Joan ran over the conversation she had with Sherlock in her mind several times, analysing and over-analysing it, trying desperately to garner as much information as she could from it. Over the next couple of weeks, she continued to keep the news of her pregnancy to herself, feeling unable to tell him due to their workload, as well as her fears and uncertainty regarding his reaction. During this time, Joan made an appointment to see her OBGYN Dr Amelia Forrester, a friend from Med school, who she associated with socially. Dr Forrester confirmed what Joan already knew to be true, ran a series of tests which all came back as normal, and gave her an ultrasound. The connection Joan felt with her child was taken to an even deeper level as she saw the grainy image of her baby flickering in black and white on the screen. Amelia printed her off an image, which Joan kept close, retreating to her room and admiring the image when she found herself feeling frightened or doubtful. The image reassured her quickly.
The next two weeks passed quickly, with the consulting detectives working tirelessly with the police in order to build a strong case against Maria Lennard. In subsequent interviews, she had slipped up on multiple occasions, revealing some information about the victims or about the crime scenes which she could not have possibly known. As well as this, two of her five alibis were proven to be false, and the remaining three could not be confirmed. Based on this evidence, just over two weeks since the interview with Joan Watson, the DA agreed that there was enough evidence to prosecute Maria Lennard. After this was decided, Joan called Greta Mathers to inform her of the development, and to encourage her to come in and make a statement, revealing the truth of their relationship. She informed Mrs Mathers that Lennard was going to be prosecuted, and that her statement would strengthen the case, increasing the chances of her conviction. Joan knew that she was asking a lot of the woman, who had been through a terrific ordeal. But by telling the truth, she could help secure the conviction of a woman who had destroyed the lives of several innocent women, casting a dark shadow across their families. She felt guilty before and during the phone call, in which she was both polite and compassionate, assuring Greta that they would do everything they could to protect her privacy, but expressing the importance of total disclosure.
An hour after the phone call, Greta Mathers walked confidently into the precinct, making straight for Gregson's office, where the Captain was discussing some of the issues in relation to the case with Sherlock and Joan. The door was thrown open and the tall, confident figure of Greta Mathers stood imposingly in the doorway, glancing at each of the people in turn, before stepping into the room and closing the door firmly shut behind her.
"Miss Watson" she stated simply, in her usual low, authoritative tone. "I have come to make a statement." Joan slowly stood up from her place on the couch, staring at the woman before her in disbelief. Before she could speak, Joan felt herself feeling suddenly dizzy and unsteady on her feet, which she covered well, taking in a deep breath and steadying herself.
"Thank you, Mrs Mathers" she began in a kind, empathetic tone. "What made you-"
"My husband" she stated simply.
"You... you told your husband?" Joan asked.
"God no" she spat, scoffing as she crossed her arms. "If I keep refusing to assist you, he will grow suspicious. Now, I realise that this case is high-profile, the media are all over it. I also understand that this... this woman has already made references to the nature of our relationship. Therefore, I will provide you with a written statement confirming it, providing that you do everything you can to ensure that the information does not make the press."
"Mrs Mathers, with all due respect" Gregson began, pushing himself away from his desk. "We can't make that kind of promise. We'll be discreet, of course. But even if you don't make the statement, it's likely that Miss Lennard will reveal the nature of your relationship in her own testimony. And what I can do, what I will do, is arrange for a hearing to discuss preventing the media and the press from being present during the trial. Now, if the court agrees to this, everything about the case will remain in the court room, away from the media."
"You can do that?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly at the possibility.
"I can try" he stated confidently. "It has been done before. Especially in cases of this magnitude. I'll petition a judge and arrange for the hearing to take place as soon as possible, alright?"
"Yes, yes thank you" she returned, attempting to conceal her happiness. She wore a strong, resolute expression which she was determined not to allow to crack. "So, what happens now?"
"If you'll come with me, ma'am, I'll take your statement. We'll be as quick and as discreet as possible, alright?" Gregson stated kindly, taking a few steps towards her. Mrs Mathers nodded in response, before turning sharply on the spot and leaving the room, her expensive silk scarf dancing in her wake.
"Well" Joan stated after a few moments. "I did not expect that." Sherlock stared at the doorway for a few moments, his wide eyes unblinking, as he considered the past few minutes.
"It was the only way she could ensure that her secret remained secret. It is amazing what lengths people will go to do so" he said, before continuing to leaf through the file on his lap, reviewing the transcripts from the most recent interviews with Maria Lennard. Joan swallowed, before walking back towards the couch and sitting back in her spot. Her head was still spinning and she felt slightly shaky, causing her to pull her jacket closer to her. As she allowed her mind to drift from her feelings of unwell-ness, she found herself thinking of Sherlock's words.
"It's understandable though" she stated, crossing her arms as she spoke. "I mean, people keep secrets for lots of reasons, don't they? Some of them selfish, some of them more complex." Sherlock glanced up at Joan from his file, and watched her for a few seconds, a quizzical look upon his face. Joan looked up at him, meeting his gaze, before continuing to speak. "I am well aware that she is concealing this for her own benefit, not for her husband. She wants to avoid a messy divorce and the scandal which would result from the revelation that she had an affair with an employee, certainly one who went on to take the lives of several women."
"Yes, Watson" Sherlock responded, returning his attention to his files. "In her case, keeping her own indiscretion a secret is purely for her own benefit."
"Would it be different if it wasn't?" Joan asked casually, as she too reached for a file and began to sift through it, trying to do anything which would distract her from how unwell she was feeling. "I mean, if a wife keeps a secret to protect her husband?"
"I suppose that would depend on the secret" Sherlock responded, his attention still devoted to the files. He paused for a moment, placing the sheet of paper back in its place, before looking up towards Joan, who was examining a picture from the last crime scene. He was about to pose a question when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone buzzing in his breast pocket. He sighed slightly, pressing his lips together in annoyance, as he extracted the phone and answered the call. Joan turned towards him as his voice became pleasant and satisfied, before he hung up the phone and replaced it.
"We've been here for over eight hours, Watson" he stated. "The files can wait until tomorrow. Shall we go home?"
"You never want to go home early" Joan returned tiredly, closing her file and turning to face Sherlock with an interrogatory expression. "Is everything okay?"
"Perfectly" he responded, standing up and putting on his coat. "But we have been confined to this precinct for too long already, and the familiar setting of the brownstone will be much more conducive to deduction." He began, as he reached for her coat, and walked across the room to assist her with it. "Besides, you seem rather tired this evening, Watson. And you have become rather pale, possibly because you are low on sustenance" he continued as he assisted her with her coat, concern entering his tone.
"Thanks" she responded lightly, doing up her coat and turning to face him. "So your eagerness to leave has nothing to do with the phone call you just received?" Sherlock watched her with a blank expression for a few seconds, before nodding a couple of times and indicating towards the door.
"We will soon find out, Watson" he responded, opening the door to allow her to pass through. Joan accepted, strolling casually through the precinct and towards the taxis outside, before travelling back to their home. As she leaned back in the seat, she fought to keep herself awake. She knew that feeling such waves of exhaustion was to be expected, but had not realised that they would be so strong. She was feeling light-headed and slightly shaky too, which she suspected was, as Sherlock stated, due to the fact that she had not eaten since the night before. It was almost five o'clock in the evening now, and Joan mentally remonstrated herself for having been so neglectful. As they pulled up outside the brownstone, images of food flooded into her mind, but she did not feel the slightest inclination to eat. In fact, the thought of consuming anything caused familiar feelings of nausea to return to her, which she fought as she walked up the stairs and towards the brownstone.
Upon arriving inside, Sherlock threw his scarf upon the coat rack and bounded into the front room like an excited puppy, causing Joan to forget her temporary concerns and smile to herself as she removed her own coat and hung it up beside his abandoned scarf. She took a step towards the living room before stopping immediately, releasing a long, shaky breath as she closed her eyes and attempted to re-establish her balance. She wasn't feeling at all well, which she suspected was due to their heavy workload and her lack of eating over the past couple of days. Well, as we're back, I'm sure Sherlock will want to order take-out she thought, as she walked slowly towards the living room, where her partner was standing. Sherlock was stood before the arm chair, his back to her, drumming his fingers on his thighs. He turned to face her as soon as he heard her enter the room, and met her arrival with a nervous, impish smile, which made Joan instantly suspicious.
"What?" she asked, caution clear in her tone.
"Well, I-" Sherlock began, his voice adopting a humble, slightly nervous tone. "I reached out to an associate of mine who had something in his possession that I believe you would like. I discussed the matter with him, and made the necessary arrangements. He has delivered the item in question to us this very evening." Sherlock paused for a moment, watching Joan with a wide-eyed stare.
"The phone call" Joan stated in a low voice. "Sherlock, you don't have to-"
"I know, Watson" he interposed. "But I wanted to. It is not something which I do lightly or without... without reason." He stated, before moving to the right and revealing a rectangular object wrapped in brown packing paper, and secured with string. "Please allow me to give you this gift, Watson. A small token of my thanks." Joan's eyes glistened as he spoke, and a small, grateful smile played on her lips.
"Sherlock you have nothing to thank me for" she responded kindly, taking a couple of steps towards him.
"On the contrary, Watson" he stated kindly, in a low, soft tone. Joan watched him for a few moments, before turning her attention to the object before her. Sherlock nodded encouragingly, taking a few steps back as she moved closer to it, and began to undo the string and remove the wrapping paper. Watching her do so reminded him of when she first opened the chest containing his unsolved cases, which filled him with a sense of pride and fulfilment. But this was a very different type of gift, and one which he hoped she would enjoy.
As Joan pulled the paper from the object, she gasped slightly, plucking the item from its packaging and lifting it up. It was the painting of the three children that she saw at the gallery a couple of weeks ago.
"That night at the gallery" Sherlock began, the sound of his voice drawing Joan from her reverie. "You seemed to be particularly drawn to this painting, so-"
"Sherlock, I... it's beautiful, and I, I'm so grateful but" she began, before placing the painting back upon the armchair, ensuring that the back of the seat held it securely in place. "I can't accept this, it must have cost you a fortune."
"I assure you, Watson, it did not" he responded. "Besides, the price is of no consequence. You know my feelings on money." Joan turned to face him, her eyes bright and soft, as she watched him with a grateful expression.
"Thank you" she whispered, smiling slightly as she spoke. Sherlock's entire body seemed to relax slightly at her words, which relieved her greatly. He always became nervous when expressing gratitude, or committing acts of kindness. He did not believe himself capable of them, and it caused him some concern when others saw him committing them. But Joan had seemed so engaged with the image, so completely enraptured by it, that he felt it were an appropriate gift for her. As he watched the expression of sincere gratitude on her face, he found himself feeling nervous, and uncertain of how to respond exactly. He hoped that she would appreciate the sentiment, but she appeared to be more grateful and more touched than he could have anticipated. This did not surprise him greatly, as Joan Watson was the one person who he could never completely understand. He nodded a couple of times, feeling slightly embarrassed, before leaning back on his heels.
"I must check the bees, I fear I have been neglecting my charges" he stated amiably, smiling as he spoke. "I will be back shortly". Joan nodded in understanding, watching as her partner quickly descended the stairs, and headed for the roof. She smiled lightly to herself, before turning back to face the painting, which was standing proudly against the armchair.
Joan took a few steps towards the painting, before feeling herself overcome by a powerful wave of dizziness. She stood completely still, attempting to steady her breathing as her whole body felt unstable, shaky. She rose one hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tightly against her palm as she battled the dizziness, as the sound of her heavy breathing became audible. After a few seconds, Joan found that her dizziness and shakiness had still not abated, which was unusual for her. As she took in another deep breath, she found it cut short by a sharp pain in her abdomen, which caused her to wrap her right arm protectively across her stomach as she let out a small, stifled cry of pain. Joan remained perfectly still for a moment, before the sharp pain returned, causing her to stifle another pained cry, as she brought her other arm to her abdomen. She felt her whole body shake once more, as she felt flushed and unsteady on her feet. As the sound of her frightened breathing filled the air, Joan felt herself swaying slightly, before she faltered slightly, her eyes closing as she lost consciousness, before falling to the ground. Joan landed on her right side, her legs drawn together, her left arm wrapped across her abdomen. She remained, unconscious and alone, lying upon the cold floor for several minutes, until heavy and excited footsteps upon the stairs announced the return of Sherlock. Joan was completely unaware of this, of course. She was unaware of everything at that particular time, having lost her battle to stay awake.
"The Euglasia Watsonia have been producing an incredible amount of honey, Watson" Sherlock stated merrily as he spring from the final step of the staircase, and began walking through the foyer and towards the living area. He had just collected a full jar full of the golden liquid, which he was turning over in his hands as he continued to talk. "I don't suppose you would care to-" Sherlock looked up from the jar of honey which he was holding, and stood completely frozen to the spot, as he glanced upon the unconscious figure of his partner upon the floor. He felt as though a heavy weight had been dropped onto his chest, and was crushing him from the inside, preventing him from moving, breathing, thinking, even. But after less than a moment, Sherlock blinked away the shock and the confusion, as the sound of the honey jar falling from his hand and shattering upon the ground drew him out of his stupor.
"Watson!" he breathed urgently, rushing to her side. Sherlock ran to Joan, bending down beside her, running his eyes across her fallen body. He glanced at her position, lying on her side, one arm draped across her abdomen, her eyes closed firmly shut. "Watson!" he repeated, a sense of urgency entering his tone, as he felt himself begin to panic. He exhaled sharply, before placing one hand on Joan's warm neck. Her pulse was low and barely calculable, and she felt shaky and clammy to the touch. He placed one hand upon her side and gently turned her onto her back, running his eyes across her body and searching for any signs of injury or distress. He found none. He would have considered it possible that she fainted, had it not been for the fact that her pulse was extremely low, she was completely unresponsive, and she appeared to be burning up. Her whole body was shaking too, and something about the entire situation unsettled him, and told him that something was very, very wrong. "Watson, can you hear me?" he stated, attempting to conceal the panic and fear which was flooding his tone. He placed his hands by her shoulders and called her name a couple of times, before taking her pulse once more and staring at her small figure. Something was wrong.
"Alright" he said breathlessly, as he leaned over Joan and pulled her gently towards him, holding her securely, as he lifted her from the ground. "It's alright, Watson. It's alright" he repeated, as he drew her small body close to his own, her head resting by his shoulder blade as her legs draped across his arm. Sherlock walked quickly through the room and towards the foyer, grabbing Joan's car keys from the table by the door, before walking briskly out onto the street and heading straight for her car.
The evening was growing dark, and there were very few people on the street. Not that Sherlock noticed them, really. He carried his unconscious partner straight to her car, unlocking it from the bottom step, before opening the back door and laying her carefully across the back seat. She showed no signs of returning to consciousness, and had remained completely unresponsive. As he closed the door behind her and rushed to the driver's seat, he remembered how she was shaking in his arms, and how he wished he knew how to comfort her. Sherlock breathed in heavily as he started the engine, driving straight for the hospital, knowing that she clearly needed medical attention. He knew she was tired, and had not been eating well, but they had both been through periods like that before, none of which had caused her to faint. As he drove into the hospital car park, slamming the brakes on by the drop-off section, he found himself overcome by sheer terror. Whatever was wrong with Watson, it was more than just a fainting episode. Was she unwell? Was that what she had been concealing? He banished these thoughts from his mind, as he undid his seatbelt and rushed to the back seat, gathering the still-unconscious Joan up in his arms and carrying her through the entrance of the ER. She felt weak and fragile in his arms, her frail body becoming pale and cool, as she continued to be unresponsive to the sound of his voice. As he walked into the reception area, he called her names several times, before carrying her straight over to the desk, where a wide-eyed receptionist stared at him, before gesturing to a white-coated man who was standing behind her.
"She needs urgent medical attention" Sherlock stated authoritatively, as the doctor turned to face him. The tall, older gentleman with a white beard nodded in understanding, summoning a porter as he rushed around the desk, and placed a hand upon Joan's clammy forehead.
"What's her name?" he asked, studying the collapsed woman.
"Joan Watson" Sherlock returned breathlessly, holding her protectively.
"What happened? How long has she been like this?" the doctor asked hurriedly, as he took her pulse and called once more for the porters, who brought a gurney straight to them. Sherlock turned on the spot and gently lowered Joan down onto the gurney, her weak limbs falling to the side as she lay upon the pillow, her eyes remaining closed.
"She... I found her collapsed about fifteen minutes ago" Sherlock began, as the doctor ushered him and the porters into a large room at the back of the hospital, calling for two nurses who were standing by to assist. "She just... she must have collapsed... I found her unconscious, she... she was warm, shaking and unresponsive, and her pulse was incredibly low-"
"Alright, it's okay" the kindly doctor said, as Joan was wheeled into the room, closely followed by Sherlock. "We're gonna do everything we can, alright? Now, does she have any medical issues I need to be aware of? Any complaints of illness lately?" Sherlock hesitated, the confusion of the situation making him feeling afraid and uncertain, causing him to struggle to respond.
"No, but I... something is wrong" he stated, as the nurses began to unbutton Joan's blouse and lower the gurney so she was lying flat.
"Has she got a history of fainting? Seizures? Drug or alcohol abuse?"
"No, no, no, look, help her, will you?" Sherlock asked, urgency entering his tone, as he stared past the doctor and tried to catch a glimpse of Joan, who was lying motionless on the bed, her arm falling lifelessly over the edge.
"We are" he responded kindly, in a paternal manner which was aimed at soothing frightened relatives. But he could tell that he would have to try much harder with this guy. Sherlock nodded at him, before taking a few steps forward and attempting to approach Joan.
"Sir, please, it is best if you wait here and-"
"I am not leaving her" Sherlock stated resolutely, his eyes burning with emotion as he stared at the doctor before him. He breathed in shakily and ran his hand across his face, before looking up at the doctor with a remorseful expression. The situation was overwhelming and incredibly confusing. He was incredibly worried about Watson, it was not like her to become ill, and seeing her so weak and vulnerable terrified him, especially when he did not understand what was happening. "Forgive me, but-"
"Doctor!" Came the voice of one of the young nurses, who was standing by the foot of the bed, blocking the view of Joan. "She's bleeding!" The doctor turned on the spot and rushed to Joan's bedside, closely followed by Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"Bleeding?" Sherlock asked, his mind ablaze, as he considered Joan's symptoms and her body. "She had no cuts she, she didn't..." he paused for a moment, standing slightly behind the doctor, who was blocking the view of his partner. The doctor stood at the bottom of the bed and exchanged a few words with the nurse, who began to remove Joan's shoes and 's eyes widened and his whole body clenched with fear, as he considered the sight before him. Joan's fear over the past few weeks, her tiredness, her sadness, her attempts to talk to him about something she was worried about. And now this, her state of collapse, and the word. Bleeding.
"Where is she bleeding from?" Sherlock asked in a low, hollow tone as he found himself frozen to the spot, his whole body unable to move. The doctor turned on the spot and took a step towards Sherlock, blocking his view of Joan, as the nurses began to adjust her legs on the bed.
"Sir, please, I think you need to wait out-"
"Joan" Sherlock breathed, rushing past the doctor and standing by his partner's side. He lifted her fallen arm and held her hand tightly, before running his fingers lightly across her cheek, and calling her by her first name once more. "Joan" he mumbled, breathing out heavily, and feeling his whole body begin to shake. He glanced down the bed to find the nurses and the doctor attempting to reduce the bleeding, which Sherlock could see was fairly considerable. His eyes widened at the sight, fear and panic gripping him, as he continued to hold Joan's hand tightly, whispering to her reassuringly. Sherlock turned his head back towards Joan, and cupping her cheek comfortingly with his hand. He felt her shake slightly, her whole body trembling, as she rose slightly from the bed, and her eyes began to open slowly, and he found himself staring down at her panicked, frightened expression.
"Sherlock-" she muttered, before closing her eyes once more, and falling back onto the bed.