***A/N: Hi everyone, thank you for your support with the last chapter. Sorry about the mistakes, I really need to proofread more thoroughly! The next two chapters will be exploring what Joan and Sherlock (respectively) do following their discussion at the brownstone, and Sherlock's sudden departure. This one explores Joan's thoughts and actions, and the next will examine Sherlock's, and will be uploaded tomorrow. I will upload more chapters daily for the next week or so, possibly twice daily. Any comments/criticisms/advice are greatly appreciated, so please feel free to be as blunt as you wish, I welcome all constructive criticism.

Thanks again, and I hope you are enjoying the story so far.

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Joan continued to stare at the neatly arranged glass surrounding the shattered honey jar for several minutes, until the thick haze of tears which reddened her eyes completely blurred her vision, forcing her to blink them away. As she felt the warm tears run quickly down her cheeks, she found herself lose control completely, and she broke out in a desperate, frightened and hopeless bout of sobbing. She wrapped her arms subconsciously around her abdomen as her whole body trembled with emotion, the memories of her realisation about the baby and Sherlock's terrified and anguished reaction pushing her completely over the edge. After a few minutes she choked on a sob, inhaled a shaky breath, and found herself sitting completely still in the silence of the room.

Joan sniffed slightly, before removing her arms from around her abdomen and pushing her hands down upon the couch to steady her trembling body. Her entire body felt cold and numb, and her eyes were sore and tired as she gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, before leaning back slightly on the couch, placing her hands on her thighs to steady herself. After a few moments Joan managed to calm herself almost completely, and found herself sitting alone and frightened in the solitude and darkness of the brownstone. As she glanced around, she found herself feeling alone and afraid, and completely without comfort or companionship. It was almost as if, by Sherlock leaving, driven out by her words and her reason, she was banished to. Not by him, of course. Joan could not imagine a circumstance or an event that would lead him to send her from the building. Instead, it felt as though the brownstone itself was objecting to her presence. As if it had heard her words, understood the argument, witnessed its traumatising and devastating effect upon Sherlock, and resolved to punish her for her actions. Joan sighed at the thought, running her hand through her hair as she cast her face down and stared at the floor.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and found the memories of the past few minutes flooding back to her with a painful and almost tangible vividness that pained her deeply. She remembered her argument and her words almost completely, as she had been running through them in her mind, and making the same argument to herself, since discovering that she was pregnant. She had convinced herself of it weeks ago, forcing herself to accept the truth of the logic and reason which she had put to Sherlock Holmes himself just minutes ago. She knew that what she said was both rational and reasonable, and that it was the best method that she and Sherlock had to protect their child. But she also knew how much pain it would bring them both. His reaction, the shock, the compromises, the desperate attempts to think of another option, were all familiar to her, and torturous to experience. She had felt the same things a couple of weeks ago when she first realised what her only option had been, and even more so in the days leading up to her collapse, when the reality of her situation, and the limited options that she had, became very clear. Emotionally, she went through what Sherlock was currently going through two weeks before. She knew he would be hurt, anguished, devastated, and she had expected him to react in an emotional manner. She was not angry at him for leaving, not at all. She understood his need to be alone, to process what she had said. She had known him for long enough to understand that it was not her or the baby he was running from, but the knowledge of their inability to protect their child. She wanted to run too.

Joan lifted her head and ran her hands across her face once more, brushing aside the faded make-up and strands of hair, before rising to her feet in one bold, swift motion. The oppressive atmosphere of the brownstone felt unbearable to her, and she needed to get out. She needed some air, some time to think. She needed to spend some time in the very world that she was seeking to shield her child from. The irony of that logic was not lost on her, and she scoffed lightly as she picked up her bag from the side of the couch, walked from the living room towards the foyer, and made her way out of the building and down the street.

Joan walked for ten or fifteen minutes without much thought as to where she was going. But after that brief period of time, she found herself stopping automatically outside a familiarly-scented building, which gave her instant comfort. She turned her head up slightly, and found herself standing outside her favourite coffee shop, the one owned by Jonathan's family. The one that she had not been in since she took the mousy, nervous-looking Maria Lennard for a coffee and a chat, in an attempt to make the young girl feel at ease. Tired and in a daze, Joan swayed on the spot slightly, before turning towards the front door and passing through.

"Miss Watson!" came the excited and familiar voice of Jonathan. "It has been a while! How are you?" Joan was surprised by this unexpected address, and found herself faltering as she sought to respond. Her eyes were still sore and her words would still sound slightly choked, and she was certain that Jonathan would not miss the clear and telling signs of her recent breakdown. As she turned towards him, she saw the smile on his face drop instantly, and he walked swiftly towards her, placing his hand gently on her lower back and guiding her to a vacant seat. "Please" he stated kindly, in a much lower and restrained tone than the one he had used to greet her. Joan was still struggling with the conversation that had so recently passed between herself and Sherlock, and was torn between condemning herself for wishing to give up her child, and for causing her partner so much pain and distress. As a result, she felt certain that she would be unable to speak without either bursting into tears, or offering a small and inaudible response to the kindly coffee-shop owner's questions. Thankfully, no further questions were asked, and Jonathan indicated a seat for Joan to sit in, before taking up the space opposite her, which he occupied for several moments in a period of respectful silence.

"Jonathan?" came a warm and motherly tone from behind the counter, as a dark-haired and kindly looking woman quickly approached the table. "Why are you sitting down, honey? It's only four o'clock! Need another break already?" his wife gently chided, walking towards the table as she spoke. Her bright, beaming smile soon fell as she saw the sad and forlorn look on Joan's face. "Miss Watson?" she spoke gently, her voice rising slightly at the enunciation of Joan's surname. "Whatever is it, dear?" she asked, pulling a chair from the table behind and sitting herself beside Joan.

Joan was feeling tired and weary, and did not wish to drag anyone else into the devastating circumstances she was battling against. And even if she had wanted to, she couldn't discuss the matter anyway. Instead, she forced a small smile, and turned towards Jennifer as she spoke. "It's... nothing, really" she lied, although in a more convincing manner than she felt possible. "Just one of those days" she sighed, picking up a napkin from the table and running her fingers down the side. She began folding it into a triangular shape, before discarding it on the table and looking up. "Sorry, I... I didn't mean to just come in here and lower the mood. I-"

"Honey, you don't have to explain anything to us" Jennifer interceded, before placing her hand gently over Joan's. The kind gesture reminded her instantly of Sherlock's attempts at comforting her, and she felt her eyes well with tears once more. Her hand shook beneath Jennifer's and, sensing her unease, the older woman gently removed her hand. "You're very pale, honey. I'm gonna get you a coffee and a bagel, see if we can't get some colour back in your cheeks." Before Joan could mumble a few words of thanks, Jennifer had risen from the table and began walking briskly back towards the counter, before the low yet less tearful voice of Joan Watson called her back.

"Could I have decaf, please?" she asked, causing the woman to turn around and give her a puzzled look. "Caffeine really wouldn't be a good idea whilst I'm like this" she smiled, laughing lightly as she drew the previously discarded napkin to her eyes. As Joan stared at her reflection in the silver jug on the table, she felt the eyes of Jonathan watching her with concern, and was almost relieved when his familiar and comforting voice filled the silence.

"Do you wanna talk, Miss Watson?" he asked kindly. Joan placed the napkin upon the table and turned towards him, offering her the brightest smile she was capable of forming at that moment.

"I.. I'll be alright, really, I... could I just sit here for a while?" she asked, finding herself feeling more relaxed in the familiar surroundings of her coffee-bean haven. "And please, call me Joan."

"Of course you can" he responded instantly, his eyes brightening at her request. "You can stay here as long as you need. And if there is anything you... if we can help, then I... well, I... I hope you know we'll do anythin' we can to help you" he stumbled, embarrassed at his attempts at comfort. It wasn't that he wasn't used to comforting people, quite the opposite, in fact. The connection he had with the public as a result of his job meant that he often found himself as a sympathetic ear to several people ordering their coffee. What he was finding difficult was the fact that Miss Watson never struck him as the type of person in need of comfort. She radiated a strong, incorruptible and infallible aura that surrounded her completely. It was in the way she walked, talked, laughed, and it was in her eyes. He could never imagine her being upset or in need of comfort, and the current look of devastation upon her features was something which he simply could not fathom. Whatever it was that had affected her so deeply, it must be something big. And he wanted to help her.

"Thanks" she mumbled kindly, as Jennifer approached the table once more with a steaming cup of coffee and a cream cheese and cucumber. "It's been a while since I ordered one of these, I'm surprised you remembered" she stated genially, her features brightening slightly as Jennifer took up her seat by her side, and watched over her like a protective mother hen.

"I'll never forget your order, Miss Watson" she replied pleasantly, rubbing her hands on her apron as she drew the chair closer to the table. "Are you alright?"

The question threw Joan slightly, and she felt her false smile fall instantly, features were awash with sadness once more. She didn't want to drag more people into her unhappiness, and she certainly did not want to draw attention to the fact she was unhappy. She hated people seeing her like this, so fragile and so vulnerable. She hated crying in front of anyone, even Sherlock. She didn't know why she had come here at this time, it was not a conscious decision she had made. It was like something innate, something in the back of her mind that she had not even realised was there, had guided her straight to the place where she felt comforted and relaxed, almost at total ease. For a moment she wondered whether it was the baby that had taken her there, knowing it would be a comfort to her. She smiled whimsically at this thought, and her face lit up with a genuine and adoring smile for the first time in weeks.

"Yes" she replied, lifting her face to reveal her smile, which seemed to convince her companions. "Again I... I'm sorry for turning up like this" she began, taking a small sip of the coffee. "This is delicious, thank you."

"Any time, honey" Jennifer replied, giving her a sweet smile. "Now, how can we help you to feel better?" she asked, leaning in slightly as she spoke. Joan turned towards her and found herself staring into the deep eyes of the kindly lady, whose maternal gaze reminded her instantly of why she was doing what she was: she was protecting her baby, the life that she and Sherlock had created because of their love. Perhaps one day she would be sitting beside her child, in a place of warmness and comfort, talking to them about her decision, the reasons for it, and the intended result. And if and when that day arrived, she was certain that she would be smiling at the child in the same way that Jennifer was smiling at her now.

"I think you already have" she replied genially, smiling slightly as she took a small bite of the bagel. "These get better each time you make them, I swear" she stated, laughing lightly at the end of the sentence. Jennifer watched her curiously as she continued to take small, tentative bites from the bagel, before drawing her coffee cup back to her lips.

"Well, it's good to see you eat" she stated genially, leaning back slightly in her seat. "And I'm glad you came here when you weren't feeling great. But are you sure there is nothing we can help you with?"

Joan hesitated for a moment, before putting her bagel back onto the plate and wrapping her hands around the hot coffee cup. The scent was familiar and comforting, and it tasted absolutely wonderful. It was the kind of coffee that radiated heat throughout your body on a cold afternoon, making you feel as though hot lava was coursing through your veins. She took another sip and relished the taste, and the warming effect it was having upon her. Even if it was decaf.

"Really, I'm fine, thanks" she replied kindly, offering another small smile as she drew her cup closer to her.

"Guy trouble?" Jennifer posed sympathetically, her motherly tone soothing Joan.

"No, I-" she began, drawing the cup to her lips. Before she could take another comforting sip, she found herself remembering the look in Sherlock's eyes as she had spoken to him earlier. With each word she spoke, his features had been overtaken by sorrow and pain, to the point at which he was completely overwhelmed, and left the brownstone. She felt her guilt returning to her at this memory, causing her to place the coffee cup back upon the table. It would take more than a comfortingly sip of her favourite caffeine-free beverage to take the edge off the pain she was currently experiencing. "Well, yes, I... I guess it was. Kind of."

"Mmm" began Jennifer, leaning forward once more. "It's alright, honey. Happens to us all."

"Your young man" interjected Jonathan, whose voice attracted Joan's attention almost immediately, "he's be a fool to let you go over an argument, really. I'm sure you'll go home and find him standin' there, tail between his legs, with a fresh bouquet of your favourite flowers."

Joan smiled politely at his response, and found herself feeling slightly bemused by the thought. But her heart clenched in her chest when she realised that, after the pain she had just inflicted upon him, that last thing that Sherlock would wish to give to her would be flowers. A look of confusion, pain or disappointment, certainly. But not flowers.

"Oh, I don't know about that" she responded, taking another sip of the tantalising coffee. "It's fine though, really. We just... we both need a little time to think, is all." Jennifer and Jonathan smiled at her warmly, and the former nodded in agreement. "It'll be alright" she stated, in a more confident and convinced tone than she felt able to produce at that moment.

"It'll be alright, honey" Jennifer returned, placing her hand comfortingly over Joan's own. "You'll see". Joan returned the kindly woman's sweet smile, taking another sip of her coffee as Jennifer and Jonathan both rose slowly from the table. "We'll give you some time to yourself, dear. To think" she stated kindly. Joan smiled politely and thanked them both, and found herself feeling slightly less broken as she watched the kindly coffee shop owners walk past her and back behind the counter. Joan remained in the coffee shop for the next hour or so, and found her coffee supply replenished without request on multiple occasions. She took a small sip from her cup, draining the last of her third coffee, before rising slowly from the table and pulling her jacket over her shoulders.

"Thank you" she called genially to the owners, who were tidying up behind the counter. "I really appreciate it" she continued, dropping a twenty dollar bill onto the counter.

"You're welcome, dear" returned Jennifer, as she continued to sweep the floor. Joan smiled slightly, before turning and taking a few steps towards the door. Before she reached the door, she heard fast-approaching footsteps behind her, and recognised the sound of Jonathan's voice calling her name.

"Miss Watson" he called, causing her to turn, and finding herself facing him directly. Before she could speak, she found him wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace. She was surprised by this action, and uncertain of exactly how to react. But the comfort and gratitude she felt from the hug made her act instantly. She found her arms moving up his back and returning his hug. "You'll be alright, darlin', I'm sure of it" he whispered, in such a quiet and soothing tone that Joan closed her eyes and relaxed, and almost found herself believing him. After what felt like an eternity, the pair removed themselves from the hug, and she gave him a small, grateful smile, before nodding in response. Before she could turn to leave, he called her name once more, causing her to turn on the spot. She looked up at him curiously, and watched as he took a few steps closer to her, before holding something in his hand and passing it back to her. It was the twenty dollar bill she had placed upon the counter. "You have an unlimited free-tab here, Miss Watson!"

"Oh, Jonathan I couldn't-"

"No, no, I insist" he stated, handing the money back to Joan, who accepted it reluctantly, knowing she was defeated. "Your money is no good here" he said warmly. She sighed lightly, before placing the money back in her purse, and turning towards the door. She rested her hand upon the handle, and tugged it open gently, feeling the cool air refresh her warm face as she took a step outside the building and into the street.

"Thank you" she called back, causing both Jennifer and Jonathan to look up at her, smile, and nod in her direction, as the door closed slowly behind her.

Joan stepped out onto the street and found herself staring onto the dimly-lit city as people left their places of work and returned home. Home, she thought. Joan glanced down at her watch and found that it was almost six o'clock. Despite the fact that it was only the evening, her recent medical emergency and the argument she had had with Sherlock had rendered her emotionally exhausted, and she felt a desperate need to lay in the comfort of her own bed. But as she turned on the spot and faced the quickest route back to the brownstone, she found herself questioning whether she should return there at that time. Sherlock needed some space and some time to think, and she completely understood and respected that. And, as a result, she did not wish to intrude upon his thought processes. She pulled her phone from her bag and glanced at the screen, and found herself feeling slightly disheartened at the realisation that she had no missed calls or messages from him. For a moment she considered calling him. Asking if he was alright, if he wanted to meet up and talk. But then she realised that such an action would be more for her benefit than his, and she discarded it immediately. He needed time and space and, under the circumstances, it was the least she could give him. Considering how upset he was when he left the brownstone a few hours ago, she felt certain that he would be out all night, possibly even for days.

Joan sighed sadly at this thought, before drawing her jacket across her shoulders and staring around the busy street. She wanted to go to the brownstone, change into her nightclothes and curl up in bed. But at the same time, she was frightened of going home. Back to the scene of their argument, the memory of his devastation, of the pain she had inflicted upon him. She thought for a few moments and, realising that the night was becoming cold and dark, and that she was feeling increasingly tired, she walked slowly back towards the brownstone.

Joan's slow and tentative steps meant that it took almost an hour to return home, and by that time her entire body was shivering with the cold. She walked briskly down their street, watching as her shadow danced upon the dimly lit pavement, as she finally reached her destination. As she found herself standing at the bottom of the brownstone steps, she stopped immediately, as though her entire body had been struck by some powerful, invisible wall before her that was forbidding her entrance. Joan glanced up at the building, the stone steps and the classically designed exterior, and found herself gazing upon a place of peace and solace, not punishment. Despite the darkness, the fear and her argument with Sherlock, she found that the brownstone was presenting itself as both warm and inviting, and she inhaled sharply as she began to question her previous wariness of the building before her. She took a few steps forward, before placing her hand upon the side of the staircase, and ascending the steps quickly.

As she reached the door, unlocked it and stepped into the foyer, she knew that she would not find her partner inside the building. She would be surprised if he returned within the next day or two, and she certainly would not blame or criticise him for his absence, or the nature of his departure. As the door closed firmly behind her, Joan paused for a moment, listening to the silence of the building as she found herself surrounded by its darkness. Although she had not expected him to be there, and very much doubted that he would be, part of her hoped that she would find him there, sitting in his armchair, poising himself to speak. She would listen to him, hear out his concerns and his rationale. But she would not change her mind. She couldn't. They would be making the wrong decision for selfish reasons, and she would not put their child in danger to satisfy their own desires. As she slowly removed her jacket and hung it up, she wondered whether Sherlock left because he believed she was being unreasonable and cruel, or because he knew that she was not. Joan removed her phone from her bag and dropped the latter onto a table by the door, before turning towards the staircase and walking slowly up them, pressing her hand down upon the bannister as she did so, and finding the tiredness she had been experiencing begin to consume her.

Joan pushed the door open to her bedroom, dropped the phone onto her bedside table, and began to slowly remove her clothing, which she replaced with the nightwear she had laid out for herself on the bed a couple of nights previously. As she tugged on her familiar red jumper, she pulled it closely to her, and took a few steps towards her bed. She pressed her knees onto the mattress and drew her legs onto it, before wrapping herself tightly in the comfort and solace of her blankets. Before she could rest, she found her tired eyes drifting over to the chair by the window, which so often occupied the figure of her partner, who spent more time there than she would ever know, and would ever dream of asking. But not tonight she thought sadly, as she drew the blankets across her body, leaned into the soft pillows, and closed her eyes.