancing herself on the edge of the table. "You don't have to apologise for being upset. I can't imagine how difficult this must have been for you, but you've really helped us. And you've really helped her, too." Maria gave Joan a small, weak smile, and nodded slowly.

"Thank you" she stated, inhaling deeply before continuing to speak. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Take a break, Miss Lennard. I know this is difficult" Gregson stated in a calm and paternal voice. "We're gonna go outside and talk for a sec, so please, collect your thoughts, take a breath, and we'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure" she stated, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Thanks again" she stated warmly, directing her statement at Joan, who nodded appreciatively. Gregson and Bell rose from their seats and walked towards the door, passing through and holding it open for Joan, who was guided to it by Sherlock. She was acutely aware of the feeling of his hand on her lower back as he guided her towards the door. He removed his hand after a couple of seconds, much to her disappointment. As she passed through the door and stepped into the corridor, she felt more vulnerable and more alone than ever before.

"What is it?" Gregson asked immediately after closing the door. "Do you know this Jake guy?"

Joan sighed, before recounting her meeting with Jake, their subsequent date, and her own injury, to the puzzled-looking detectives. Sherlock remained silent and completely planted on the spot during her explanation, and was staring at the ground for most of her talk, whilst occasionally shooting her concerned glances. His face remained impassive throughout, though his eyes were wide and wary. When she finished talking, Gregson called a nearby officer over, and ordered him to run a check on Jake Thompson.

"And you think it could be the same guy?"

"There was a framed diploma for accountancy on his wall. He mentioned that he sometimes did some accounting work to supplement his income, but he said that it was not his primary profession."

"Did he say what was?"

"No" she stated simply. "He spent most of the evening asking about me."

Gregson and Sherlock exchanged a look, before the latter turned towards Joan, and began to speak to her in a low and gentle tone.

"Watson, I assume you realise that-"

"No, I don't" she stated defiantly. "This isn't conclusive. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that he was the man who committed these crimes. I mean, we don't even know if it's the same guy."

"What are the odds though?" Bell asked, raising his hands. "The same nut-job accountant who threatens a woman, who ends up dead less than two months later, hits on you and then hurts you?"

"He did not hurt me, it was an accident, okay?" Joan asked, the mentioning of her injury making it burn with a deeper intensity. She was fairly certain she had bled through her bandage again too. "Besides, even if what you are saying is true, I don't fit the victim profile. So what would his interest be in me?"

"You're a well-dressed, attractive and highly-intelligent woman in the same age group. Your occupation is different, granted, but you still embody many of the traits associated with the victims." Sherlock began, his voice adopting a low and even tone. "Certainly with regards to the most recent victim. Kind, compassionate, maternal, taking the new girl under her wing and taking her away from the threatening man in the office. Everything about her screams 'Joan Watson'."

"No" Joan stated simply, shaking her head uncertainly. When Maria confirmed the description of Jake, and his occupation, she had been thrown. She had been frightened. But she could not believe that the same person who had been so sweet, kind and attentive, and who had reacted so fearfully to her injury, could be the same person who would inflict such injuries on other women. "Even if he is the same guy who argued with the third victim, there is absolutely nothing to suggest that he has any connection to the other victims, or that he committed these crimes."

"We haven't looked for one yet, Watson" Sherlock stated in a simple yet gentle tone. "There may be more to this man than you initially believed." Before Joan could respond, a young male officer came rushing towards them, a sheet of freshly-printed paper in his hand.

"Jake Thompson, aged forty-two. Registered accountant" he stated, passing the paper to Gregson.

"Is this the guy?" he asked gently, giving Joan the paper. It was a print-out of the driver's license of Jake Thompson. The image of the man on the page was unquestionably the man she had dined with just over twenty-four hours earlier.

"Yes" she whispered, her knuckles whitening as she held the paper.

"He's got previous, sir" the officer stated, addressing Gregson. "Stalking, assault, and burglary." Joan's head spun at the words, and she felt her chest tightening.

"Watson, I-" Sherlock began, his voice low yet compassionate. Before he could finish his sentence, Joan moved past him, walking back into the interview room where Maria was sitting. She turned to face Joan, who walked briskly towards her, placing the piece of paper on the desk.

"Is this him?" She asked in an absent, emotionless tone.

Maria leaned forward, drawing the paper towards her with her left hand. Her eyes widened slightly, and she swallowed hard, before pushing the paper gently across the desk and replying to Joan's question, her eyes not leaving the image before her. "Yes. That's Jake."

Joan took a couple of steps back, stopping only as she felt the cold tiles of the wall against her back. Her shoulder was throbbing, and she was feeling incredibly light-headed, dizzy with the knowledge that she had just acquired. Her mind was racing. She varied between believing that it was a coincidence, that there was some explanation. A disagreement with a woman does not automatically make a man a ruthless serial killer. And yet, she found herself incredibly disturbed by the most recent turn of events. What if he was the man they were looking for?

"Watson" Sherlock stated, placing a hand on her lower back and leading her out of the room. "Come on" he urged gently, as she turned on the spot and followed him from the room. Detective Bell remained inside, and sat himself opposite Maria as he continued to take her statement. Sherlock closed the door behind them as he turned to face Joan and Gregson, who were standing in the corridor.

"Miss Watson, are you alright?" Gregson asked, his arms resting by his sides. "I know this must be a shock, but we gotta look into it. I'll pull this guy in and we'll talk to him."

"Sure" Joan said simply. "Yeah, we need to. We can-"

"Not 'we', Miss Watson. Bell and myself" Gregson began cautiously, as Joan's eyes darted up to meet his own. "If what we are thinking about this guy is true, I am not gonna put you through this."

"Captain I'm fine" she stated simply, her voice low yet confident. "I want to help."

"Being in the interview room would be detrimental to you and the investigation. It would be better for all involved if you weren't present. And I am not gonna put you through that." Gregson replied. Joan understood what he was saying, and was grateful for his consideration, but she was also battling a feeling of incredible annoyance. She knew Jake, she could help with the interview.

"I agree with the Captain, Watson" Sherlock stated gently. "It would be detrimental to you and the investigation. We can work on this particular line of enquiry from home."

"Home?" She asked, the word drawing her from her conflicted thoughts. "You want us to leave?"

"I want us to take a break. Go home, eat, look over the files and consider it from this new angle. When you are feeling quite able to, we will go over his file, and we can discuss everything that you observed about him. We'll work it from the personal angle, an angle which only you can work from. Alright?"

Joan was too tired and confused to argue, and knew that to do so would be futile. And if she was being perfectly honest, she saw the logic in what they were saying. The investigation would be better assisted if she did help Sherlock from home, and they discussed the personal angle. She could offer a unique insight into Jake, and they both knew it. Sherlock also knew that she would feel more comfortable in the familiar surroundings of their home. He knew that this would be difficult for her, and was determined to do everything he could to prevent her from incurring any additional pain or torment. She knew this, and was grateful for it.

"Fine" she stated, pulling her jacket across her. "Shall we go?"

Sherlock watched her for a few moments, before nodding immediately, and exchanging a look with Gregson. As Joan began to walk towards the door, Gregson caught hold of Sherlock's arm, preventing him from following her. "You know that, if this is the guy, she could be in danger, right?"

"Of course I do" Sherlock muttered. "But I assure you, Captain, Miss Watson will be safe."

"I'm not doubting you, Holmes" Gregson replied, removing his hand from Sherlock's arm as Joan turned to look at them. "I just wanna make sure she is protected, alright?"

"She is." Sherlock stated, in a tone more confident and full of emotion than Gregson had ever heard from him. Gregson nodded, before turning from Sherlock and re-entering the interview room.

"What was that about?" Joan asked Sherlock as he reached her side.

"Much as you would expect, really" Sherlock stated, his voice adopting a slightly lighter tone. "The Captain informing me of something which I already knew."

"I see." Joan nodded, continuing to walk toward the exit. "Something about protecting the damsel in distress?"

"Damsel?" Sherlock queried, pausing by the doorway as he spoke. "I see no damsel. What I see is an intelligent, confident and highly-capable woman who has been forced to deal with more than her fair share of torment and pain as of late" he began, speaking earnestly and with great compassion. "What I see, Watson, is a person whose pain I will do absolutely anything to alleviate. I do not wish to be condescending, or to do you any injustice. I have the greatest faith in and highest opinion of you and your capabilities, and you well know. But after everything we have seen, everything we have experienced, I think it is important to admit that we each, on occasion, require the intervention of the other."

Joan watched him for a moment, holding his gaze as she considered his words. She was more grateful and more understanding of her intentions than she could ever express. Despite feeling sure that she could handle the situation, she understood what he was saying. But more than anything, she appreciated the sentiment.

Neither of them spoke for several moments, and neither of them broke the gaze of the other. But after about thirty seconds or so, Joan lowered her head slightly, nodding briefly before looking back up at him. "Thank you" she said simply, placing one hand comfortingly on his arm, and squeezing it gently. "Thank you." They stood like this for a couple of seconds, before Joan removed her hand from his arm, and walked out of the precinct. The feeling that he experienced at the departure of her hand matched how Joan felt earlier in the day when he removed his hand from her lower back. He found himself completely overcome by an indescribable sensation of loss and discomfort which almost took his breath away. He was only drawn from his own feelings of sadness and longing by Joan's voice, as she called his name from the street.

"Sherlock, are you coming?"

He turned to face her, nodding immediately, before following her from the building.

Sherlock and Joan arrived back at the brownstone twenty minutes later, arriving just minutes before the courier sent by Gregson with copies of the most recent police files on the third victim, and on Jake Thompson. Sherlock answered the door, receiving the files and taking them back into the living room, where Joan was seated on the red couch. He entered quicker than she had anticipated, and found her with her hand clamped firmly to her injured shoulder. She removed her hand as soon as he entered the room, but knew that her denials were useless.

"Are you still in pain, Watson?" Sherlock asked, placing the files on the floor in front of her and taking up a seat beside her. Joan was facing forward, but tilting her head to face him as she spoke.

"I'm fine" she spoke in her usual tone, offering Sherlock a weak smile. She leaned forward and reached for a file, before hissing in pain and releasing her grip on it, causing the file to fall to the floor, images of Jake spilling out onto the floor. Sherlock moved closer to Joan, placing one hand on her arm and the other on her waist, drawing her onto the sofa.

"I'm fine" she mumbled, removing her hand from her shoulder.

"You're not" Sherlock replied. Joan removed her arm from her shoulder and looked up at him, his words reminding her of their previous conversation. She looked at him for a moments, her eyes revealing her tiredness and her confusion, as she sighed.

"Take off your jacket, Watson" Sherlock stated, meeting her gaze as he moved closer to her. As she shrugged off her fitted jacket, Sherlock kicked the pictures of Jake back into the file, hiding them from view. By the time he looked back towards Joan, he found her reaching for her bag, which lay on the floor by her feet. "Allow me" he stated, bending down to pick it up. As he did so, Joan drew one of her legs onto the couch, placing it beneath her, before turning her body to face Sherlock. He passed her the bag and she thanked him, before opening it up and extracting some medical supplies.

"I should get a loyalty card for A&E" she smiled tiredly, as she moved her hair away from her shoulder, which revealed that the blood has sept through the bandage and her shirt, saturating it in a deep red liquid.

"It may be necessary if you lose any more blood, Watson" he stated simply, as she passed him the supplies. "May I?"

"Of course" she stated, undoing the first few buttons of her blouse and pulling down her sleeve. Sherlock looked away at this, and his coyness amused her slightly. "Everything okay?"

"Would you move a little closer, Watson?" he asked, as he poured some antiseptic on a wad of tissues.

"Yeah, sure" she stated simply, easing herself towards him. Her right leg was draped over the edge of the couch, her right one tucked beneath her. As she moved closer to Sherlock, her leg brushed against his, and her foot unintentionally ran across the bottom of his leg. He breathed in at this contact, and felt his heart race. As he looked up at Joan with wide, desire-filled eyes, he felt familiar feelings of longing. Before he could consider his thoughts further, his gaze drifted to Joan's bleeding shoulder. His gaze remained fixed upon this for several seconds, and he found that the image before him led to the words of Captain Gregson regarding Joan to come flooding back to him. The danger she was in, and could be in, if their relationship changed. He found himself considering this as he tended to Joan's injury, gently placing the antiseptic-laden tissues onto her shoulder, ensuring that it no longer bled, before cleaning the area around the injury. Within moments, he had placed a piece of gauze over the wound and wound the bandage around her arm.

As he secured the bandage to her, he ran his fingers slowly down her arm, until they reached her elbow, where he stopped. He was about to withdraw his fingers when he felt Joan's hand gently rest upon his own. He looked up to her face, which was inches from his own, and stared into her tired eyes. "Thank you" she mumbled, her whispered voice only just breaking the silence.

"Not at all, Watson. It was hardly-"

"I didn't mean the bandage" she began, her voice slightly more confident than it had been previously, but still retaining unmistakable signs of tiredness. "I do, I mean, of course I'm grateful, but... I meant for what you said earlier."

"Earlier?" Sherlock queried, placing the medical items into the bin near the sofa.

"At the precinct" she said simply, as she removed her hand from his, and allowed her hands to rest on her lap. She looked up at Sherlock tiredly as she continued to speak. "You were right. What you said. I'm grateful that you reminded me of it, and made me realise. But more importantly, I'm grateful that you said it." She stated, shifting on the spot as she attempted to stifle a yawn. "Sorry, I-"

"It's quite alright, Watson" Sherlock stated, as he moved instinctively closer towards her. He placed one hand on her uninjured shoulder, which drew her attention immediately to his face. She opened her tired eyes to find herself gazing into his wide, alert ones. She placed one hand on his knee, as if permitting him to continue. Sherlock then placed one hand on the middle of her back and drew her closer to him. She moved willingly forward, raising her leg from the edge of the sofa, and leaning towards Sherlock, placing her head between his shoulder and his face. Sherlock placed his right hand across her back, drawing her as close to him as he was able, resulting in her wrapping her right arm beneath his arm and across his back, and leaning further into him, their cheeks brushing against each other. She closed her eyes tiredly, relaxing into him. He then rose his left hand and placed it on the back of her head, before lowering his lips so that they brushed the side of her cheek. "I meant every word."

Sherlock and Joan remained in this position for several minutes, neither of them speaking. Joan fell asleep mere moments after Sherlock placed his hand on the back of her neck, his most recent words to her providing her with an incredible degree of comfort and reassurance. They were the emotional assurance that she required so that her body would allow her to rest. "Every word" Sherlock repeated, as he held her sleeping figure close to him. When he was certain that she was in a deep state of slumber, he leaned back against the arm of the couch, moving his legs apart and drawing her close to him. She lay across him, one of her legs draped over his, as the rest of her lay across him, her right arm resting on his shoulder, her head by his shoulder. Sherlock held her close to him, rubbing her back soothingly each time she stirred. She slept soundly and peacefully for several hours and, after a short period of time, so did he.