The next six weeks were a complex and contradictory period for the consulting detectives. Whilst their relationship continued to develop at a slow and manageable pace, which made the situation feel natural and comfortable for them both, the case that was occupying the majority of their time had reached a temporary standstill. Despite the strength of Joan's evidence, and of her character, her testimony alone was not enough to convince the ADA to prosecute, let alone secure a conviction. The month and a half since Maria Lennard's arrest was a time of professional frustration and stagnation, with very little evidence being obtained which could be used in a case against the woman the police knew to be guilty. Her alibis were by no means solid, but could not be denied. Her character was an enigma, with each person who knew her giving a different account of exactly who she was. One of the only strengths possessed by the police and the consulting detectives was their knowledge of the strength of Joan's evidence, which also revealed the motive to the young woman's crimes.
Despite this, Maria continued to deny her involvement in all of the offences of which she was accused. After a few days, as the police were unable to charge her with the murders of the slain women, they charged her with the assault on Joan Watson, a charge which stuck. Due to the uncertainty of her living arrangements, and the risk she was believed to pose to herself and others, she was denied bail, and sent to prison until her trial. During the six weeks which passed from her first court appearance to the present time, she did not utter a single word in relation to any of the offences of which she was accused of having committed. Her silence and the lack of solid evidence against her was hindered further by the fact that Greta Mathers had remained comatose since her attack, and doctors were uncertain of whether she would ever regain consciousness, meaning that the only witness who could corroborate Joan's evidence may never be in a position to do so.
These concerns were playing on Joan's mind one cold winter morning six weeks after her attack. She found herself sitting upright in bed, awoken by some unknown dream or memory which had interrupted her otherwise peaceful slumber. As she adjusted her shirt and turned to observe the time, which was a few minutes past seven in the morning, she placed one hand on her head and sighed tiredly. Joan felt exhausted, and her whole body was aching and sore. Although she had only slept for hours, Joan woke up feeling as though she had not even blinked in the last twenty-four hours, and she longed for more sleep. However, at the moment, sleep was a luxury which she could not afford. The pressure of the case was building, and having a negative affect on all those involved. There was a notable atmosphere built upon frustration which defined the precinct, and the officers and officials were becoming agitated, snappy and eager for results. Even Detective Bell was becoming snappy with other officers, as well as the consulting detectives. He apologised immediately, of course, and the event was not taken to heart. But it did represent just how difficult the current case was becoming, and the potential it had to negatively affect them all. Joan sighed tiredly at this thought, before allowing herself to consider how the case was currently affected Sherlock.
Over the past couple of weeks, he had been working longer into the night, spending increased amounts of time in the rooms on the ground floor. Although Joan was used to her partner working strange hours, playing music in the early hours, practising his single-stick in the kitchen, or baking into the early hours, he seemed to be more preoccupied with this case than anything she had witnessed before; with the exception of the incidences involving Moriarty. He always became personally connected with the cases they worked on, viewing a failure to uncover the evidence or unravel the case as being symptomatic of his own weakness or inabilities, so his increased work on this case did not surprise or concern her to any great degree. In the past few weeks, they had worked together on it for large parts of the day, sitting side by side as they ran through files, interviewed witnesses, watched CCTV footage, and delved deep into the life of the murderess whose incarceration seemed uncertain. Due to this, their romantic dates had not been as frequent as often, or as long, but always as meaningful.
On one occasion Sherlock, realising that he had spent three full days working on the case, barely exchanging a word or even a look with Joan, began to experience feelings of guilt which he found both confusing and painful. He had immediately leapt up from his position on the floor, bought her pastries and coffee from her favourite patisserie, and presented it to her in bed one morning, much to her surprise. His guilt was only deepened when her first words to him had been asking whether he was alright. He simply nodded in response, perched himself meekly on the side of her bed, and apologised for any offence or hardship he had caused her. She assured him that no such apology was required, but urged him to discuss things with her or someone else, instead of locking himself away in complete and utter solitude. They then spent the next two hours talking, eating, laughing and, eventually, kissing. They had been discussing their night at the opera, amongst other things, when they found themselves wrapped in each other's arms, and kissing passionately, amongst the crumpled sheets and abandoned pastries. Their passionate yet innocent encounter became heated very quickly, with Joan pulling Sherlock on top of her, becoming acutely aware of her need to be close to him, and by his need for her. The covers had been quickly discarded, as had the pastries, and Joan had begun tugging on Sherlock's shirt, before he took her hands in his, pushed them gently aside, and reminded her of her desire for them to take things slowly. She protested for a moment, but was quickly placated by her partner, whose soothing words of reassurance and conviction reminded her of the very reasons for her wishing for their relationship to develop slowly. She assented, and they spent a further hour talking, before heading to the precinct and working on the case.
But now, six weeks after the arrest of Maria Lennard, Joan found herself longing for little more than to fall back into the comfort of her pillows, and embrace sleep. But the bright lights of her alarm, and the gentle noises of the traffic outside her window, made her realise that rest would have to wait: a new day had broken, and there was much to do. Regretfully, Joan eased herself out of bed, walked slowly to the bathroom, and prepared herself for the day. As she stood beneath the water, which washed over her tired and aching body, she found herself feeling quite unsteady, and braced herself on the wall as the water cascaded over her. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, taking in a few deep breaths, and willing the feeling to pass. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, she felt more steady and alert, and stood perfectly still beneath the flowing water for a few seconds, before leaving the shower. She spent a further fifteen minutes getting ready, during which time her aching and unsteadiness had completely abated, and she felt a sudden rush of energy, which put a noticeable spring in her step as she descended the staircase and made her way to the kitchen, when she knew her partner had been working.
As she walked through the living area and approached the doorway to the kitchen, the overpowering scent of black coffee swam in the air, and almost took Joan's breath away.
"That's some strong coffee" she stated as she passed the threshold, making her way slowly over to Sherlock, who was standing by the oven, pouring boiling water into two mugs. At the sound of her voice, he placed the kettle back on the hob, before turning to his side to face her. "How much of that stuff have you made?" She continued, her senses overtaken by the heavy scent of coffee in the kitchen, which reminded her of a coffee-shop at eight-thirty, just as everyone was ordering their drinks before heading to work. Before she could consider the strength of the scent further, Sherlock gave her a confused look, before picking up one of the steaming hot mugs and walking towards her with it, his curious eyes darting across her face as he did so.
"These are the only cups I have made this morning, Watson" he answered in a low and curious tone, as he passed her the mug. "What do you-" Sherlock's question was interrupted by the ringing of his phone in his breast pocket, which he quickly extracted, turning from Joan as he answered it, and making his way over to the kettle as he addressed the person on the other end.
Joan clasped the coffee tightly in her hands, and watched Sherlock as he walked confidently across the room, and began adding milk to his drink. Joan remained completely still for several moments, lost in her thoughts as she observed Sherlock, until the overpowering scent of coffee once more filled the air, bringing her out of her reverie. She glanced down at the offending mug, and turned sharply on the spot, before walking towards the table. However, as soon as she took her first step, she wavered slightly, finding herself overtaken by the same feeling of unsteadiness and dizziness which she had experienced earlier. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, before walking quickly over to the table and easing herself into a chair, sighing in relief as she sat down. She placed the mug on the table, pushing it to the other side, before pulling her chair in and pressing her hands against the edge of the table, bracing herself as she closed her eyes and tried to overcome this latest dizzy spell. Joan's mouth felt dry, and she found her whole body feeling both unsteady and slightly shaky, despite the fact that she was comfortably seated. She opened her eyes and removed her slightly trembling hands from the edge of the table, before leaning back in her seat. She had never felt this way before, so tired and so weak. But given the amount of hours she and Sherlock had been putting into this latest case, she was not surprised that she was exhausted. She had not been eating as well or as regularly as usual, either, which was certain to be a contributing factor to her current state. And yet, when she was a doctor, she had also worked long hours, often without sleep or food. So why was she feeling so unwell now?
"Watson?" came a nearby voice, drawing her from her thoughts.
"Yes" she answered, turning her head towards him, and offering him a small smile.
"Are you quite alright?" he asked, placing his phone in his pocket as he walked towards her. "You look rather pale-"
"Yeah, I'm tired. I was working on some of the witness statements last night, analysing the language and its implications, until the early hours. I'm fine" she stated, her voice sounding more confident than she felt.
"I did not see you eat yesterday, Watson" Sherlock returned, before heading back towards the stove and removing a plate from the oven, placing it in front of her. "So I made you those waffles you are so keen on. Please, take your time with breakfast, and then we will head to the precinct."
"Thanks" she replied, drawing the plate closer to her. "I thought we were working from home today" she stated absent-mindedly, before picking up one of the waffles and taking a grateful bite. The food was warm and comforting, and she could feel her body radiate with gratitude as she ate.
"We were, Watson. We were" Sherlock began, watching with relief as Joan began to eat her breakfast. He had noticed that she had been neglecting her rest and food requirements as of late, and had woken up especially early to ensure that she ate a filling breakfast after resting. "That is, until Mrs Mathers came out of her coma."
Joan stopped chewing for a moment, and her wide and alert eyes met Sherlock's own, as he placed his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels, before addressing her unvoiced question.
"The call I just received was from Captain Gregson" he stated simply, watching as Joan's hand hovered slightly above her plate. "Mrs Mathers regained consciousness half an hour ago, and is amenable to making a police statement. We will discuss the matter and the approach at the precinct. We are unable to interview her at the present time, as she is still being evaluated by doctors. Apparently, she is rather eager to speak with us, although the Captain did not sound particularly enthusiastic."
"You don't think she can help us?" Joan asked, after eating one of the three waffles on her plate.
"I don't think she will help us" Sherlock returned, throwing his head to the side in marked irritation, before sighing heavily. Joan smiled at his reaction, which reminded her of a chastised school child.
"Maybe not intentionally" she continued, picking up the second waffle, and eating it hungrily. "But she's bound to reveal something, no matter how careful she is. And, after her six-week coma, her ability to lie or to conceal the truth will be compromised. She'll be exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. She won't have the energy or the capacity to be too dishonest." Sherlock nodded slowly in agreement, turning back to Joan as she finished her second waffle, and made an attempt upon the third, which was not as successful.
"You could be right, Watson" he began, turning to face his partner directly. "But her capacity to lie has been fairly strong in the past, so I, like the Captain, do not feel overly joyous." Joan placed the half-eaten waffle upon the plate, before brushing a crumb from the side of her mouth, and beginning to speak.
"A woman who was attacked, twice, and almost killed both times, has just regained consciousness after being in a comatose state for a month and a half" she stated in a low yet kind tone. "Regardless of the case, of Maria Lennard, regardless of anything" Joan continued, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "This is something to feel joy about." Sherlock watched her with in impassive expression for several moments, before nodding once, and adopting a slightly sheepish expression. Not due to guilt at what he had said, but of how it had made Joan feel. Lately, he had expressed similar concerns about how his actions and words would affect her, and was trying to make it up to her, often with food.
"It isn't necessary, you know" Joan stated kindly, which instantly drew Sherlock's attention towards her. "I mean, it is important to be aware of how what you say affects other people, but in here, between us, the rules always seem so...fluid" she stated, narrowing her eyes for a moment as she considered her next words carefully. "I don't want you to change, or feel that you have to change, because of me, or because of how I feel, Sherlock. Any change you feel you need to make has to be because of you, for you." She paused a few moments, watching Sherlock's features carefully, but he was as unreadable as ever. "Besides, if you keep making me food every time you think you have upset me, you're gonna have to quit as a consulting detective and become a full-time chef, and all of my clothes are gonna need taking out." She smiled at this last statement, as she observed a glistening in Sherlock's eyes.
"Very well, Watson" he stated sombrely, before relieving her of her plate, and carrying it to the sink. "Please consider yourself free from the waffles."
"Not the waffles" she stated simply, rising from her chair as she spoke. "The waffles were amazing, Sherlock, thank you. I would gladly be offended by you if it meant you would occasionally make more."
"I am very glad to hear it" he returned, approaching her slowly and standing before her for a moment, before raising his hand and placing a freshly-cooked waffle to her lips. She bit into it, before plucking it completely from his hand, and nibbling around the edges. She was not really that hungry, but the waffles were so warm and so comforting, that she could not resist.
"Thanks" she began, turning the waffle over in her hand, before walking slowly into the living area. "But you didn't offend me" she stated, standing still, and turning her head back as she addressed him. Sherlock pulled his jacket over his shirt and made his way towards her.
"The day's still young" he returned brightly, walking past her as he spoke. She smiled lightly into the waffle, taking another small bite, before selecting a coat from the rack and heading outside.
Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct shortly before eleven o'clock in the morning, and were greeted outside the room of Mrs Mathers by Captain Gregson and Detective Bell, whose weary expressions revealed their wariness over the interview which was about to take place.
"Captain" Sherlock began, drumming his fingers against his leg as he spoke. "How is she?"
"Lucid" Gregson responded, placing one hand in his pocket and gesturing with the other as he spoke. "The doctors are impressed with her progress so far. She recognised her husband immediately, and answered some basic questions with no real problems. But the affect of the attack and coma on her memory is as yet unknown."
"That's to be expected" Joan returned in a low and gentle tone. "She may gain or lose memory over time, so it's important that we speak to her as soon as possible. Does she feel up to being interviewed?"
"Oh, she's insisting on it" interjected Bell, who took a step closer to Sherlock and Joan. "She wants to talk as soon as possible, and she's already tryin' to find out when she can be discharged."
"She'll be advised to stay here for a while yet" Joan returned. "Until then, what's the plan?"
"Before we interview her, we need to go over our strategy, review her file, and go over all the reports on all the evidence found in her apartment" Gregson began, gesturing with his hand as he spoke. "Now, I know it's tedious, but she lied before and she'll probably do it again. We need to be prepared, and we need to make sure she knows that we know the truth." Gregson spoke with conviction and authority that was hard to dispute, and the team willingly assented to his suggestions and his logic. They took up their familiar seats in the room which they all now considered to be an extension of themselves, and began to pour over the files. They discussed techniques, strategies and potential approaches, as well as the evidence, witness statements and corroborative data. After almost seven hours at the precinct, Gregson received the call he had been waiting for, which confirmed that Mrs Mathers was ready to be interviewed. As soon as he hung up, the team grabbed their coats and headed to the hospital.
Gregson indicated towards Sherlock and Joan with his free hand. "You ready?" They both nodded in assent, before heading towards the room of Greta Mathers, and cautiously stepping inside.
As Joan entered the room, she found herself experiencing a curious feeling of deja vu, as she found herself once again facing the sitting figure of Greta Mathers, who wore the same look of conviction and defiance that she had displayed on their first meeting. However, this time, there was one notable difference.
"Would you like us to get your husband for you, Mrs Mathers?" Joan asked kindly as she approached the woman.
"No, Miss Watson" she returned in a low and slightly croaky voice. "I sent him out for a short while, he will return when we are done." The coldness and hostility in her tone was almost palpable, and created a tense atmosphere within the small and already crowded room. "Can we please just get this over with?"
"Of course" Gregson began, placing his hands in his pockets as he addressed the weary woman in the bed. "Before we do, is there anything, or anyone, we can get for you?"
"No" she returned acidly, glaring at Gregson, then turning her attention to the other people in the room. "Please ask me what you need to ask, and then leave." Joan studied the face of Mrs Mathers for a few moments, and found herself confused by the situation. Greta had always been cold and hostile, but never this much, and certainly not in response to such innocent questions.
"Is something wrong, Mrs Mathers?" Joan asked tentatively, as she stood a respectable distance from the bed of the recovering woman before her.
"Apart from being attacked in my home for the second time, and almost being killed?" she returned immediately, staring coldly upon Joan as she spoke.
"Do you remember the attack?" Sherlock asked, watching the woman curiously as she began to respond.
"I remember being hit on the head, and then..." Greta squinted, and partially rose her hand in defeat as she spoke, before shaking her head slightly. "And then nothing."
"Do you remember anything about the person who attacked you?" Joan asked gently.
"No."
"Do you remember anything that happened after you returned home that night?" Joan continued.
"No."
"And you remember having any guests over?" she persisted.
"I had no guests." Greta returned immediately, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
"You said you couldn't remember anything after you returned home that day" Sherlock stated in a low yet respectful manner. "So, forgive me Mrs Mathers, but how can you be certain that you received no guests?"
"I received no guests, Mr Holmes" she returned in a lower tone, clasping her hands in her lap as she spoke. "I remember leaving hospital and being driven home by my husband, but everything else is... muddled."
"I understand" Sherlock returned kindly, causing Mrs Mathers' eyes to raise slightly, and examine his face with clear scepticism. "So you do not remember the phone call you had with Miss Watson during your attack?" Mrs Mathers swallowed slightly, and her eyes shifted from Sherlock's face to Joan's before resting upon Sherlock's once more.
"I don't remember making any phone call to Miss Watson" she returned.
"I didn't say that you made the call, Mrs Mathers" Sherlock returned. "Only that you had a conversation on the phone with Miss Watson. Either one of you could have made the call, I did not specify" he continued, as Mrs Mathers' eyes rose once more to meet his. "But you did."
"As I've said, on multiple occasions" Greta Mathers began, unclasping her hands and gesturing for emphasis. "I have no recollection of the attack, or anything which happened just before it."
"And how is your memory of the past few months, Mrs Mathers?" Sherlock asked, his voice rising slightly with irritation. Joan watched him for a moment, and decided to interrupt if he were to step out of line. Although Greta was clearly concealing something, and possibly even lying about her recollection of her attack, she was still a victim, and did not deserve to be spoke to in such an offensive manner. "How is, say, your recollection of the past six months?"
"Fairly accurate, I should imagine" she returned, regaining some of her composition due to the relief of the change of subject. "Why?"
"So you recall some minor events in your life, as well as the major ones, correct?" Sherlock asked in an even tone, as he spoke quickly and with animation.
"Yes."
"So you recall having an affair?" There was a slight pause after this question, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence.
"Yes" she returned after a moment.
"Then you will, I presume, remember the identity of the person you had the affair with?" Greta's eyes widened slightly, and she watched Sherlock with a look of anger and warning.
"As we've already discussed, that subject is not up for discussion." She returned acidly.
"You will also remember, then, that the person you had the affair with was your former PA, Maria Lennard, who is also the person who attacked you on both occasions" Sherlock continued, speaking in a low tone, yet keeping his voice even and completely calm. Despite this, it was clear to Joan that Sherlock was becoming unsettled and increasingly annoyed by Mrs Mathers' reluctance to discuss several central issues relating to the case, and she found her concern for him growing.
Mrs Mathers did not respond at all to this remark, and simply remained sitting up in bed, staring at Sherlock with an expression which bordered between anger and disbelief.
"If you had decided to discuss the identity of this person with us when we first asked you, you would avoided your second attack, as well as the one on Miss Watson" Sherlock continued, his voice adopting a certain edge, a tone which Joan did not recognise. It was not something which was familiar to her, or that she had heard in his voice before. But, if she had to make an educated guess, she would describe it as being an edge of pure, unrestricted and uncontrollable fear. And yet, as he spoke, he sounded as confident and as calm as ever, despite the fact that Joan knew him to be finding this present situation increasingly difficult.
"I don't know what you're talking about" Greta returned, her voice low and almost mechanical. "And I would like you to leave."
"Your failure to disclose this information, as well as your appalling treatment of your former employee, has resulted in not only attacks on others, but on yourself, and on Miss Watson" Sherlock continued, keeping his voice even and fairly calm. "Your deception caused you to be attacked once more which, I hope you understand, I am deeply sorry for, and I am glad that you have regained consciousness, and are recovering" Sherlock continued, speaking slowly and gesturing slightly with his hands. "By not revealing your lover's identity, you were protecting yourself, at the expense of others. Now, whilst I abhor that action, I understand it. Truly, I do. But what I do not understand, what I cannot fathom" he continued, reddening slightly as he spoke, and adopting a slightly less controlled voice. "Is why you would lure Miss Watson into that situation."
"What?" Greta asked, shifting her glance from Sherlock to Joan.
"Your deceit directly endangered your own life. Now, as a smart woman, I am sure you knew that. You were aware of the risk you were taking in not disclosing the identity of your lover to us" Sherlock explained, in a calmer and more relaxed manner. "But why would you compromise the life of yet another innocent person? In fact, you did not just put her at some risk, you lured her into your home, where you knew the attacker was, knowing that she would be placed in danger. And here she is, before you, right now. And still, you lie. Still, you deceive" Sherlock paused for a moment, dropping his voice as he watched Mrs Mathers with a pained expression. "What will it take for you to tell the truth, and stop endangering the lives of innocent people?"
"I didn't make any phone call" she choked, averting her eyes from Sherlock. Joan took a step towards him as he prepared himself to speak, hoping that her presence would be enough to relax him. It was not.
"Phone records from the day of your second attack record a call being made by your cell phone to Miss Watson, which lasted for about fifteen seconds" Sherlock returned, calming slightly as he felt Joan's presence by his side.
"I don't remember" Greta returned dismissively, crossing her arms across her chest. "But I would like you to leave."
"Greta" Joan asked in a gentle, soothing tone, as she approached the bed. "What has happened to you, what happened to those other women, needs to be atoned for. Whatever you have done, or have failed to do, can be dealt with by telling us the truth" she continued, watching as Greta's cool exterior began to falter. "Were you having a romantic relationship with Maria Lennard during her employment with you?"
"No" Greta returned immediately, shaking her head slightly as she spoke. "Now get out."
"We'll be back later, Mrs Mathers" Gregson stated, as he took a step behind Sherlock. He could sense that the detective was getting heated, possibly due to the fact his partner's life had been threatened. Gregson understood Sherlock's anger and, if anything, respected him for showing such restraint when talking to Mrs Mathers. But he knew that this situation could get dangerously out of control and, from an evidential point of view, they were already treading on thin ice. Anything which could call into question the reliability or validity of the evidence, or the persons who obtained it, could compromise their case. "I hope you feel better." Mrs Mathers did not respond to this statement, but simply crossed her arms and stared into the corner of the room, until the team had filtered out, and met in the corridor. Joan stood a few feet away from Sherlock, knowing that he would need some space to think, to process what had just happened, and to calm himself.
"She's lying" Sherlock said simply after a few moments of silence. "After everything that has happened, after everything that she has done, she is still lying."
"She's been through a lot" Joan reasoned, in an attempt to placate her partner. "I'm not saying I agree with what she's doing, but I think that, considering what has happened to her, and what she is afraid will happen next, her silence and her denial makes sense. It's awful, it's selfish and it is certainly wrong. But we won't break her silence by acting on the offensive. We need to figure out another way." Sherlock nodded once in response, before staring ahead for a few seconds, then turning towards Gregson.
"Captain, I think it is quite obvious that nothing more can be achieved today. I suggest we all go home, consider separate strategies, and discuss them in the morning. Is that agreeable?"
"Sure" Gregson returned, nodding in response, and notably impressed by Sherlock's reasonable and rational suggestion. He was clearly still annoyed, but he was managing himself well.
"Excellent" Sherlock returned, leaning back on his heels, as he began to tap his fingers upon his thigh. He then walked briskly past the group and down the corridor, heading towards the elevator. Joan watched him for a few moments, before thanking Gregson and Bell, and following Sherlock. She reached the elevator just as he stepped inside, and found him with his back pressed against the glass, holding one finger to the emergency stop button until Joan had stepped inside. She took a few steps forward, standing next to him against the wall, as the doors closed slowly and the elevator began to descend.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently, turning her head towards him.
"I... apologise, Watson" Sherlock responded instantly, his voice adopting the tone of sincere regret he often used to address Joan when he had done something he knew she would not completely approve of. "Listening to her lies, yet again, after everything that happened, was just-".
"I know" Joan returned, turning her head to face forward. "It wasn't the easiest thing to hear, and I understand your anger and frustration."
"It's just-" he began, sighing as he stared up at the ceiling of the elevator. "She... she called you, Watson. She told you that you were right, and you went to help her, which almost led to-" Sherlock broke off, unable to finish the sentence. Joan gave him a few moments, before turning her head towards him, as he prepared himself to continue. "And now, she... she continues to deny what we already know to be true."
"She's afraid it will all come out" Joan reasoned. "She doesn't want her husband, her firm, and all her rich society friends to know that she had an affair with a PA. And she certainly doesn't want them to know that her lover is a serial killer who attempted to kill her twice." Sherlock nodded, drumming his fingers nervously against his thigh as he listened to Joan's words. Joan watched him for a few moments, before taking a step closer to him, and taking his hand in hers, holding it tightly and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What is it with us and elevators?" she asked, her voice adopting a light and conversational tone. Sherlock smiled slightly, before turning towards Joan, and squeezing her hand in return.
"Thank you, Watson" he said in a low, gentle tone. And he meant it.
"We will figure this out" she stated with conviction. "We have all the pieces of the puzzle, we just need to find a way of putting them together. We've done it before, and we'll do it again" she continued, turning her head to face forward as the elevator came to a stop, and the doors began to open. Joan went to release her hold on Sherlock's hand, believing that he would not wish to take part in such a public display, especially when their relationship was still a secret. And yet, as they stepped out of the elevator as her hand weakened beneath his, she was surprised to find that he drew her hand gently back to his own. She looked up at him for a moment, but he did not return her glance. Instead they walked, side by side, hand in hand, out of the hospital, onto the street, and up to a waiting taxi. Although their act of holding hands was something which would not be noticed by most people, and certainly not to any large extent, to Joan, it meant a lot. It was one of the strongest indicators of his feelings for her, and his contentment at displaying their relationship. It was especially significant as she knew how difficult it was for him to do, especially considering how much he had struggled to restrain his understandable anger and frustration in the hospital room.
As they sat in the back of the taxi, hands still entwined, Joan allowed her thoughts to drift from the case and onto their relationship. Unlike the case, their romantic relationship had been developing at a pleasant, manageable and in a thoroughly enjoyable manner, which they both seemed perfectly content with. They had been out together several times, spent time together at home and in semi-romantic settings, and were continuing to explore each other's minds, thoughts and concerns on their developing relationship. And yet, it recent weeks, the time they had spent together romantically had been notably limited, due to the sheer amount of work they had been undertaking. As the cab pulled up outside the brownstone, Joan considered just how much they had been working, how tired they were, and how emotionally draining the most recent interview had been for Sherlock. As Sherlock paid the driver, she decided that the rest of their evening would be best spent by their relaxing, and spending some time together as partners in the romantic sense, not professional one.
As they entered the brownstone, Joan hung up her scarf and coat, and began to remove her gloves, as she turned to Sherlock and began to speak.
"You're tired" she began soothingly, causing Sherlock to turn to face her, his arms partially concealed within the depths of the coat he was in the process of removing. "We both are. I think we should use the rest of this evening to... to relax. To allow everything else, all things work-related, case-related, stress-related, to take a back seat, okay? Just for tonight." Sherlock watched her with interest for a few moments, his wide yet tired eyes meeting her own, before he nodded in agreement.
"Very well, Watson" he stated kindly, taking a step towards her and kissing her on the cheek. "I must check on the bees first, then I shall be at your disposal."
"I'll make some tea" she returned, running her hand down his arm as their cheeks brushed one another, before Sherlock walked slowly past her and up the stairs.
Joan could hear his footsteps as he ran up the staircases and towards the roof, and she found herself smiling at his eagerness as she made her way towards the kitchen. Joan ran her hand tiredly through her hair as she approached the stove, filling the kettle and applying heat, before turning towards one of the cupboards. As she turned, she found herself experiencing the same dizziness and unsteadiness she had earlier that morning, but with a much greater effect. She staggered back slightly, and pressed her hands against the counter to steady herself. She breathed in heavily, as she continued to feel shaky and unstable. Before she could process her thoughts, she felt suddenly overcome by a strong wave of nausea, causing her act immediately and instinctively, turning on the spot and leaning into the sink, where she was violently sick. After a few moments, she found that her nausea had abated, but her tiredness and dizziness had remained. She ran the cold tap, cleaning the sink, and splashing some cool water upon her face.
Joan leaned heavily with one hand upon the sink, bending over it slightly, as she placed her free hand over her mouth. She took in a shaky breath, staring into the sink as she considered her symptoms. The tiredness, aching, feelings of unsteadiness and shakiness, as well as the nausea. Joan ran her fingers lightly across her lips, before splashing some cool water upon her neck, which refreshed her slightly. She then pushed herself away from the sink with her left hand, which she placed on her lower back, before resting her head in her right hand. Dizziness, tiredness, nausea she repeated in her head, struggling to think clearly as she felt unwell and uneasy. But, somehow, through the illness and the confusion, Joan found herself experiencing a sudden and terrifying moment of clarity. She opened her eyes, and slowly lifted her head from her hand, before dropping her gaze. She placed her free hand slowly and tentatively on the outside of her shirt, pressing it delicately to her abdomen. She stared down at herself for several minutes, considering her symptoms and their implication as the sound of running water permeated the silence.