Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, and it felt as though his heart had stopped beating. As soon as she had told him that he was 'wrong', in that choked and sad manner, he felt his chest tighten, and his mouth go dry. He had been completely incapable of responding to her at that moment, even if he had known what to say. He did not. Her response and her pain had completely thrown him, and he did not know how to react. He felt a combination of unbearable guilt and incomprehensible confusion, and was completely unsure of how to act. He knew that his actions may upset her, and that his attempt to protect her emotionally and physically would have temporary negative consequences, but he had not anticipated the look on her face, the sound on her voice. It had completely broken him. Sherlock was so overcome by the shocked and pained expression on her face, something which he had not seen before, that he found himself frozen to the spot, utterly unable to move for at least five minutes after she walked past him and left the rooftop. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the heavy door shutting behind her, but otherwise found himself unable to recognise or take account of anything else around him, as he was completely lost in his thoughts.
Sherlock tried to run through their previous conversation in his mind, going over each statement he had made, and her responses to it, both verbal and physical. Each time he remembered her desire to discuss their relationship, and his attempts at dismissing it, he felt his breath quickening and his body becoming flushed and tense. He was not used to feeling this way, and could not interpret his current condition. He did not understand why he was feeling so strange, and he did not wish to. Each time he attempted to give any great deal of thought or consideration to his former conversation with Watson, the first thing he thought of, and the thing which struck him instantly and more painfully than any of his words, was her expression. The look in her eyes had been one of complete and utter devastation, and he had caused it. Despite intending to protect her, and to ensure she did not experience those kind of feelings, he had done the opposite. He knew that he may upset her, on a temporary basis, from which she would recover, but he had not expected this. But then again, with his relationship with Joan Watson, he suddenly remembered that nothing could be expected or explained. And he had been foolish to think that it could. Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration, rubbing his eyes with his hands, before releasing a deep and shaky breath. Before he could consider the events of the past few minutes further, the familiar sound of ringing and vibrating broke the silence. Sherlock turned to face the bench, where the screen of his phone was buzzing and shining brightly upon his discarded coat. He stared at it for a moment, before walking quickly towards the bench, and picking up the phone. As he did so, he stared absent-mindedly at the spot where Joan had stood when she implored him not to answer the phone. His eyes became wide and glassy, as he turned from this spot and checked the caller ID, before rising the phone to his ear. Joan Watson was not here now.
Joan spent two or three minutes crying in the shower, her head pressed against the cold tiles on the wall as she was covered with warm and comforting water. After about a minute or so, she clamped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her pained sobbing, before releasing one final staggered breath, and calming herself. She pushed herself away from the wall and reached for her shampoo, lathering it in her hair and washing it out again under the water, as the warmth and heat of the shower soothed her aching body and mind. Joan did not cry often, but when she did, she found that she did it for short periods of time, and would feel much more relaxed and in control afterwards. She always appeared to be so 'together', so calm and so completely able to handle any situation that she was faced with. And she was. She did. By allowing her emotions to rule her for a few minutes, she was able to experience them fully, before vanquishing her despair, and working towards fixing whatever issue in her life was currently broken. As the shampoo and conditioner was washed from her hair, Joan turned away from the shower-head and opened her eyes, finding herself facing the mirror on the wall opposite the shower. The mirror was covered with steam and condensation, but small drops of liquid were trickling down it slowly, revealing the glass beneath, and showing Joan parts of her own reflection. She couldn't make out much, just her skin, parts of her arm, or a streak of her hair. Joan averted her gaze from the mirror, and stood directly beneath the water again, embracing it completely. She had always found hot showers to be a perfect way to unwind and to relax, and often came up with some of her best ideas and solutions whilst in them. It wasn't surprising, really: having ideas or solving issues which she had been wrestling with, whilst in an environment which provided her with such warmth, comfort and peace. In college, she had come up with a central argument for one of the papers she was writing whilst having a 3am shower which she hoped would help her to stay awake. She got an A.
But now, as Joan felt the warm water washing over her tired body, she felt no such ideas, no inspiration, and no hope. Her thoughts were divided between lamenting Sherlock's aloofness and apparent ignorance at the need to discuss their relationship, and her own self-condemnation at reacting so emotionally and so dramatically to it. She did not know what had prompted her to become so upset, to storm from the roof and seek solace in the shower. But what she did know was that it highlighted just how much their relationship had changed, and how it was affecting them both more than they realised. Joan's eyes flickered open at this thought, and she reached across and turned off the shower. She stood in the steamy bathtub for a few moments, until the coldness of the air around her drew her from her thoughts. She had been more affected by the changes in their relationship, and her inability to understand them, which had led to her acting in such a strange and unusual way. Perhaps that would explain Sherlock's actions on the roof. He was often aloof or blunt, but never dismissive. He did not discuss Joan's statements or her feelings, he simply tried to make them disappear, and Joan found herself wondering why. Why would a man who loves logic, and who thrives on puzzles, dismiss one of the biggest puzzles which he was currently faced with? Unless he did not see it as a puzzle. Maybe he had already worked out the solution, and was intent on concealing it from Joan.
Joan's eyes narrowed in confusion as she removed her hand from the dials on the shower, and allowed it to fall tiredly by her side. She inhaled slightly, before taking a few steps back and stepping out of the bath, the coldness of the room striking her with an almost physical force. She reached across to the radiator for her towel, which she wrapped comfortingly around her, and closed her eyes briefly in gratitude of the warmth. She wrapped the towel tightly around her, before squeezing the water from her hair and into the sink, and allowing her hair to fall across her left shoulder, draping itself elegantly beside her neck. Joan turned towards the mirror and wiped off some of the condensation with her hand, before looking at her reflection for a few moments. Her eyes looked tired and sad, but showed no immediate signs of crying, which she was grateful for. Joan moved away from the mirror and towards the radiator, allowing the towel to fall from her almost-dry body and wrapping herself in her white floral bathrobe, which was light and feminine, and which always gave her a renewed confidence boost. As she drew the tie around her waist, she moved towards the door, opening it wide, and pushing it to one side. Before she could leave the bathroom, she looked up to find herself facing the side profile of Sherlock Holmes, who was turning on the spot to face her.
"Watson, good-" he began, turning to face her. He allowed his eyes to travel down her body quickly, before shifting uncomfortably on the spot and turning his head away from her. Neither of them were particularly embarrassed by her current state of dress, as they had both seen each other in similar states before. But to Sherlock, seeing her in this manner felt almost like an intrusion. Or, at least, something which he did not deserve to be witness to. He had no desire to make her feel any more uncomfortable or upset, and was determined to show her that. He held her in the highest regard, and respected and commended her more than any other human being, even himself. And, despite the confusing and upsetting nature of their former conversation, he would make sure that she knew it.
"Ah, Watson, I..." he muttered, swallowing hard as his head dropped slightly, and he began to stare at the door next to the bathroom, as he drummed his fingers on his thigh and attempted to speak. "Captain Gregson called, and, when you are quite dressed, would you care to accompany me to the police station?"
"Why?" she asked, her tone relatively normal, which surprised both of them. She crossed her arms across her chest and ensured that her robe was tightly secured, before turning her head to the side and awaiting his response. "Has something happened?"
"It's what hasn't happened that is the issue" Sherlock stated simply, in a light and conversational tone. "The police have been interviewing Jake for hours, and he has so far refused to answer any of their more probing questions, thus impeding the investigation." Joan nodded slowly, acknowledging her understanding, as she considered how normal their current conversation was. It was almost as if the past twenty minutes had not happened. "So, in an attempt to speed things up, so to speak, Captain Gregson has requested that the PA's of victims one and three come in and see if they can identify them. Miss Lennard, PA to the third victim, has already identified him by name and occupation, but a visual confirmation would be beneficial. Gregson is inviting the first PA in on the off-chance."
"Makes sense" Joan stated simply, uncrossing her arms and placing one hand on her hip. "And he wants us to be there?"
"Yes" Sherlock replied, as he finally turned his head to face her. Her pose, her hair, her expression: she looked magnificent, indestructible. But he knew that she wasn't. "Do you feel up to accompanying me?" He asked tentatively. He was concerned that she may not feel up to going to the police station, and find herself in the same building as Jake Thompson. But he was also concerned that, if she did feel able to go, she would not wish to be in his company.
"Of course" she replied in the same simple tone she had used early. "I'll be ready in ten minutes". With that, Joan walked past him and towards her room, leaving Sherlock standing on the landing, staring at the space in front of him which she had just occupied. His thoughts were, yet again, only interrupted by the sound of a door closing behind him. Sherlock remained on the landing for a few seconds, until the sound of Joan moving about in her room penetrated the silence, and drew him from his thoughts. Sherlock walked slowly across the landing and down the stairs, sitting in the armchair in the living room for a few minutes. Sherlock was contemplating the events of the past hour or so as he tried to fix Angus, whose broken pieces of skull had become loose again following his use as a weapon against a would-be assassin, until the familiar sound of Joan's heels coming down the stairs drew his attention towards the foyer.
"Are you ready?" she asked pleasantly, as she selected a coat from the coat rack and drew it across her, before draping her bag over her shoulders. "Did you call a cab?"
"Yes, it should be here in just a few minutes" Sherlock responded, as he looked down at his watch. Joan watched him for a moment, noting how uncomfortable he appeared, and feeling oddly responsible for it. Despite her disappointment in him and his reaction to their conversation on the roof, she did not want him to be consumed by fear or dread, and she certainly didn't want him to be uncomfortable in her presence. So she decided to offer him an olive branch.
"Great, thanks." She began tentatively, before pausing for a few moments, before taking a few cautious steps towards him, and crouching down in front of him. She reached for the piece of broken porcelain which Sherlock was holding, and he released it gratefully, watching her face as she gently held it slightly away from the hole in the skull. Sherlock applied some more glue to the edges of the fracture, before Joan slid the small piece into place, pressing it in until she could feel that it was secure.
"Thank you, Watson" he spoke, in a low and grateful tone. Joan removed her hands from the bust and looked up at his face, meeting his gaze as she did so. They stared at each other for a few seconds, their eyes not wishing to leave the other, until the sound of the beeping of a horn drew them from their reveries.
"Taxi's here" Joan declared, pressing her hands on her knees and pushing herself up to her feet. She took a few steps towards the foyer, before turning on her heels and facing Sherlock again, who had partially risen from his seat. "Any time" she stated kindly, before turning again and walking through the foyer. Sherlock felt slightly calmer, as though a weight was being gradually lifted, as he walked through the room and into the foyer, selecting his own scarf and coat. He turned on the spot, preparing himself to open the front door, but instead found that Joan had already done so, and was standing on the top step outside the brownstone, and was holding the door open for him. He smiled nervously and thanked her once more, before they descended the stairs, Joan walking a few paces ahead of him.
They arrived at the precinct within ten minutes, and quickly entered the building. They were met at the front desk by Captain Gregson, who had been expecting them.
"Thanks again, guys" he stated, looking from Sherlock to Joan, who he watched with concern for a few moments. She gave him a look of confidence and conviction which reassured them both, and he continued to speak. "Miss Haren has just arrived, and we're about to take her through, she's just being interviewed. Miss Lennard is expected to arrive in about twenty minutes." He stated, before leading them towards the interview room where Jodie Haren, the PA to the first victim, was sitting. The door was opened and Sherlock and Joan stepped inside, and were met by the concerned gaze of the nervous young woman sat before them.
"I... I don't recognise the name, Detective" she continued, directing her statement at Detective Bell, who was sat opposite her. "I'm sorry."
"That's alright, ma'am" he responded. "But, as I've explained, if you could just take a look at him through the glass, and let us know if he appears at all familiar, that would be great."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need." She stated, nodding repeatedly. "Shall we go now?"
Detective Bell rose from his seat and made his way towards the door, allowing Joan and Sherlock to leave first, before indicating for the seated woman to stand. "Please" he said kindly, standing by her side as he escorted her across the precinct and to another room. Sherlock and Joan followed them close behind, with Sherlock gazing around the precinct, before allowing his eyes to fall upon Joan, who appeared to be more nervous since they left the room. He deduced, correctly, that she was apprehensive over seeing Jake again, even if it was from behind a sheet of one-way glass. Although they had known each other for a very short time, Sherlock understood the initial shock associated with such situations. But instead of dwelling on his time with Irene, he found himself completely engaged in reassuring Joan Watson. As they arrived at the interrogation room, he took a few tentative steps towards her, breaching the five feet of personal space which he had accorded her since their conversation on the roof, and he stood by her side on the other side of the glass. And she was grateful.
Miss Haren was standing at the front of the glass between Captain Gregson and Detective Bell, and was gazing at the subjects on the other side. Sherlock and Joan were standing about a foot behind them, and were looking over their shoulders into the room. Sherlock watched the good-looking accountant with a mixture of anger and disdain, whilst Joan watched him with caution and wariness, and the utmost confusion. Jake was sitting in the sea facing the glass, so she had the perfect view of him. He appeared completely calm and at ease, and not the least bit perturbed about his current circumstances. His body language and demeanour did not scream 'serial killer', but there was something about him that made Joan believe that he was not all that he had originally appeared to be. And this frightened her. Not just because she had not realised it, or because she did not know what it was. But because she could allow herself to become close to someone who she had been so wrong about. She turned from Jake to Sherlock, who was watching the man behind the glass with wide and unblinking eyes. As she allowed her gaze to fall on Sherlock, and slowly drift away, she felt herself soften slightly. Not the same she thought to herself, considering the negative qualities of both Jake and Sherlock. Not even close.
"Oh my God..." Jodie Haren breathed, raising her hand to her mouth in a gesture which instantly attracted the attention of everyone in the room. "That's... I know him, I... how do I know him" she asked, allowing her hand to fall slightly from her lips as she tilted her head to the right, and began to stare down at the floor. "Yeah, he... wait, does he do some kind of job involving records?" she asked perplexedly, glancing from Bell to Gregson.
"He's an accountant, ma'am" Gregson replied cautiously, keeping his eyes fixed upon her.
"Yes, yes that must be it!" she declared gratifyingly. "I think I saw him around our offices... I don't know when, not too long ago. I think he was working on some files or something. But yeah, he is familiar. I'm sure I know him, I'm sure" she repeatedly breathlessly, before being thanked by Gregson and Bell, the latter who led her from the room.
"So, whaddya think?" Gregson asked, turning to face Sherlock and Joan.
"He's a freelance accountant, it's possible that he did some temporary financial work for any number of companies in the city. J&F Dynamics is a hugely successful and fairly prolific company, so I guess it's possible." Joan stated, before finally allowing her eyes to remove themselves from the handsome man behind the glass. "It's not conclusive, of course, but it's something. We can confront him with it."
"We?" Sherlock asked, turning on the spot to face her. Before she could respond, the door behind them opened, and Detective Bell re-entered, accompanied by another person.
"Hi, sorry I'm a bit early" came the familiar voice of Maria Lennard. "I had an interview down-town which didn't take as long as I thought it would. Are you ready?" She asked, swallowing hard at the last statement. Gregson smiled kindly at her, before leading her slowly towards the window, and speaking to her softly.
"Now, take your time Miss Lennard, alright? There's no rush" he began, ushering her to the front of the room. Maria's eyes were fixed on Gregson's face, and she did not allow her gaze to leave his. "Now, when you're ready, will you please look at the man through this window, and tell us if he seems familiar or is known to you?" She nodded quickly, before crossing her arms across her chest and turning to face the window. She inhaled sharply and audibly, which attracted the attention of Sherlock and Joan, and confirmed their suspicions before the anxious PA vocally affirmed them.
"That's him" she stated in a shaky voice. "That's Jake. The man who threatened my employer." She choked on the last word, and from her position behind her, Joan could see her head drop slightly, and one of her hands rise to her mouth. "I... I'm sorry-" she began, her words drowned out by a stifled sob. Joan took a few steps forwards and place a reassuring hand on the woman's lower back, and began to speak to her gently, whilst ushering her from the room.
"Hey, hey it's alright" she began, leading her towards the door. "You did great, you really helped us, alright?" She continued, as they passed through the door and into the busy, bustling precinct. Joan reached into her bag and picked out a pack of tissues, which she handed to the young woman, smiling at her warmly. Sherlock and Gregson had followed the women from the room, but remained a respectable distance behind, allowing them to talk with as much privacy as they could be afforded.
"Thanks Miss Watson" she responded in a shaky and uncertain tone. "I'm sorry, I... I keep thinking I'm fine, and that it's okay, and then-" she breathed in deeply and pressed a hand to her mouth, in an attempt to calm herself.
"You don't have to apologise for being upset, Maria" she responded kindly, in a reassuring manner. "And this, what you're going through, is a process. It takes time" she continued, as the young woman looked up at her with tearful eyes. "But you're going to be okay." Maria seemed unconvinced, but nodded politely, thanking Joan for her kindness and compassion. "Are you free now?" Joan asked, observing the disconcerted disposition of the young woman who had been through so much. "I was gonna go for a coffee run, would you like to join me?" Maria's eyes rose to Joan's, and her expression softened slightly.
"I don't want to intrude. I know you guys are working hard to figure out-"
"Caffeine is a wonderful stimulant which promotes hard work" Joan stated kindly, earning a small smile from the young woman. "Really, I'm off to get some now, why don't you join me? We can sit down for a while, and talk."
"Thank you" Maria responded after a few moments, nodding her head gratefully.
"No problem" Joan returned, before glancing up to look at Sherlock and Gregson, the latter of whom nodded to her appreciatively. Sherlock simply watched her with a warm and relaxed expression. Her kindness, compassion and ability to comfort those who needed it the most always amazed him, and made him feel incredibly grateful and privileged to have someone like her in his life. He watched her as she walked out of the precinct with Maria Lennard, who seemed more visibly stronger and more content in the past few seconds than she had done in their previous associations with her.
Joan took Maria to a coffee shop a couple of blocks away, which she sometimes went in to buy a bottle of water after jogging. It was a family-owned place which had been open for decades, and had the most reassuring and comforting atmosphere that Joan had ever come across. The coffee shop had light brown walls and dark oak furniture, and was owned by a kindly family from Cuba, who knew Joan by name.
"Miss Watson!" came the familiar voice of Steven, the son of the owners, who knew Joan's order off by heart.
"Steven, please, call me Joan" she smiled, holding the door open for Maria, who walked nervously into the shop. "This is Maria".
"Any friend of yours gets a free drink!" declared an older man from the kitchen, who had just walked out and was beaming upon Joan. The family were very fond of Joan, ever since she came into the store for a bottle of water about a year ago, just as their youngest daughter poured scalding water over herself whilst in the kitchen. She had screamed so loud that Joan had rushed into the kitchen and, after seeing what the issue was almost immediately, had sprung into action. She wrapped the girl's arm in cling-film and held it under the cold tap until medics arrived. The doctors at the hospital reportedly told the family that Joan's actions had prevented infection and any long-term damage, and they had been incredibly grateful to her.
"Thanks, Jonathan" Joan smiled, before walking up to the counter with Maria, and placing their orders. Once the men had began preparing their drinks, Joan covertly placed a twenty-dollar bill into the 'tips' jar, before leading Maria to a free booth near a window, where they would be assured the utmost privacy. Their drinks were bought over shortly afterwards, and the two women stirred and sipped for a few minutes, before Joan began to speak.
"So, how are you?" she asked tentatively, raising her eyes to meet Maria's as she continued to sip her coffee.
Maria's warm and reassured eyes glistened once more, and she pursed her lips together before shaking her head uncomfortably. "I... I don't know, I..." she paused for a moment, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup as she struggled to find the words. "Do you ever feel like everything that could possibly go wrong is going wrong? Like, no matter what you do, it's all too much?"
"Yes, occasionally. I think most people have experienced something like that" Joan responded gently, removing her hands from her coffee cup and entwining them, before placing them on the table. "But talking about these things often helps."
"I know, I... I'm just not the type, you know?" she smiled nervously, before taking a small sip of her coffee. "Wow, this is good" she stated absent-mindedly, smiling slightly once more. Joan nodded, and waited patiently for her to continue.
"After what happened with Alana, I just... it was awful, and I... to be honest I wasn't having a great time before." Once more, Joan waited patiently for her nervous associate to continue speaking, which she did after a few moments, taking a sip of coffee to restore her nerves. "I... My girlfriend broke up with me a few months ago, it was... not pleasant" she stated, taking a further sip.
"I'm sorry" Joan said apologetically, and with the utmost sincerity. "With everything that's going on, this must be a really difficult time for you."
"Yeah, it's just... it feels like the second I get close to someone, they leave, you know? My girlfriend left me, and now with Alana..."
"Were you and Alana-"
"No." Maria stated, shaking her head as she removed the coffee cup from her lips. "No, Alana was just... she was wonderful, really. Very kind, understanding. I was working for her when I was going through my break-up, and she was so supportive, so kind. She was wonderful." She stated, her eyes becoming light and tearful as she continued to talk. "I was just grateful to have someone like her in my life, you know."
"I know" Joan stated in a low and even tone, before taking a cautious sip of her own coffee.
"After I found out about what happened to Alana, the first thing I wanted to do was call my ex." Maria continued, shaking her head as she fought back the tears. "Stupid, right?"
"No, no not at all." Joan responded, watching Maria with warm eyes which were full of kindness and sympathy. "It's awful when you have this... connection with someone, someone you adore and who adores you too, but things happen and you aren't able to talk to them about the things that concern you the most."
"Yeah" Maria sighed, lifting her gaze from her coffee mug. "I'm sorry, have... have you been through a break-up recently too?"
"Not exactly, no" Joan responded eventually, taking a sip of coffee. "I just..." she paused, moving the coffee cup around in a circle on the desk, as she struggled to find the words. "I know what it feels like to feel let down by someone you care about, and to find yourself in a situation where you feel very, very alone." She stated, as she brushed the memories of her most recent conversation with Sherlock to the back of her mind. "But you're going to be alright, okay? You're going to get through this." Joan spoke with such certainty and conviction that Maria nodded almost instantly, even before she had fully taken in Joan's words. We both will Joan thought, as she rose the cup to her lips for one last time, and took a satisfying sip. The coffee filled her with the same feelings of warmth and comfort as the shower had that morning, and she found herself experiencing a renewed sense of confidence and strength, which reassured her greatly. Joan and Maria spent a further twenty minutes in the coffee shop, ordering another drink and talking about a variety of subjects, before Maria excused herself, explaining that she had another interview later that afternoon.
"Wow, you are in demand" Joan stated in an impressed tone. "Good luck" she stated, smiling at her warmly. "Oh, and here" she continued, reaching into her bag and handing Maria a card. "This is my contact information. If you need anything, just call me, okay? Anytime."
"Thank you, Miss Watson" Maria stated, placing the card in her bag, before leaving the store. Joan sat in her seat for a few more minutes, sipping lightly on her coffee and running through the recent events in her head, before saying goodbye to the owners and their relatives and walking confidently back to the precinct. She found Gregson, Bell and Sherlock in the room where all of the information they had gathered and analysed on their victims was being kept, displayed on several large whiteboards. As she entered the room, she paused slightly, and found herself staring at the newest board, which was directly in front of her. It was of the suspect, Jake Thompson. There was a large photo of him in the centre, as well as some from his police files, and various other pieces of information about him. Gregson watched her with concern as she glanced at this board, before she allowed her stare to fall upon Sherlock, who turned slowly to face her. They looked at each other for a few moments, and Joan found that pieces of the conversation which she had just had with Maria was swimming in her mind, and reassuring her of the fact that she was strong, she was capable, and she was alright. Joan offered Sherlock a small smile, before turning her attention towards Captain Gregson, and preparing herself to speak. She stood tall and confident, and her face wore an expression of courage and conviction.
"Captain, I'd like to interview Jake Thompson."