*A/N: Thank you for continuing to read and review this story, your support and input really means a lot, and gives me such strength and encouragement. I really can't express how grateful I am, so thank you. I'm sorry about the infrequent updates, and the complexity of the storyline, but I assure you that the case will be wrapped up within the next five chapters or so, and then the final few chapters after that will deal more directly with the Sherlock/Joan relationship. Although, in three chapters' time, there will be a fairly significant development, which I hope will be satisfactory. Again, if there are any problems with the story or the characters, please let me know, I value your input and your advice, and criticism is appreciated. Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. HQ21
The short amount of time Sherlock and Joan spent in the taxi on the way back to the brownstone passed in complete silence. And yet, it was a remarkable form of silence. It was not awkward or intolerable, or complicated or unpleasant. It was what Sherlock himself would possibly describe as an 'intelligent' silence, because the two people sitting in the back of the cab were vocally quiet, but mentally, they were screaming. Sherlock and Joan were processing the events of the day, as well as considering the current nature of their relationship, and how it was developing and changing alongside the case which they were currently investigating. Usually their cases would last for a few days and then be over, or would be longer, but have a notable period of stagnation, during which time any and all unrelated issues which Sherlock and Joan were facing would be dealt with. But due to the nature of this particular case and the frequency of the attacks, these issues were relegated completely, and banned from conscious discussion.
Instead, Sherlock and Joan were forced to deal with both the complex case and sinister adversary, whilst battling with a plethora of complicated and overwhelming emotions which they were unable to address. There had been times during the case when something would be said, some gesture would be given, or some action would occur, which would cause either one or both of them to be drawn forcefully into the reality of the complexity of their relationship. But these moments had been fleeting, brief, and soon overtaken by a new development in the case. However, as the partners sat stiffly in the back of the taxi, staring either out of the windows or straight ahead of them, they began to realise that they could not continue to avoid the subject which they had been attempting to suppress. Joan had come to this conclusion hours before, during their conversation on the roof. As the taxi pulled up outside the brownstone, and Joan eased herself from the back seat and onto the pavement, she glanced across at Sherlock, and found herself facing an expression which bore the same emotions, concerns and fears which she had herself been battling with on the rooftop earlier that morning.
"Everything okay?" Joan asked casually, but in the same warm and gentle tone which she often adopted when it became clear that Sherlock needed to talk.
Instead of replying verbally to her question, Sherlock simply returned her concerned gaze, before allowing his arms to fall to his sides as he reached the pavement, and the taxi cruised down the street. He watched her for a few moments, before nodding once, and walking quickly up the stairs and into the brownstone. Joan took in a breath of the late morning air, and inhaled slightly, finding herself almost able to taste the freshly-baked bread from the patisserie around the corner. Usually this would be enough to send her walking, briskly and completely on autopilot, in the direction of the comforting scent. But this time, it did not. Joan Watson had no desire to walk away from the brownstone, and even less desire to eat. There was work to do. She opened her languid eyes with great effort, before following Sherlock up the stone steps, closing the brownstone door firmly behind her, and following him into the living area. She took up her usual spot on the red couch, and Sherlock strolled into the kitchen after removing his coat and scarf, which amused Joan slightly. He emerged from the kitchen just moments before a courier sent by Captain Gregson arrived with the files which the partners would need in order to pursue their lines of enquiry. Joan thanked the courier, offering him a grateful smile, before flicking through the files on her way back to the lounge. As she passed through the doorway, she stopped suddenly, finding herself standing just inches from her partner, who was standing tall in the centre of the room, holding an oak tray, which bore two steaming mugs of hot tea.
"Why thank you, Jeeves" Joan stated sweetly, smirking as she set the files down on one of the small tables, and picked up one of the mugs from the tray. It was another attempt by Joan to offer him an olive branch, ensure him that she was not angry. She felt that both their personal and professional endeavours would be greatly assisted by the lightening of the mood. Sherlock looked at her with confusion for a few moments, until the reason for her reference to the eponymous butler became clear, causing the lines on his forehead to disappear.
"Very good, Watson" he stated in an amiable yet low tone, before lifting his own mug of tea from the tray, which he placed on the floor by his armchair. "Shall we begin?"
Sherlock and Joan spent the next few hours absorbing the information in the series of files which Gregson had sent them, as well as pursuing their own methods of research and evaluation. During this time, they collaborated well together, bouncing ideas off of one another and creating several new and memorable aliases in their endeavours. Sherlock and Joan had begun by looking over reports relating to the crime itself, in which Mrs Mathers was attacked. Despite some dissimilarities, it took them just a few minutes to decide that the person who attacked Mrs Mathers was the same person who attacked the other three women, and would prove to be a desperate and incredibly volatile opponent. After having analysed the medical and forensic reports, as well as the witness statements and all available CCTV images, they found that there was just as little physical or tangible evidence in relation to this offence as there had been to its three predecessors: all that was certain was that the attacker's height and weight were consistent with the individual who killed the other three women, and that the stab wounds and weapon used were consistent in all four cases. No finger prints, DNA or physical evidence had been recovered from the scene which was out of place or unidentified. After spending a considerable amount of time analysing the evidence directly linked to the case, Sherlock and Joan changed approach, and began to search for the most recent victim's lover.
"And you still maintain that this lover, who we know exists, is the person behind the attack?" Joan asked, as she took a sip of her third cup of tea in as many hours. "I mean, she seemed fairly certain that he isn't the guy we are looking for."
"As much as a character reference from a cheating spouse is interesting, Watson, it is by no means conclusive. Besides, I have a feeling that Mrs Masters would not have disclosed his name even if she had seen his face during the attack. She seems more concerned about protecting her marriage and her reputation than she does her life" he spoke quickly and in a low tone, flicking through pages in an open file as he did so. "Or anyone else's, for that matter."
"Love can be selfish" Joan stated, her eyes widening once she had realised that she had spoken out loud. Sherlock watched her for a moment, and felt his breath catch in his throat before he was able to respond. She had spoken simply and in a rather off-hand manner, certainly not in a way which struck him as being particularly remonstrative or critical of him. Besides, such a way was not Joan's style. She was not underhand, or the type to make snide or cruel comments. And yet, her remark puzzled him greatly.
"You think it was love?" Sherlock asked incredulously, looking up at her from his file. Joan met his gaze confidently, but permitted herself some time to consider her next words carefully before she spoke.
"I think that the desire to protect someone, even if it benefits the protector in some way, is love" she reasoned, speaking slowly yet with conviction. "A form of it, at least." Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, and fought back the feelings of sickness and anxiety which had swept over him. Perhaps Watson had gained more from their conversation on the rood than he had initially realised.
"You believe that Mrs Mathers is in love with her office play-thing?" Sherlock asked, returning his attention to his file, and flicking absent-mindedly through the pages of the report which he was reading for a fifth time. The thought of making such an unwilling comparison between his and Joan's relationship, and the one between the married woman and her lover, troubled him deeply. And yet, he was keen to understand Joan's reasoning, and to gauge her response.
"I don't know" Joan said eventually, dropping the file she was holding gently onto her lap. "I just think that the extent to which she is keen to protect a person who we believe to be worthy of official attention is... it doesn't make complete sense. I get her not wanting the affair to come to light, sure. But still, something doesn't seem quite right."
"You mustn't forget, Watson, that Mrs Mathers stated that she was the one who ended the relationship. She can't have been that in love" Sherlock stated simply, pronouncing the last two words with clear scepticism, "if she ended the illicit affair."
"Perhaps" Joan said simply, running her finger down the spine of the recently discarded file, before picking it up again and beginning to read it. Before Sherlock had a chance to respond, Joan removed her glasses and began to speak. "Okay, so as we discussed earlier, the demanding nature of Mrs Mathers' job, combined with the fact that she is a resolute workaholic, means that she almost certainly met her lover at the office. In the past twelve months, Mrs Mathers has worked with ten male employees, of different ages, ranks and positions, but all working for her company and in her building. In the time since, six have remained with her, two resigned, one was transferred and another was fired. I'd say that, as the relationship ended, and due to her clear fears of the relationship being exposed, it is highly unlikely that any of the men remaining in her employment are the man she was seeing."
"I agree" Sherlock stated simply, before giving her a warm and encouraging look. "Go on, Watson."
"Now, the other four men are all possibles. But the two who transferred left over six months ago, and actually both moved out of state. The first guy is in Ohio, and the second is in Virginia. Mrs Mathers claimed that she ended the affair four months ago, which would seem to exonerate these two from our enquiries" she stated confidently, flicking through some pages of her file, before selecting the file beneath it and continuing to speak. "The remaining two are Kent Jackson and Riley Pierce. Kent Jackson was transferred to a different company seven months ago, due to an offer of a more senior position. It's not in the time range and he did not leave for personal reasons, but for ones which were very much professional. However, this last guy looks quite promising" she stated, running her finger down the edge of the page as she spoke. "Riley Pierce was dismissed from his position at Mrs Mathers' financial firm three months ago, for what is described as being "regrettable conduct" and "personal and professional malpractice"."
"Which you believe is accountant-speak for 'brushing the affair under the carpet'?" Sherlock asked, his eyes widening with interest at the possibility. "Very good, Watson. It certainly has potential." He stated simply, reaching for his tablet and typing for a few seconds, before nodding in satisfaction and turning the screen to face Joan. "Mr Pierce now works for a rival accountancy firm in Manhattan, which is situated less than six blocks from Mrs Mathers' apartment" he stated confidently, before turning the screen back towards him, and scrolling through the information. "And from the picture of him in his staff profile, he certainly appears to be tall and slim." Joan glanced towards the image and considered it for a few seconds before nodding in agreement.
"So where does that leave us with Jake?" she asked in a low and apprehensive tone.
"As you said before, Watson. This man may be her lover and the killer, or he could just be her lover. It is even possible that he is her lover, and that he is uninvolved in her attack. However, we will not be able to prove or disprove any of these statements without interviewing the man in question."W
"Yeah, well, that's gonna have to be put on hold for a while." She stated simply, glancing at her watch. She looked up to find Sherlock looking at her with an expression of the utmost perplexity. "We're meeting Gregson and Bell in thirty minutes. We can discuss our findings with them, and see what information the police are able to obtain on Mr Pierce, before rushing in. It's almost four, we should get ready." Sherlock nodded in assent as Joan rose from the sofa, before she walked stealthily up the stairs and changed her clothes, and arriving in the foyer a few minutes later. Sherlock was standing tall, his coat buttoned and his scarf tied loosely about his neck. As soon as he saw her, he selected her favourite black coat from the rail, and assisted her with it. As she felt his strong hand on her shoulders, and moving slowly down her upper arms, she found herself quivering slightly at the contact. She inhaled deeply, forcing these feelings aside, before walking past him and towards the door, before passing into the open street. Joan hailed a cab, held the door open for Sherlock, who watched her with amusement and wariness, insisting that she get in first. She complied willingly, and found herself both flattered and slightly embarrassed by his chivalry. They travelled through the bustling city and towards the precinct, where Gregson and Bell were eagerly awaiting their arrival.
Sherlock and Joan were greeted pleasantly by Gregson and Bell, who led them through to the now painfully familiar room which they found themselves working in. As soon as she stepped into the small, cramped space, and found the faces of the women before and after their attacks, and images of the man the police believed to be responsible, pinned to boards and looming over her, she was reminded of why she preferred to work at the brownstone. However, her senses was drawn from the boards and to the familiar and comforting scent which was filling the room, and flooding her senses.
"I got us take-out" Bell stated simply, pushing some brown paper bags with handles across the table and by the seats which would soon be occupied by Sherlock and Joan. "I didn't know which you guys preferred, but I remembered Holmes here speaking fondly of Cantonese food, so I got us that."
"Thank you" Joan responded warmly, as Sherlock walked ahead of her and towards the table, placing one finger inside the bag and opening it cautiously, peering inside like a nervous puppy being offered a treat. Joan watched this with amusement, smiling absent-mindedly to herself, before crossing the room and taking up a seat next to Sherlock. Gregson and Bell sat at the opposite end of the table, and they began to discuss their findings, as each of them delved into the comfortingly-scented bags before them. In the hour that followed, Gregson and Bell informed the partners that the forensics and medical reports revealed little more than they already knew about the attack. The only new piece of information was the presence of small shards of thin glass in the scalp of the victim which, after some investigation, were identified as having come from one of the framed wedding photographs, which had been destroyed.
"So you think she was struck with a photo frame?" Joan asked, flicking through one of the files and picking out some of the photographs of the crime scene which featured the frames.
"Seems odd that she didn't mention it, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, as Joan passed him one of the photographs. Their fingers brushed together for a moment, causing a pleasant tingling sensation to travel throughout both parties.
"Not necessarily" Joan breathed. "She may not have remembered it happening. She did sustain trauma to the head, and was unconscious for several hours."
"Yes, but she recalled with impressive ability some of the events of that night, including being struck with an ash tray and pushed against the shelving unit. So why is it that she can recall these events, but not the one with the frames?" he asked, holding the photograph up to Joan for emphasis. Joan studied the image for a moment, and found her gaze falling to the attractive young couple in the photograph, the beautiful bride and the overjoyed groom.
"You think she was struck with that object because it represents the happiness of her married life. The life she had away from the attacker?" Joan posited, speaking as if she did not have faith in the words. "You think her lover attacked her. That he saw these pictures, which enraged them, and so he struck her with them?"
"I think it's a possibility we can't afford to overlook" Sherlock responded simply, placing the crime scene photo back into the file. "It would also explain why she was so forthcoming with other details of the night, but not this one. She knew what it represented, why she was hit with it. Her attacker probably made his reason for doing so quite clear. They may have even argued about it."
"So by disclosing the fact that she was struck by the frame, she would be disclosing the fact that the attack was personal, and that she knew who committed it?" Joan asked, her voice notably more confident and assured. The room was quiet for a moment whilst the inhabitants processed the latest piece of information. "It doesn't change much, you know. Her lack of total disclosure does not make her any less of a victim."
"No, but it does impede our investigation" Sherlock responded, in the tone he used when he was trying to suppress his annoyance and frustration. "Her desires to protect her job and her reputation are preventing her from disclosing vital information in an ongoing murder investigation."
Joan understood what he was saying, but felt frustrated nevertheless. She felt that his criticism of someone who would not be completely honest about their romantic interests, history and intentions was highly hypocritical. As soon as this thought entered her head, she tried to push it out immediately. She knew that she was doing Sherlock a disservice, and that comparing their current situation to Mrs Mathers' was hugely unfair. But at the same time, the sentiment was the same. The issue that was appearing in both their professional lives, and their personal ones, was that the refusal to acknowledge or discuss romantic links and relationships is detrimental to personal and professional progression. And for someone so smart and so aware, Joan was surprised that Sherlock seemed to be completely oblivious to this.
As these thoughts were running through her head, Joan had become notably distracted, and her body had tensed. Sherlock glanced to the side and observed her for a short while, noting how her eyes had grown wide and glassy, and her posture was revealing her emotional displeasure and discomfort. He narrowed his eyes in confusion as he continued to watch her, before running his eyes quickly across her body, as if surveying her entirely would give him the answers that he was looking for. Sherlock continued to watch her for a few moments as he considered the last few words they exchanged, and found himself coming to a conclusion which startled him slightly. She had been comparing him and his actions to Mrs Mathers and her own. Sherlock pondered this for a few moments and, after having moved past the initial stages of shock and bewilderment, he came to realise that her conclusions and her concerns were not completely unfounded. He allowed his guilty gaze to fall from her body, and he turned to face Gregson instead who was, unsurprisingly, watching Sherlock with a confused and vacant expression. Bell, who was flicking through some files from his position next to Gregson, was completely oblivious to this entire scene. Before Gregson had a chance to pose a question, which Sherlock felt certain he would not have the least desire to answer, the consulting detective turned back to face Joan, and posed a question of his own.
"Watson, would you assist me for a moment?" he asked in a quick yet cautious manner, earning her immediate and undivided attention. "I wish to run through an idea with you."
Joan watched him curiously for a moment, and felt fear grip her. Sherlock was clearly feeling uncomfortable, and she felt certain that whatever it was that was causing his concerns was linked to his request. And yet, as he looked at her with his large, bright eyes, she was certain that she saw something that she recognised, and that pained her each time she saw it in his features. She saw fear.
"Of course" she stated in a low and gentle tone, before closing the file in front of her and pushing her seat back. Sherlock followed her example, and within seconds they were both standing at the end of the table, and facing the confused expressions of the police officers.
"I require Miss Watson's opinion on a certain point, gentlemen" Sherlock began, speaking in a casual and conversational tone. "It is vital that her response to my questions are her own, and are not influenced by anything which either of you consciously or unconsciously say or do" he stated confidently, focusing his attention on Captain Gregson as he spoke the last few words. "We will not be long." He stated, before stepping aside from his chair and walking from the room.
Joan watched him for a moment, before following him from the room and across the precinct. Sherlock was leading her somewhere, although she did not know where. The corridor they walked down, and the door they were approaching, were both unfamiliar to her. It was not until Sherlock reached the door and held it open for her that she found herself fully aware of where they were. To the left of the door was a small, dark green plaque with the words 'To the roof' and an arrow pointing upwards on it. Joan glanced at this for a moment, before giving Sherlock a puzzled expression. The consulting detective simply responded by holding the door open slightly wider, until Joan took a few steps forwards and passed through. Joan found herself facing a tall metal staircase, with rusted bannisters and deathly-looking steps. She stared at the horror film-esque scene before her for a few seconds, and remained perfectly still for a few seconds, until she felt Sherlock's presence just beside her. At that moment, she took a deep breath and walked towards the staircase, holding on to the bannister carefully as she ascended, never once looking back.
Sherlock followed Joan closely behind, and could feel his heart beating faster in his chest with each step they took closer to their destination. He knew that Joan was right, and that they needed to talk. He had been considering her words almost constantly over the past few days, on a mental loop, as she too had been considering his. He had meant to talk to her, of course. To clear the air, to complete the conversation which she felt he had dismissed almost entirely. But he did not know how, or when, or even if it was a good idea. But after hearing her speak about romance and compassion, and having seen the expression on her face which betrayed her sadness, he felt unable to delay the subject any longer. Not for his own benefit, of course. But for hers. Always for hers.
They reached the top of the steps in a matter of moments, and Joan reached out her hands to the cold metal door before her, pushing it with force until it gradually groaned open. Joan drew her open coat across her body, crossing her arms as she took a few cautious steps onto the roof space. It was not as large or as grand as the rooftop boasted by the brownstone, but its scenic and picturesque views were stunning. Joan continued to walk forwards several steps, watching as the deep orange and magenta skies beneath the setting sun swam across the Manhattan skyline. The sky was a deep shade of blue, and the colours of the setting sun added a level of warmth and beauty which were beyond expression and beyond words, and detracted completely from the barrenness of the rooftop. The rooftop above the precinct was not as large or as grand, and was in fact a small square, about six meters square in size, and covered completely in weathered gravel, which crunched beneath heir footsteps. Joan allowed her gaze to fall from the magnificent view as she surveyed her new surroundings which, as well as gravel and aged cinder blocks, boasted broken wooden crates, discarded bricks, and several broken radios. As Joan glanced back towards the view which this idyllic location had to offer, she found herself completely lost in her thoughts, until the sound of crunching gravel behind her drew her regretfully from her reverie.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock began, in a low and slightly anxious tone as he stood beside Joan. "I've only been here twice before, when evading the Captain" he stated lightly, clasping his hands together behind his back, and shifting on his feet as he spoke. "But never at night."
"You have now" she responded in a warm and comforting tone, as she turned her head to face him. "What do you think?"
"I think..." he began hesitantly, lowering his head slightly to meet her gaze. "That you and I have much to discuss."
"Okay" Joan drawled, nodding slowly and encouragingly at him. "What would you like to talk about?"
"Well, I... I seem to recall a certain conversation that began on a rooftop" he began nervously, watching as realisation crossed her features. "A conversation which, if memory serves, was not completed."
"Or started, really" Joan countered, smiling warmly at him. "And I'm sorry that I put you in a difficult position. I know how hard this is for you."
"Please, Watson, do not apologise. If anything, I am the one who should be apologising to you" Sherlock began, turning his head away from her, and staring ahead as he spoke. "On one of the few occasions that you required me to actually listen to you about something you were incredibly concerned about, I was... I was dismissive, unkind and cad-ish, really" he stated in a low and sombre tone. "And for that I am truly sorry."
Joan took in a breath of the late evening air, allowing it to fill her body and rejuvenate her completely. She considered his words for a moment, and was grateful for them, if not somewhat surprised. But she could not help but think that there was something that he was not telling her.
"Thank you, Sherlock" she began in a gentle and soothing tone, which warmed his heart. "It means a lot to me that you felt it necessary to apologise" she paused for a moment, considering her next words carefully before continuing. "But I think it is important that you realise that I'm sorry too, and that I owe you an apology." Sherlock turned to look at her, uncrossing his hands from behind his back and allowing them to fall to his side, as he continued to watch her with confusion. "I put you in a difficult position, and forced you into discussing something that you were not ready to talk about."
"Watson, you... you didn't force me, and I was ready" he stated, surprised by both his words and their conviction. "And that was what threw me, if I am being honest."
"That you didn't feel forced?"
"That I was ready." He responded immediately, in a low and breathless tone. "Watson, I... I did not-" Sherlock began nervously, before breaking off mid-sentence and considering the best way in which to word his statement. "I was not as... unwilling to discuss the subject as I indicated this morning. Nor was I as averse to what you were implying... what you were suggesting, really".
Joan watched him for a few moments, tilting her head to the side slightly as she observed his nervous features and uneasy countenance. She wished to soothe him, placate his fragile nerves. But she found this difficult at the present moment, as she was not completely sure of what he was talking about. "I don't understand" she said in a low and simple tone, as she continued to watch him inquisitively, and waited patiently for him to continue.
I'm sorry, Watson, I... I just... it's difficult, you understand."Sherlock inhaled deeply, and shifted slightly on the spot, before turning from her once more and beginning to speak. "You were quite right earlier, with what you were suggesting about Mrs Mathers' possible motivations for refusing to disclose her lover's identity, but also, and more importantly, for the reasons they broke up. Or, more accurately, the possible reasons for their break up." Sherlock turned to face her at that moment, and found that she was watching him with a warm and pleasant expression, and nodded encouragingly for him to continue. "You were right, also, when you stated that sometimes, people do not... do not end relations or relationships, because of displeasure" he paused again, turning from her once more. "Sometimes, Watson, they prevent them from continuing, or even beginning, properly, at least, because they fear displeasure."
Joan was frozen to the spot for a moment, and felt slightly unsteady on her feet. She was struggling to process his words, and their meaning. But she understood, and she accepted his feelings. She had to, and she would. Sherlock evidently sensed her discomfort, and turned to face her directly, his eyes wide with realisation.
"Watson, no, I... I do not mean that I feared displeasure at the prospect of being with you" he stated in a kind and soothing tone, which caused her to raise her eyes to meet his adoring gaze. "I... I believed that it was I who would cause the displeasure. To you."
Joan stared at him for a moment, her lips parting slightly as if she were preparing herself to speak. But she found herself utterly incapable of processing any more words, let alone speaking them. "I... I ju-" she began, turning from his for a moment, before facing him directly and returning his gaze with a renewed sense of confidence and self-assurance. "Why would you think that, Sherlock?"
"Watson, you must realise by now that I-" he broke off once more, and chewed on his bottom lip in frustration, as he found himself feeling increasingly unstable and incapable of conveying exactly what it was that he wished to say. "Our partnership, as it stands, already causes some... some issues, yes?" he stated simply, to which Joan nodded hesitantly in response. "Issues which are, granted, almost always caused by myself. But still, the points remains that, at some point in the future, as we have viewed from several occasions in the past... I will disappoint you."
Joan's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat, and she took a step closer to him. He appeared to be settling his nerves slightly, and was speaking in a much less shaky and much more assured manner. "Sherlock-" she stated gently and soothingly, reaching out her hand so that it rested on his forearm. "Over the two years we have known each other, you have annoyed me, you have frustrated me, you have even angered me on a couple of occasions" she stated simply, as she felt his body tense beneath her grasp. "But you have never once disappointed me." She spoke this last statement slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, as she felt him relax beneath her fingertips.
Sherlock stared at her with wide and glassy eyes, lowering his head slightly as he swallowed, before turning from her and facing ahead once more. Joan removed her arm from his and took a step back so that she was by his side, and waited patiently for him to speak.
"Another issue with our partnership, Watson" he began cautiously, drumming the fingers on his right hand upon his thigh. "Is the danger that you are in, almost constantly." His eyes lowered from the skyline to the ground, and he stared at the gravel as he spoke. "If we were to-" he broke off, nodding slightly as he continued to speak. "If the nature of our relationship were to change, you would be placed in even greater danger" he stated in a low and sombre tone. Joan did not respond to his statement, regardless of how much she wanted to. Instead, she simply waited for him to continue. "You are a target because of our work, but if we were to become romantically involved, you would be placed in more danger, and that would be because of me."
Joan watched Sherlock with concern and wariness, before realisation swept across her features. She felt as though she now had a perfect grasp as to the reasons behind his unusual behaviour, his evasiveness, and his apparent unwillingness to discuss their relationship.
"A few weeks ago, I was almost murdered by a French criminal organisation" she said simply, wrapping her coat tightly around her as she stared ahead of her. She waited until Sherlock turned fully towards her, and was watching her with interest and confusion, before she continued to speak. "And a just this morning, when I was out running, I almost stepped out in front of a cab before I had even gone three blocks." She turned to face Sherlock directly, meeting his confused gaze with a look of confidence which she had not before now realised that she was capable of producing. "You and I are in danger every single day. As are the police, the criminals and the civilians of this city. Of the world, in fact" she stated, gesturing broadly with one of her arms, before drawing her coat even tighter to her chest, and staring at Sherlock with an incredible intensity. "And yet here we stand." Sherlock had been watching her with an expression of confusion and uncertainty, which was shifting slightly as Joan continued to speak. "Sherlock, with what we do, you and I will always be in danger. What we do puts us in a higher risk category than most other people, but we still do it. If we were afraid of the danger, we wouldn't be doing what we are doing" she spoke kindly and gently, before tilting her head slightly to look up at him. "Is there another kind of danger you are worried about?"
"I don't want to hurt you" he said simply, in a low and husky tone. "I could not bear it, Watson. For you to get hurt. And certainly not if it were of my own doing."
"What makes you think that you would hurt me?" she asked slowly, looking up at him as he prepared himself to answer.
"I have been with women in the past, as you know. In both physical and emotional relationships" he stated, shifting on the spot as he spoke. "And we both know what happens in those relationships, and how they end."
"Are you offering to pay me?" Joan asked lightly, but with a deadpan look and vacant expression. Sherlock turned towards her, shocked at the suggestion, before narrowing his eyes in understanding, and exhaling quickly.
"Very good, Watson" he stated, before turning back to her, and finding himself faced with the familiar look of Joan attempting to suppress a smile. "But, in all seriousness, we both know where this will lead."
"That's just it, Sherlock" she stated simply, and in a tone which gained his complete and immediate attention. "We don't. We can't know. And we can leave it like that, if you want" she stated, in as even and as kind a tone as she was capable of, despite the fact that the words were breaking her heart. "I don't want to hurt you either, Sherlock. And I want you to be happy. I really do. And I want you to want that too" she stated kindly, and with such earnestness and conviction that it took everything Sherlock had to control himself. "Whatever it is that we decide to do, we will deal with. After everything we have done, and seen, and been through, I know that we can recover from this. Whether that means going back to the way things were, or exploring something new, we will do it together, Sherlock" she stated kindly, with warmth and conviction heavy in her tone. "And we will be alright." Sherlock nodded in response to her statement, before continuing to stare ahead at the skyline. Joan allowed her gaze to fall from his face, and she too watched as the sun set, and the beautiful, autumnal colours which graced the evening danced in the skies. As she enjoyed this beautiful sight before her, and basked in the company she was currently enjoying, she suddenly felt completely at ease. Her attention was drawn away from this sight by a familiar sensation in her hand, which she identified much quicker than she had before. Joan lowered her gaze from the skies immediately, and case her glance down towards her right hand, which Sherlock was holding in his own. Her gaze remained fixed upon this sight for a few moments, before she turned her head up to face Sherlock, who was watching her with a look which she had seen only a handful of times before, and one which made her heart begin to race with anticipation.
"You make me happy, Watson" he stated, squeezing her hand gently, as she offered him a small smile.
"You make me happy too" she returned, as she squeezed his hand in return, before leaning into his arm, and resting her head beside his shoulder blade. Sherlock and Joan remained standing like this, their hands entwined, their bodies pressed together, as they watched with wonder the changing sights before them.