Sherlock watched her curiously for a few moments before responding. Her body language, tone and practically palpable apprehension told him all that he needed to know about the nature of the conversation she wished to have with him. Despite spending the past hour considering the very same issue, he felt utterly unable to discuss it with her. Not because he did not know what to say, or even what he wanted. Oddly enough, what they both wanted was clear, in the most primal and 'natural' sense. But what a person wants and what a person should aim for are two very separate things. The former satisfies certain needs or desires (both physical and emotional) for a time, but is problematic. After all of his thoughts and through all of the confusion, all Sherlock was able to understand, all that he was able to conclude, was that a romantic relationship with Watson was problematic. And he was the problem. He had come to this startling and rather unnerving conclusion shortly after arriving on the rooftop; he always found that the time he spent with his bees gave him a greater degree of complete, unobstructed and almost logic-defying knowledge and understanding. The force of the realisation that he did wish to be involved in a romantic relationship with Watson had terrified him, but before he had given himself a chance to consider it further, he found himself once more reminiscing over the words of Captain Gregson, in relation to himself and Joan, and how she would be placed in the greatest or dangers, both physically and emotionally, should their relationship cross those lines.
As he stood before her, his lowered hand resting less than three feet from her own, he found that he was understanding that the Captain's words had a greater degree of truth than he had previously given them credit for. She had once described him as a force akin to gravity, and had informed him that she was grateful for entering his orbit. As he stood before her, staring into her fearful and apprehensive eyes, as she tightened her arms across her chest, he realised just how much she would risk, and how much she had to lose. He would not allow her to become yet another piece of nameless debris, indistinguishable from everything else, which simply revolved around him, surviving solely in his orbit. Watson was not something to travel around another being, and that was something which she had tried to tell him previously. She was not an object, not a piece of debris: she was a star. And, like all stars, she deserved to shine bright. He wanted her light to be seen, to be shown, to have a lasting effect – for herself, for others, but mainly for her. He would not allow her to burn out. Not ever. He loved her too much.
"Of course Watson" he muttered mechanically, tossing his rejected jacket upon the bench by the apiaries, before turning to the side, and raising his arms to gesture towards the bees at the furthest end of the rooftop. "But first, you must come and see the newest additions to our growing colony" he stated, forcing a smile in her direction, before averting his gaze from her own, and strolling towards the apiary. Joan opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to do so. Instead, she tightened her arms across her chest and followed him across the rooftop, pausing a few feet from him as he stopped before the last apiary, which he looked upon with a level of pride bordering on paternal. "The latest of our species hatched late last night and early this morning" he stated, gesturing to them with a single hand, as Joan tilted her head forwards, leaning in closer, as she found herself completely engaged in a very familiar scene. "They are the products of our partnership, Watson" he declared proudly, taking a few steps back to allow her to move closer towards their bees. "They are the physical manifestations of our achievements. You should be proud."
"I am" she responded absent-mindedly, her wide eyes softening as she witnessed the incredible sight before her.
"Good" he stated simply, leaning back on his heels slightly as he drummed his fingers against his leg. Watson was being very quiet, reflective. He knew that she was simply waiting for a respectable amount of time before once more attempting to directly engage him in a conversation regarding the current status of their relationship. He also knew how he would have to deal with this subject when he could no longer avoid it with her. And the thought of this broke him, almost completely and irreparably. He prayed she would not continue.
"Sherlock-" she began, her voice hesitant and tentative.
"Whilst you were out, Watson, I received a call from Captain Gregson" he stated, ignoring her previous speech, and walking past her, back towards the bench, which was on the other side of the roof. Joan chewed her bottom lip briefly, before leaning up and standing straight, and turning to face him directly. She was preparing herself to talk, and had almost begun, before he continued to speak. "He informed me of the nature of the interview with Mr Thompson" Sherlock began, pausing briefly to allow Joan to process the information, before continuing, talking quickly and excitedly, as he often did when relaying such information. "He said that Mr Thompson strongly denies all of the crimes he has been accused of, and even denies those for which he ha previous convictions. In fact, he states that he has an alibi for the death of the previous victim" he paused briefly, leaning towards the bench and picking up his jacket, before slowly putting it on. He continued to speak, but did not look towards Joan as he did so. He could not bear it. "He said that he was on a date."
Joan's brows furrowed in confusion, before she nodded in understanding, and gazed up towards the sky, which was becoming cloudy and grey. She considered the possibility of rain as she addressed Sherlock's statement. "Based on the victim's time of death, it would have been possible for him to have killed her if he did so within thirty minutes of me leaving his apartment" she stated simply, crossing her arms across her chest once more. "He lives just three blocks from the crime scene, it would not have been too difficult, especially if he had access to the building and was known to her." She paused for a moment, realisation dancing in her eyes. "It would also explain the morning" she began, her voice low and full of apprehension. "He could have entered the coffee place with the intention of asking out a woman who he could use as an alibi, to ensure that he had a free pass. The media already knows that we suspect a serial killer, so maybe he figured that alibi-ing himself for one of the murders would clear him of them all."
"An interesting theory, Watson" Sherlock began encouragingly, but in a low and absent-minded tone. "But how could he know that a woman would agree? And how could he be certain of when she would leave?"
"When she would leave would not be the issue, really. He knew the victim, so he knew her working patterns and her habits. He has previous for stalking, so her would have known her routine. Whether I left at eleven or half-one, he would have found her, somehow" she stated, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. "I guess my accident cost her those last few hours" she stated sadly, chewing the insides of her cheeks to prevent herself from falling victim to the emotions which threatened to overwhelm her.
"Watson, no-" Sherlock stated, firmly yet with kindness, as he took a few steps towards her. For the first time that morning, they found themselves staring up at one another, in the same reassuring manner which defined their relationship. "I assure you, that is not the case. Nothing you did or failed to do led to this woman's death. Once our killer chose her, that was it. Besides, he could have asked you to leave at a certain time, or manipulating you into wanting to leave" he continued, before becoming aware of the affect of their closeness upon him, and taking a step back, much to Joan's disappointment. "It could have been two women we found this evening."
"Or it could have been none" she countered sadly, inhaling shakily. "I could have stopped this. I should have seen what he was, seen some signs of-"
"We aren't even sure of his guilt yet, Watson, so do not berate yourself so. Besides, you had no reason to suspect him, no evidence on which to base such suspicion." He stated, his voice softening, and adopting a tone which filled Joan with confidence and with hope. She recognised this tone as the kindest and most sincere one which he possessed. He seldom used it, certainly not in her presence, at least. But each time he did, she found her faith in both him and herself instantly renewed. She almost believed him, too.
"Perhaps you're right" she conceded, in a tone which revealed that she did not believe in what she was saying at all.
"I am" Sherlock stated confidently, taking a few steps towards her until they were just inches apart. "Watson, I assure you, you have done nothing wrong" he began, causing her to turn her head to the side slightly. She stared at the apiaries for a short while, and Sherlock noticed how she sucked in her cheeks slightly, chewing them nervously as she often did when she was experiencing moments of extreme distress. Without thinking, and without intention, he took a step closer to her, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his chest. The movement was sudden and expected for them both, and Joan found herself grateful for the comfort. Her previous concerns about her association with Jake were still present, but felt less oppressive and overwhelming as the strong arms of Sherlock Holmes held her tightly and confidently to his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath his sweater, and found herself deeply comforted as she inhaled his familiar scent. They stood like this for a few moments, neither of them moving at all, as the humming of the bees was the only sound which broke the silence, and reminded them both that what was happening was real. Joan became accustomed to the humming of the bees but, after a few moments, the sound seemed louder to her, almost oppressive. She opened her eyes wide, turning her head to the side slightly, as she felt his heart beating against her breastbone. She felt tired now, very weary. But these feelings were almost completely eclipsed by the indescribably strong feelings of desire and romance which she was currently battling. Her close proximity to him was not helping her to keep these feelings at bay, and her knowledge of the conversation which they needed made these feelings seem painful. She was distancing herself from them, forcing herself to reject them, despite the fact that the pain it caused her was almost physical. Joan swallowed hard, before pulling herself free from his grasp, and taking a few steps back. She brushed her hair from her face and held her arms by her side, before staring up at Sherlock, whose arms were low by his sides. He was staring at her intently, his wide-eyes regarding her with curiosity and apprehension. They both knew what was coming, and they both wished to escape it.
"We need to talk about last night" Joan said, in a low yet amiable tone, which almost reflected her usual voice.
"Do we?" he responded immediately, his eyes softening as they adopted a slightly sad expression.
"You don't think we do?"
Sherlock stared at her for a moment, his eyes not leaving hers, as all the logical arguments which he had been considering, all of the evidence which he had analysed, and all the emotions which he had been experiencing, flooded to the forefront of his memory. Out of all of these memories, out of all of the words, those of Captain Gregson spoke the loudest. He remembered how he spoke about the danger she was in, and the increase in the threat to her physical and emotional well-being, should their relationship to develop into one of a romantic nature. You care about her, Sherlock. And to put another person before yourself... for you to be able to do that, speaks volumes about how you feel about her... to protect her, emotionally and physically, some distance may be necessary.
"I don't think that we should" he replied in a low and sombre tone, after what felt like an eternity.
"We have to, Sherlock" she urged gently, uncrossing her arms as she watched him with care and compassion. She knew that he found these things difficult, but the difficulties which they would find themselves facing would be tenfold if they did not figure things out. There were times when their relationship changed, when it faced new challenges and adapted slightly to meet them. But this was something else, something completely different, and altogether new. This was the greatest threat to their relationship, and to their well-being, that their partnership had ever faced. But more than that, it was the greatest threat that they as individuals had ever faced. As Joan watched him shift slightly on the spot, his chest rising as he breathed in deeply, she became aware of just how vulnerable he was, of how confused he must be, and of how much she wanted to protect him. "We can't keep ignoring this, and act like it hasn't happened."
"What?" Sherlock asked, his head moving from side to side, as his eyes narrowed at the pronunciation of the words. "What has happened?"
"You know what has happened" she stated in a dead-pan voice. "In the ballroom, the bathroom, on the couch-"
"Nothing happened on the couch" Sherlock stated defensively, his eyes lowering themselves from hers. She felt a slight tug at her heart, similar to how one feels when affected by guilt or a torturous pain. "We were tired and we fell asleep, it has happened before and I am fairly certain that it-"
"Not like that it hasn't" she stated simply, her voice adopting a kind and even tone. "It was different, Sherlock, you know it was. And I know you don't like talking about this kind of stuff, and I can only imagine how much you want to push it aside, dismiss it. But we can't. It has gone too far, and it has gone beyond something which we can easily dismiss or ignore-"
"We fell asleep, Watson" he repeated, his voice rising slightly, and adopting a tone which was somewhere between fear and mania. "That's all." Joan felt struck by his words, which seemed slightly cold and unexpected. He was clearly uncomfortable, and she knew that persisting whilst he was feeling this way would be counter productive. She sighed slightly, her eyes falling to the floor, as she felt him watch her with fear and caution. As soon as he had spoken, Sherlock mentally rebuked himself harshly. Gregson was right, and he knew it. The only way to protect her, to ensure that she would be safe, and that she would be happy, was to create some distance between them. But creating distance between himself and Watson was easier said than done. She was open-minded, moral and incredibly compassionate; she would do everything she could to empathise with him, and attempt to help him. But this was just what he did not wish to happen. If she began to empathise, she would begin to consider his feelings, and the affect their relationship was having on him, whereas the attention needed to be fixed completely on her. She needs to focus on herself, Gregson had stated. And he was right. The only way to save Joan Watson was to push her away. And as difficult as he found it, as hard as it was, he had to do it. He adored her, completely and utterly, and he would not allow her to be another victim of his. Collateral damage, as Gregson has stated. She needed to be free, to be happy. She needed to be released from his orbit.
"Sherlock, I get that you don't want to talk about it" she began, her soft and gentle voice drawing him to her face, which was now staring at him with resolution and compassion. Exactly what he feared. "And the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. But you must see that this is not something we can keep running from."
"I assure you, Watson, I am not running from anything" he stated simply, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. "We simply have nothing to discuss. We were working on a case which required us to... adjust the boundaries of our relationship on a temporary basis. However, this was less temporary than we had believed. It had a knock-on effect, like dominoes, if you will" he stated, gesturing with his hands. "But I feel quite certain that last night was the fall of the final domino." He stated, his eyes lowering for a moment, before rising slightly to meet hers. Her face was impassive, and her body language was almost beyond his powers of deduction. He had wanted to push her away from him, but not completely, and certainly not with force or with cruelty. He was not sure of how well he was faring.
"Do you really believe that?" she asked, her tone low and uncertain, yet without the slightest degree of anger or disappointment. "You think that the... that how we felt, how we reacted, and when we reacted, is all some kind of chain reaction which was caused by a case we worked on?" She asked, her voice rising imperceptibly. She was staring at him expectantly, awaiting his answer patiently. Before he could respond, she continued to speak. "It was more than the falling of dominoes, Sherlock. And it is not something we can brush aside. I am not trying to coerce you into anything, I don't want you to feel obligated or like you owe me something, you don't. I just want us to discuss what has happened, because we need to figure it out." She watched him for a moment, unfolding her arms and allowing them to rest by her side, as she adopted a more confident stance. "Is that really what you think, Sherlock? That what has been happening is some temporary consequence or fallout from a case?"
"I do" he stated simply, but in as calm and as gentle a tone as he was able of using whilst retaining the fake conviction of his words, which physically pained him as they left his lips. "The evidence all suggests that-"
"Evidence? What evidence?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "Look, I get it, I do. I don't find this easy to talk about either, and I am just as confused and as bewildered as you are. But please, don't dismiss this."
"I am not dismissing it, Watson, merely offering an objective interpretation of the facts."
"There is no such thing as an objective interpretation of these facts." She countered, causing him to falter slightly, his heart racing as his mind battled with his heart in an attempt to respond. But she beat him to it. "What we felt was strong, and how we acted and reacted was... it was passionate it was self-assured it was..." she paused for a few moments, before selecting what she believed to be an appropriate word. "It was natural".
"Yes, Watson, I agree. It was a natural progression of our relationship based on the re-drawn boundaries established during the case that we were working on in the ballroom. But now that the remnants of that case have dissipated, we will be able to resume our normal-"
"Normal? There is no normal" she stated gently. "With you and I, with what we have, it is not normal, Sherlock. You must understand that by now. Our relationship, our partnership, is not based solely on negotiating boundaries, but on transcending them. When you would appear in my room in the middle of the night, or go through my phone, or make deeply personal comments, it did not feel awkward, it never did. It felt natural, it felt just... it felt right. It was right, it is right. Those boundaries were never negotiated because the boundaries never existed. After those incidences, there were boundaries, sure. And we dealt with them, we either discussed them, negotiated them or evolved to meet them. What we did not do was avoid them." She breathed the last words as she looked up at him with concern, gesturing with her hands in her usual manner as she spoke. "Sherlock, we have got to a stage where we do need to question some of the fundamental features of our... of us. I am not saying we need to make some kind of decision, or even that there is a straight-forward decision to be made. What I am saying is that our actions, and our impulses, have been stronger than the boundaries which you believe exist, and which define our relationship. We kissed, Sherlock" she stated simply, watching him for a reaction. His eyes flickered with recognition for a moment, and his pupils dilated slightly at her words, but otherwise her remained perfectly still, devoting his complete attention to her. "We kissed, and we hugged, and we experienced levels of intimacy which, in all honestly, were probably greater than those which either of us experience romantically with others." She stated bluntly, watching as he appeared to flush slightly, which was highly unusual for him. "Sherlock, we need to talk about that. You must understand why."
"We were overwhelmed, Watson, that night. You were injured, and I... when we-"
"We've been overwhelmed before, Sherlock, and yet, in two years, we have never-"
"The kiss was just-"
"It wasn't just anything, Sherlock" she began. "It was not just a kiss. You and I both know that, we felt that. You can't rationalise something like this away, or shut it into a box which you place at the back of your mind. If we don't talk about this, if we don't figure it out, it is gonna have repercussions, it will affect us both."
"It will not affect anything if we do not allow it to." He stated simply, in the same low and sombre tone which he had adopted earlier. "It happened once, Watson, and since then-"
"Since then, we lay wrapped in each other's arms, bodies pressed together, all night long, on that couch."
"You were upset, I was trying to-"
"I know" she stated kindly, her eyes warming slightly. "I know what you were trying to do. You were trying to comfort me, to console me. But you usually do that with words or actions, and are almost always successful. You have never done so, or attempted to do so, in the way that you did last night."
"As I said earlier, Watson" Sherlock began, shifting slightly on the spot as averted her gaze. "It is simply the natural albeit unforeseen consequence of the case we faced a week ago. It has had a temporary domino affect-"
"If you dismiss this by rationalising it then we are not dealing with the crux of the issue. We need to-"
Before Joan could continue, the sound of Sherlock's phone ringing interrupted their conversation. Sherlock's eyes lowered themselves from Joan's face to his pocket, where his hand dove into instantly, extracting the device within moments.
"Don't" she breathed, her voice full of emotion, and in a tone which was practically pleading. Sherlock found himself, completely unwittingly, drawn to her face as she spoke that word. The pain, fear, confusion and anguish which graced her features surprised him so much that he almost dropped the phone to the ground. He knew that he was not being as successful as he could be at convincing her that they had nothing to discuss, that the romance which he could not fully explain but that he wished he could completely endorse and explore, was the one thing he had to reject in order to protect her. It was the ultimate sacrifice and, despite how hard he was finding it, he needed to continue. He had to. For her.
They stood for a few moments, completely paralysed, as Sherlock lowered the hand which held the phone. The phone rang angrily and incessantly for several moments, rudely intruding upon the silence and the thoughts of Sherlock and Joan, who were staring at each other with wide and uncertain eyes. Sherlock was the first one to break the stare, which he did as the phone stopped ringing. As it began to ring again, he tossed it impatiently to the side, where it landed on one of the jackets which he had discarded earlier, with a low and hollow thump.
"Watson, I told you about my feelings on romance, and on love" he stated, faltering slightly, and almost choking on the final word. "Nothing has changed."
"Yes, it has" she stated simply, in a kind and conciliatory tone. "When we were dancing there was... there was a pull, a draw, something stronger and more powerful than either of us have experienced before, with each other, at least" she began, watching him cautiously as she continued. "I felt it. And I know you did too."
"It was a dance, Watson. Dancing requires the participants to enter into a certain level of physical closeness and intimacy that they are not always accustomed to. It has-"
"And what about the kiss?" she asked tentatively, her eyes softening slightly at the memory. "It wasn't meaningless, Sherlock, not by a long shot. It was passionate, it was intense, it was desperate. We need to talk this through, figure it out, achieve some level of closure-"
"Then let us consider the matter closed."
"It's not that simple."
"Why?" he asked, a theatrical degree of bewilderment entering his tone. "Nothing has changed, Watson. Not you, not I, and not how we view our partnership, of how we work."
"You can't speak for how I feel, Sherlock. For how I perceive and interpret what has happened."
"Then how do you perceive it?"
"I don't know" she said simply, her eyes widening like those of a frightened schoolgirl, who was confronted by a teacher after having just been caught watching one child play a trick on another. "But what I do know is that it isn't something we can just dismiss-"
"It is, Watson." Sherlock replied, his hands clenching by his sides, as he continued to watch her with wide and alert eyes. "I believe that my deductions are correct, and that you will soon come to the same conclusion yourself. What has happened is simply a temporary consequence of a brief shift in the nature of our relationship, which we adjusted slightly to suit a case. As you said, the boundaries existing within our partnership are unclear, and are permeable."
"This is beyond boundaries, Sherlock. And this is beyond logic and reason and-"
"Not for me" he stated simply, his tone lower than it had been before.
"It's emotional, intrinsic" she began. "It's physical and it is-"
"Scientific" Sherlock stated. "A chemical imbalance."
"Imbalance?" Joan countered, her voice faltering slightly as she wavered at the final word. "You think what happened, what I felt, and what I know you felt too, can be dismissed as a chemical imbalance? A symptom?"
"Not a symptom, Watson, but a simple consequence." Joan was completely taken aback by this statement, and by what she perceived to be the harsh and unjustifiably callous logic he was using to 'explain' what was happening between them. She knew that he may deny that their relationship would change, but she did not expect him to deny how their recent encounters had affected them both. She had expected denial, she had expected an argument, but she had not expected coldness. Joan found herself incapable of reacting to his statement, and simply stared at him in disbelief. She felt as though his words had pierced her skin, and had physically pained her. She knew that he would deny romance, perhaps, but not the connection itself, or its affect upon them both. Certainly not so coldly, so harshly, and so utterly and completely.
Joan swallowed hard, before breaking their gaze, and turning her head to the side. "You're wrong" she choked, as she felt herself become consumed with emotion. She didn't understand why she was reacting like this, or what it was that was causing her to feel so completely and utterly out of control. She wasn't the type to just break down without warning, or to allow herself to become upset by Sherlock's cold and aloof nature. But there was something different about this subject, about how he was handling it. She didn't understand it, she didn't understand him. And she did not understand how, in the past few minutes, she could be made to feel so completely and utterly meaningless to a person she cared deeply about. Despite her confusion and her sadness, Joan was determined not to cry in front of him. In fact, she decided that she would not cry at all. Less than a moment after her final words, and before Sherlock had a chance to respond to them, Joan walked briskly past him, making straight for the door to the stairs, and passing through it. She heard the heavy door close slowly behind her as she quickly descended the staircase, and headed straight for her room. She felt hot, restricted, confined. She needed to relax, to calm down. As soon as she closed her bedroom door behind her, she began to remove her clothing, carelessly discarding it upon the floor, as she chewed her cheeks nervously. She walked from the bottom of her bed to her chest of drawers, where she selected a large towel and a bathrobe, which she wrapped around herself absent-mindedly. Joan's eyes were wide and glassy, and she was acting completely on autopilot, with no real understanding or awareness of what she was doing. She walked slowly across the room and towards the dressing table, before pulling the band from her hair, so it fell loosely about her shoulders. She discarded the band on top of the table, carefully avoiding looking at her reflection in the mirror, before walking quickly towards her bedroom door and throwing it open. She did not look to see if Sherlock was on the landing, she did not think of this, she did not think much at all in those painful few moments. Instead, she walked briskly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind her and depositing the towel on the radiator, before allowing the robe to fall from her tired and aching body. As Joan reached across into the shower and turned on the dials, the cold water which beat against her arm sobered her instantly, and she found herself now fully awake and incredibly aware of what had just transpired. She swallowed hard, battling to fight back both her memories and her emotions, as she took a step into the shower, before the water had heated up completely. As she allowed the water to soak into her hair, and cover her body in a cool and refreshing manner, Joan rested her head against the cold tiles on the wall, and wept.