"She's alive?" Joan asked, turning to face the Captain directly. "Is she alright?"
"She's been beaten and stabbed, but her injuries are non-life threatening. She was found in her home by her husband an hour ago and is on her way to the hospital now. My detective called me from the ambulance, and told me that she's slowly regaining consciousness."
"Do we know when the attack took place?" Sherlock asked, watching the Captain expectantly.
"Not exactly, no. Mrs Masters was usually gets back from work at between 9 and 10pm, and her husband found her just after ten this morning, after getting back on the red-eye from a business trip to Denver. When the officers found her, she was dressed in her business suit, so we can assume the attack happened when she got back from work."
"Or before" Joan offered. "This morning, maybe, before she left? Do we have confirmation that she arrived at work yesterday?"
"No, not yet." Gregson replied, his eyes conveying his worry.
"So it's possible that Jake Thompson didn't attack her. I mean, he was with us from eleven o'clock last night." She said, half to herself. "He may not be our guy."
"It is possible that Mr Thompson committed the latest offence, Watson. He would have had ample time to do so, before returning to his apartment, where he was found by police shortly before eleven." Sherlock began in a conciliatory tone. "It is also possible that this crime may be unrelated to our current ones."
"Yeah, but it would be one helluva coincidence, wouldn't it?" Gregson countered. "I mean, the MO and the victim profile are almost identical. Apart from the location and the fact that the victim is still alive."
"Quite, Captain" Sherlock began cautiously. "But these are things that we must consider. However, we can do little more than speculate until we have analysed the scene and spoken to the victim."
"Yeah" replied the Captain, tiredly rubbing his temples. "We'll head to the scene first. CSUs are on their way, and Mrs Masters won't be available to talk to right now. Are you guys good to go?" He asked, looking towards Joan and Sherlock.
"Of course" Joan responded immediately, before turning to Sherlock, who nodded in affirmation.
Sherlock, Joan, Gregson and Bell travelled by police car to a modern apartment in Manhattan, which had been recently renovated. As the group travelled in the elevator to the top floor, Joan felt her stomach clench slightly, and it took her a while to realise why. The last time she had been near an elevator was when she had moved to examine the one at the crime scene, and had been attacked. This realisation did not hit her until after Gregson had pressed the button to the appropriate floor, by which time it was too late for her to make an excuse to use the stairs. Joan felt flushed suddenly, and ever so slightly panicked. It felt as though all the air had vanished from the small box which was holding them all prisoner, and she felt as though her skin was on fire. She leaned back against the mirror in the lift which, fortunately, was on the back wall of the elevator, where she and Sherlock were standing. Gregson and Bell were in front of them and were, therefore, completely oblivious to her current distress. Visually, she appeared to be fine, but internally, she was far from it. Her heart was beginning to race, and her skin was feeling increasingly hot. She was beginning to feel slightly light-headed, and unsteady on her feet, which caused her to shift slightly when the elevator finally began to ascend. She pressed herself against the back wall, holding her hands by her sides, as she closed her eyes before taking in a deep, calming breath, which she found soothed her slightly. For a few moments, she felt quite calm, almost serene, as she continued to block out the fact that she was in a place which she now associated with danger and violence. She did not know how long her eyes remained closed, or what it was exactly that she had been thinking of, when she found herself drawn from her thoughts by the feeling of something in her left hand.
Soon after Joan had closed her eyes, and shifted slightly after the elevator began to move, Sherlock turned to face her, and immediately noticed how uncomfortable she was. Her body language and current demeanour could not conceal the fact that she was afraid, and it took him a very short period of time to deduce why. He watched her with sympathy and concern as he realised how hard she was trying to remain calm, and keep herself feeling safe and secure. For a moment, he felt at a loss of what to do, and how to help her. But mere seconds after he first observed the signs of her distress, he found himself moving sideways slightly, edging closer to her. When they were just three inches or so apart, Sherlock glanced towards Joan, who was visibly tense, and attempting to control her breathing. As he observed her current state, he found himself acting immediately and instinctively. His right hand moved slowly and cautiously towards her left, before he threaded his fingers gently between her own, and squeezed reassuringly. For a moment, he was afraid that she would reject his action, or feel more unsettled by his attempts to comfort her. After their conversation on the roof, he would not be surprised if she removed her hands from his, rejecting his attempts at assistance. And he would not blame her. It took Joan a few moments to notice the contact, and to understand what it was. Within a moment, her eyes snapped open, and he noticed that her entire body relaxed, before she edged slightly closer to him, and her fingers returned his squeeze. Neither of them looked at each other during this time, but their hands laced together, for several moments, until the elevator pinged and the doors slowly began to open. As soon as the 'ping' was heard, both Sherlock and Joan allowed their hands to remove themselves from each other's, and fall back to their sides. The four individuals within the elevator then walked briskly from it, making their way down the corridor and towards one of the apartments. Gregson and Bell were oblivious to the contact just shared by their colleagues, and Sherlock and Joan did not acknowledge it.
They made their way to the apartment at the end of the corridor, which was guarded by a uniformed police officer, who opened the door after exchanging a few brief words with Captain Gregson. Gregson, Bell, Sherlock and Joan passed cautiously into the apartment, pausing a few feet inside to survey the scene before them. The entire floor of this apartment was open plan, with the kitchen and breakfast bar to the far right, which seemed to be undisturbed, well-decorated and extremely expensive. It had white counter-tops and dark wooden drawers and furniture, with bone china and silver utensils lining the walls, and the most up-to-date kitchen appliances recently installed. The breakfast bar was adorned with red and white roses, and a small bowl of water with floating lilies were displayed on the dining room table. It was clean, tidy and impeccably decorated, which provided a stark contrast to the rest of the apartment. To the left was the rest of the apartment, and it was very much a crime scene. There was a large, black leather corner sofa which faced the kitchen, with similar couches by the side, and a large, antique coffee table in the centre, which had been overturned, leading to the destruction of the wine glasses and decanter which had evidently adorned it at some point. A bloodied crystal ash tray also lay amongst the wreckage, and there were small amounts of blood on various pieces of furniture, as well as the cream cushions which had fallen from the couches. Several large and unlit candles had rolled across the room, and lay scattered across the open space. The cushions on the largest couch were out of place, with a few lying on the floor, and a one wedged between two couches. The shelving unit to the right had been disturbed, and the items which had resided in the centre were lying broken on the floor. There was a small pool of blood in the cream carpet beneath this spot, and splatter could be seen across the shelves, and some of the objects which remained on it. At the opposite side of the room were some framed photographs, which looked as if they had been hurled at the wall, and now lay smashed in a heap. By the side of these photographs was a small pool of blood, a bloodied tea-towel, and a designer high-heel.
"Is that where she was found?" Joan asked in a low voice, indicating towards the blood pool.
"Yeah" responded a detective who had moved towards the new arrivals, and was passing Gregson a file. "We will get you copies of the photos as soon as possible. Mrs Masters was lying on her left side, one arm across her stomach, when her husband found her. He turned her onto her back and applied pressure to the wound using the tea-towel you can see there, before calling 911."
"Thanks, Murphy" responded the Captain, flicking through the sheets of paper he had just been given, before passing them to Joan. "It's the primary report from the medics."
Joan accepted the papers and scanned them quickly, looking up from the sheets a couple of times to gaze across the scene, before turning back to the first page and preparing herself to speak. "According to the primary report, the victim sustained significant blunt force trauma to the face, neck and upper-extremities. It's hard to tell at this stage, but there's a bloodied ash tray on the floor, that could have been the weapon used to inflict such injuries" Joan stated, pausing for a moment as she glanced towards the overturned coffee table. "That would be consistent with the blood spatter by the couch and cushions, as well as the signs of a struggle in that general area." She looked at the scene before her, imagining the scene she just described taking place, before forcing herself to abandon such a thought, and continue with the report. "The medics also recorded a total of three penetrating stab wounds to the abdomen, but based on the pattern and significance of the injuries, they... they may have been hesitantly committed, or inflicted by someone with limited upper-body strength."
"The wounds were shallow?" Sherlock asked, confusion etched upon his face.
"Yeah" she replied, the same expression gracing her own features. "Which is odd. Shallow wounds are not consistent with the amount of violence and anger which are clearly present from this room, and the other injuries. It is doubtful whether someone with limited upper-body strength would have been able to inflict such extreme blunt force trauma upon the victim, and it is equally unlikely that someone with such rage would act hesitantly during the stabbing."
"But the levels of blunt force trauma are inconsistent with the previous attacks, are they not?" he asked.
"Yeah" she replied. "The other victims had some other injuries, but none this prolific" she paused for a moment, flicking through the pages of the report until she came to the one which contained a diagram of the location of the injuries of the victim. "I mean, it's clearly a highly personal attack, so why hesitate?"
"Perhaps the personal nature of the attack was the reason for the hesitation" Sherlock stated in a low and even tone, before walking across the room and towards the location where the victim had been found. He tilted his head to one side as he observed the evidence on the ground, before turning back to Joan, who was watching him expectantly. "There are eight picture frames on the shelf, and three on the floor. We can see that these frames were taken from the highest shelves on the unit, as there are spaces there which are consistent with the shape and size of the frames. These photographs, the only ones hurled across the room, are all wedding photos. They depict love, trust and companionship" he paused for a moment, allowing his gaze to fall from Joan's for a moment, before continuing. "Something in these photographs enraged the attacker, causing him to hurl them across the room with tremendous force."
"Force which is not consistent with someone with little to no upper-body strength" Joan stated simply, as realisation dawned upon her.
"Precisely" he responded, taking a few steps across the room and towards the couch. "These photographs angered someone, someone who valued Mrs Masters as a companion, as a lover. Seeing photographs of her married, and happy, and with her husband, enraged them. We are either looking for a lover, a person who is obsessed with her, or her husband."
"Would someone who is as obsessive as Jake Thompson fit the bill?" Bell asked.
"Oh yes, Detective. Very much so" Sherlock responded. "Whoever committed this crime, thought, felt closer to this particular victim than any other. That's clear by the personal nature of the attack and the hesitation."
"The hesitation?" Gregson asked. "How?"
"The initial assault on Mrs Masters was committed out of anger and despair. It was designed to hurt her, and to allow the attack to release their pain and frustration. The stabbing, as with the other victims, was intended to kill" Sherlock explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "But our attacker could not go through with hit. He could hurt her, he could hurt her terribly. But he could not bring himself to kill her."
"What does that suggest?" Joan asked, although she believed that she already knew the answer.
"Only one possible thing, Watson" he stated in a low and breathless voice, before turning to meet her gaze directly. "It means that our attacker loves the victim. Or, at least, that he is infatuated with her to such an extent that the idea of actually killing her was much more difficult and harder to carry out than he had initially realised. I expect he is feeling quite conflicted at this moment."
"Unless he thinks the job is already done" Bell offered. "Maybe he thought that he did it, that she's dead."
"Unlikely, but it's possible" responded Sherlock. "Although I personally wouldn't wager a great amount of money on that theory. No. No, I believe that our latest victim is more than we may realise. Based on the nature of her attack, and the evidence of this room, I believe that she and the killer are known to each other, and are or were romantically involved. I also think it is possible that we consider the possibility that she was the intended victim all along. The original."
"In what sense?" Gregson asked, burying his hands in his pockets.
"In the sense, Captain, that this is the woman who our attacker wished to kill all along. The other women were killed to both release his anger, and to allow him to build up the practice and the conviction to commit this" he raised his arms theatrically, and gestured about the room, "his desired crime."
"You're saying that the other victims were just practice runs?" Bell asked.
"I'm saying that they were innocent women butchered because of their physical resemblance to Mrs Masters, as well as their similarity in dress and occupation." Sherlock spoke in a low and respectful tone. "And our killer is not done yet."
"You think he'll try to hurt Mrs Masters again?" Joan asked cautiously.
"Oh I have no doubt of it" he responded instantly, "despite his inability to complete his... his intentions, the anger and hatred within the killer will mean that it is highly unlikely that he will leave it here. He will either make another attempt on the life of Mrs Masters, or attack other women in the meantime. Either way, we must act fast" he stated, turning to face Gregson. "Captain, how soon can we talk to Mrs Masters?"
"I dunno" he stated simply, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone "But I'm gonna find out" Gregson scrolled through his contacts list and began to dial, before raising the phone to his ear and walking back towards the front door to the apartment.
"So you really think that this guy could attack Mrs Masters again?" Joan asked Sherlock, as he took a few steps closer to her.
"I do, Watson" he responded, as he drummed his fingers upon his thigh. "I also believe that she may know the identity of the man we are looking for." Joan nodded in understanding, and was about to respond, when they saw the tall form of Captain Gregson walking briskly towards them.
"I just called my detective, who's at the hospital with our victim. She's in a stable condition and able to talk".
"Then I suggest we go there immediately" Sherlock stated, walking towards Gregson. "We must speak to her at once."
Gregson and Bell walked swiftly from the apartment, followed by Sherlock and Joan, who hung slightly behind. Much more progress had been made in the case over the past few hours than in the past week, and each of the members of the investigative team were processing the influx of new informations, and dealing with their own personal issues in relation to the case. The walk from the apartment to the lift was a quick one, and felt even faster than it was due to the fact that Sherlock and Joan's minds were racing with information and ideas. It was not until Joan was standing four or five feet from the elevator that she began to realise where she was, and she felt herself quickly overcome by familiar feelings of anxiety and dread. She paused on the spot for a moment, which drew Sherlock's attention immediately to her. She began to take a few steps further ahead, walking towards the elevator as she attempted to control her breathing.
"Watson and I have something to discuss, Captain. We will take the stairs." Sherlock stated with conviction, before turning to the right and leading Joan towards the doorway to the stairs. Joan turned to face Gregson, who nodded simply, before pressing a button on the inside of the elevator. Joan stared after them until the lift doors closed completely, before walking briskly across the corridor and towards Sherlock, who was holding the door open for her.
"Thank you" she stated kindly, passing through the doorway and walking down the stairs. Although she suspected he had done this as a way of attempting to save her from a potentially unsettling situation, she was not completely sure. Despite the fact that there was still much they needed to discuss, she doubted that anything would be said on the short trip from the fourth floor to the ground. She also doubted that the present moment was one which Sherlock would deem appropriate to discuss the issue. She waited patiently for a few moments, remaining completely silent as they descended half of the stairs between the fourth floor and the third, before the sound of Sherlock's voice drew her from her thoughts.
"Our interview with Mrs Masters may be uncomfortable for her, Watson" he began, speaking in a conversational manner. "But it is essential that she answers our questions. I believe that she may be reluctant, but she must understand that her failure to disclose certain information may put herself and others in grave peril."
"I understand" Joan replied despondently after a few moments. "Why are you telling me this?" She asked perplexedly. They both knew this, she, Gregson and Bell had worked it out too. So why was he telling her?
"Because total disclosure is not something that all people find easy, Watson" he began, his tone lowering and voice adopting a grave and slightly nervous air. "No matter what the risks".
"To themselves or others?" she countered, attempting to keep her voice even.
"To everyone" Sherlock answered sadly, walking quickly past her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and crossing the foyer to meet the waiting Captain Gregson. Joan walked briskly towards them, crossing her arms across her chest as she reached Sherlock's side.
"Bell's in the car, we're gonna head straight to the hospital" Gregson explained, receiving nods of understanding from both Sherlock and Joan. "Are you guys ready?"
"Yeah"
"Yes"
Gregson looked perplexedly from Joan to Sherlock, before nodding quickly, and turning towards the front of the building. Sherlock and Joan followed Gregson to the car, pausing at the edge of the pavement for a moment. Sherlock took a few steps forward and opened the back door, holding it open for Joan, who thanked him as she arrived by the door, before easing herself into the seat. Sherlock nodded in response, before closing the door gently behind Joan, and joining her in the back. The fifteen minute journey from the apartment to the hospital was passed in relative silence.
Gregson, Bell, Sherlock and Joan arrived at the hospital just after 11,30am, and walked straight towards the reception desk. Gregson walked ahead, flashing his badge and exchanging a few brief words with the receptionist, before the group were ushered into a private room on one of the wards. Gregson knocked on the door, before entering alone and exchanging a few words with the occupants. He then opened the door and permitted the entrance of the waiting Bell, Sherlock and Joan, who entered the room with anticipation.
The room was clean, minimalist and smelled like fresh lilies. There was a hospital bed in the middle of the room against the wall, and medical machines to the left and right of it. To the far left of the room was a window, which was slightly above a small table and two chairs. There were other chairs to the right of the room, and framed pictures of flowers and scenic views adorned the walls. As soon as they stepped into the room, each of the members of the team saw the injured woman seated in the centre of the bed, and leaning gratefully into a suited man to her left, who the team correctly deduced to be her husband. Mrs Masters had long, dark hair, which was thick and curly. She was slim and toned, and her attractiveness could still be discerned beneath the purple bruising and broken skin across her face and neck. The blood had been washed off of her face, neck and arms, but her skin was still tinged red. There were lacerations to her wrists and lower arms, which appeared to be consistent with defensive wounds, and one of her eyes was bruised and slightly blood shot. And yet, despite her injuries, Mrs Masters had the appearance of a calm, collected and incredibly confident businesswoman, and was watching the new arrivals to her room with an expression which would not seem out of place in the boardroom.
"You must be Detective Bell" she spoke, in a confident yet slightly croaky voice, as she focused her attention on Bell, whose badge was on show. She then tilted her head slightly towards Sherlock and Joan, who were standing by his side. "Which would make you Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson" she spoke, earning a nod from each of the new members. "Captain Gregson says that you wish to speak to me" she said curiously, glancing from face to face. "So, where shall we begin?"
"First of all, Mrs Masters, I want you to know how sorry we are for what you've been through, and that we wish you a full and speedy recovery" Joan stated, in a kind and compassionate tone.
"Thank you, Miss Watson" she responded mechanically, in the same tone she probably used when thanking an assistant for handing her a report she had requested. "Your kindness is appreciated."
"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through" Joan continued, speaking in the same kind tone. "Do you feel ready to talk about it?" Mrs Masters swallowed, reaching her hand up and holding the hand of her husband, whose arm was draped across her neck. He tightened his grip on her hand and kissed her forehead tenderly. Joan watched the scene with awe, admiring the clear devotion of Mr Masters, who clearly adored his wife.
"Of course" she responded after a couple of moments, lifting her head slightly to meet Joan's gaze. "Where shall I begin?"
"Could you tell us what the last thing you remember is?" Joan asked tentatively.
Mrs Masters nodded, glancing to the side for a few moments, as if trying to gather her thoughts. She cleared her throat before beginning to speak. "I left work just after eight o'clock last night, and arrived home shortly before quarter-to-nine. It was slightly earlier than usual, one of my early morning meetings was cancelled, so there was less I needed to prepare ahead of the coming day." She paused for a moment, meeting Joan's gaze. Joan nodded in understanding, and the injured woman continued. "I remember walking into my apartment, placing my coat on the coat rack, and heading towards the coffee table for a wine glass. As I reached it there was-" she broke off for a moment, inhaling sharply. Mr Masters noticed her discomfort and adjusted himself accordingly, drawing her closer to his chest and rubbing her arm reassuringly.
"It's okay, sweetheart" he soothed. "Take your time." Joan watched the husband's face and body language as he spoke to his wife, and felt a combination of awe and great sadness. He clearly loved his wife, but it was a very real possibility that she was or had been cheating on him. Joan dispelled this thought from her mind the moment it occurred. Regardless of her conduct, Mrs Masters had been the victim of a brutal attack, and required and deserved as much support as was possible.
"Honey, would you-" she began, turning her head upwards to face her husband. "Would you mind stepping outside for a moment to call my sister? I'd like her to know that I am here."
"Of course, Greta. Of course" he stated, kissing her forehead as he slowly disentangled his body from her own, and eased himself from the bed. "Are you sure you'll be-"
"Of course" she stated with conviction, attempting a smile, which seemed to reassure him. She watched him carefully as he walked towards the door, and passed through into the hallway. She waited for a few seconds before addressing the individuals in her room again.
"I do not wish my husband to be present in discussions of this, you understand. He shouldn't have to hear about what I-" she broke off, shifting slightly in her bed, before turning to face the team with a calm and composed expression. "Someone grabbed me from behind, pushing me forwards into the coffee table" she continued, in a slightly choked voice. Mrs Masters recovered herself quickly, and her eyes shone with both tears and conviction. "My memory of the events following this are slightly hazy, you understand" she offered simply, pursing her lips together as she once more surveyed the expressions on the faces of the people in her room. "I believe that I was struck several times with a... with the ash tray. I also vaguely recall being pushed against... against the shelving unit before-" she broke off once more, lowering her head slightly, before raising her head with confidence. "Before being stabbed. Fortunately, those injuries are not serious. They are not deep at all, and are almost completely superficial."
"Physically, maybe" Joan spoke softly. "But you've been through a physically and emotionally traumatising time. It's very easy to underestimate the extent of your injuries, but it's important to acknowledge their severity. And I don't just mean in physical terms."
"Yes" she replied mechanically and without emotion. "I quite understand, thank you."
"I am Sherlock Holmes, Mrs Masters" came a familiar voice from Joan's side. "Myself and Miss Watson consult for the NYPD. I was wondering if you remember any of the details of your attacker?"
Mrs Masters stared at him with a blank and unreadable expression for a few moments, before swallowing hard and shaking her head. "No, Mr Holmes, I am afraid that I do not."
"Nothing?" he asked gently. "Mrs Masters, are you quite certain?"
"I was struck on the head. Repeatedly, according to medics. As I have told you, my memory is a little hazy."
"Yes, but you recalled with impressive clarity some of the events which occurred during your attack. You recall being struck and being held against the shelving unit. Do you not recall anything about the individual who put you in those situations?" Joan felt her chest tighten slightly. Although Sherlock's tone was fair and even, his line of questioning was not what she deemed to be appropriate. Mrs Masters had answered his question, and she did not believe that it was suitable for him to harass her in this manner.
"Sherlock..." she drawled warningly.
"His height? Physical characteristics? Anything about him that you can recall?"
"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but I cannot help you" she returned, in a voice which was incredibly calm and composed. "As I told you, I was grabbed from behind, and have sustained a head injury. All I remember about the-" she broke off her statement for a moment, narrowing her eyes as she thought. "About the person who attacked me" she continued, rising her head to meet Sherlock's inquisitive stare, "is that they were tall. About your height, I should imagine. Slim, yet athletic. I believe they wore black."
"Thank you, Mrs Masters" Sherlock responded gratefully, nodding enthusiastically as he spoke. "And is that consistent with a description of your lover?"
The room was uncomfortably quiet, and the discomfort of those inside was only increased by the piercing stare which Mrs Masters was inflicting upon Sherlock.
"Whatever are you suggesting?" she asked reprovingly, her eyes wide and startled.
"I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, Mrs Masters, or to out you as an adulteress" Sherlock began, speaking in a light yet low tone. "But it is vital that you assist us completely with our inquiries, for your own safety, and that of others" he continued, watching her carefully as he spoke. "We believe that this attack was deeply personal, and fuelled by jealousy, rage and feelings of rejection. It is essential that you give us all the facts so that we are able to find this person, bring them to justice, and prevent them from hurting anyone else, yourself included."
"I'm not having an affair" she stated in a low and sombre tone, her eyes not leaving Sherlock's. "Not any more" she added, her voice low and cautious. "I broke it off about four months ago."
"I see" Sherlock stated simply, nodding in understanding. "Can you give me the details of the man you had the affair with?"
"No" she stated simply, shaking her head as she crossed her arms across her chest. For the first time since the interview began, she appeared to be visibly uncomfortable, almost emotional. Joan sought to help her.
"Mrs Masters, we are not going to reveal your activities to your husband" she stated soothingly, in a kind and compassionate tone which drew the victim's eyes to her face. "We just want to help you. And help the other women whose lives this man has claimed."
"You can't know that the person I was with is responsible for... for this" she returned.
"Can't?" Sherlock asked, his expression changing slightly. "Or 'don't'?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, 'don't know' would imply that we are not in possession of enough evidence to convince us of the guilt of your lover. 'Can't' would imply that we are unable to obtain the information we require" he paused for a moment, taking a step towards the bed as he spoke. "You can't be sure that it wasn't him, can you?"
Mrs Masters shook her head defiantly, her chest rising as she breathed in deeply. "I told you, Mr Holmes, I do not recall the person who attacked me. But the person I was with was good and kind and gentle, and completely incapable of such an act."
"Then give us the name of your lover" Sherlock returned simply. "And allow us to exonerate him."
"I can't."
"You can't give us the information or you can't exonerate him?"
"Stop this" she spat, her eyes alight with anger. "Right now."
Before Sherlock could pose his next question, the door behind him opened and Mr Masters re-entered.
"Jessica will be here in a couple hours, sweetheart, she's leaving immediately" he stated, crossing the room quickly and reaching her side. As he sat on the bed, he noticed how visibly tense and agitated she appeared. "Honey, are you okay?"
"Yes, darling. Of course. I'm fine, I-" she paused for a moment, sitting up straight as he sat next to her on the bed, and drew her closer to him with his arm, "these questions have tired me out, is all". She shifted herself in the bed and moved closer to her husband, before turning her head towards Gregson. "Captain, would you mind if we stopped here for today? I don't feel well enough to answer any more questions, and I do not believe that I am able to assist you further in your inquiries."
Gregson nodded slowly, glancing from Sherlock to Joan, before facing the victim directly. "Of course, Mrs Masters, I understand" he stated kindly. "We'll be in touch."
"Of course" she said, leaning into her husband's chest, as she stared vacantly at the wall.
Gregson moved to the door and opened it, allowing Bell to pass through first, before staring imploringly at Sherlock who, after a brief period of hesitation, complied, and left the room. Joan watched the scene between the husband and wife for a few moments, and observed the frightened expression on the victim's face. Whether this was due to the recollection of her attack, or the fears of her infidelity being exposed, Joan was not sure. Either way, she needed help.
"Mrs Masters?" she asked gently, taking a step towards her bed. The calling of her name seemed to draw the tired woman from her reverie, and she turned her head slightly to face Joan, who drew her bag from her shoulder and was reaching inside. She picked out one of her cards, and offered it to Mrs Masters. "If and when you feel ready to talk, about anything" she began, speaking in a kind and soothing manner, "I'm here. And it doesn't have to be related to the case, okay? If you're feeling frightened or worried, or if you need to talk to someone, just call." Mrs Masters rose a shaking hand and accepted the card, drawing it to her chest, before closing her eyes tiredly.
"Thank you, Miss Watson" she breathed, before leaning into her husband once more. Mr Masters smiled kindly at Joan, who nodded in return, before leaving the room.
As Gregson closed the door behind Joan, the four investigators took a few steps down the corridor before beginning their conversation.
"So, what happens now?" Joan asked, aiming her question at Captain Gregson.
"Well, despite her stonewalling us, we still have a lot to go on. This most recent attack has given us a lot to consider. I think we should investigate the crime as we have the others, but that you and your partner should focus on identifying her lover" he stated simply, staring cautiously at Sherlock, who nodded in agreement.
"I quite agree, Captain" Sherlock stated in his normal tone. "Mrs Masters is a very busy woman, whose position means that she spends most of her time at the office. We will begin by investigating any possible links between her and Mr Thompson, before considering who her lover could have been. She almost certainly met him at work, which makes Mr Thompson a possibility, if he ever worked at her company."
"It shouldn't be too difficult to find out" Joan stated. "But it is possible that they met outside of work. He could have been introduced to her by a colleague, or they could have met at a building she went to for a meeting. If you still believe that she is the intended victim, it's possible that their meeting occurred a while ago."
"Yes" Sherlock stated, nodding in response.
"It's also possible that the person she had the affair with is not Mr Thompson, and that they are not the killer" she stated, her tone adopting a tone of reproach which he recognised instantly.
"Yes" he replied after a few moments. "We will investigate all possibilities."
"We will" she stated simply, before directing her attention towards Gregson and Bell. "Did you need us back at the precinct or are you happy for us to work from home?"
"Whatever suits you guys best" Gregson responded. "I can have all the files you need driven to you, so it's fine. As always, call through if you find anything. If not, we'll meet up this evening and discuss everything we have so far. Alright?"
"Yes." She replied.
"That is agreeable, Captain, thank you." Sherlock added, glancing at Joan. "Are you ready, Watson?" Joan nodded in agreement, saying goodbye to her colleagues before following Sherlock through the corridor and from the building.
Sherlock and Joan walked down the corridor in complete silence, each of them taking in the information from their most recent interview. As they passed through the automatic doors and walked towards the taxi rink, Sherlock began to speak.
"Why did you give her your card, Watson?" he asked bluntly, glancing at her with caution.
"What do you mean?" she responded, meeting his confused stare with one of her own.
"The woman was being deceitful, antagonistic and showed little interest in assisting us with our inquiries. So why did you give her your personal contact details?"
"Not for reasons related to the investigation" she replied gently. "She wasn't going to disclose that information regardless of the approach, because she doesn't want her husband or her colleagues to find out about her indiscretion."
"I completely agree" he stated, raising his arm to hail an oncoming taxi. "So why would you give her your card?"
Joan did not respond immediately, and walked towards the parked cab and placed her hand upon the door, before turning back to Sherlock and preparing herself to speak. "Because everyone needs to talk, Sherlock" she stated in a low and gentle manner. "No matter how hard they try to deny it." She watched him for a few moments, gazing into his eyes until she felt unable to do so any longer. She allowed her gaze to fall from his own, and opened the door of the taxi, easing herself inside and closing the door behind her. Sherlock remained outside for a few moments, remaining on the same spot as he watched her solemnly through the window, and began to realise that the distance between them was currently far greater than a simple pain of glass.