The morning after the night they spent together, Sherlock woke several hours before Joan. His eyes snapped open as he felt the warmth of the morning light dancing on the back of his neck, and he shifted his head tiredly upon the pillow. As soon as his eyes opened, he found himself completely awake and sobered by the image before him. Joan's head was beside his own, her forehead pressed lightly to his chin and her head bowed slightly, his left arm draped over her body, holding her to him. Joan was wearing a light cotton nightgown which covered her arms and back, but which was open at the front, revealing her stomach. She was curled into him, her small body pressed to his own, their bare skin touching. Sherlock was unable to move without his body connecting with hers, the feeling of his body brushing gently against her smooth skin, as she remained fast asleep, with her gentle breaths brushing across the top of Sherlock's chest. He moved his hand down her back and held her closer to him. As he did so, he felt the curve of her stomach press against his own, and his body tingled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. The night that had just passed was the first time that their undefined levels of intimacy had allowed him to explore every inch of her body, and the part of her which was pressed tenderly to his stomach fascinated him immensely. Even after the two months he had had to process the fact that she was pregnant with his child, he still found himself unable to define or even understand the emotions he was experiencing, and the effect that seeing her curved stomach had upon him. Sherlock tentatively moved his hand from Joan's back and moved it slowly across her side until it reached her stomach, where it remained. He closed his eyes as he ran his hand gently over her stomach, exploring the small yet noticeable bump beneath his fingertips once more.
Joan hummed slightly, moving her head from his chin and nuzzling him, until her head rested by his neck, her left cheek pressed to his chest. Sherlock felt Joan's right arm move slightly, before her cool hand reached his chest, and her fingers splayed. She could feel him beneath her fingertips, his supple yet taut body, his muscular chest. At that moment she felt invincible, untouchable, as though nothing in the world could sever the bond they shared, the complex yet unbreakable relationship they found themselves exploring more each day. Although their relationship had always been strong, and provided them both with a comfort and sense of purpose that they had not even realised they required, the feeling of Sherlock's hand upon her stomach somehow deepened that connection to an extent she did not even believe to be possible. As she lay beside him, her head upon his chest, his hand placed protectively over her stomach, she wished that she could remain there for weeks, months, an eternity. But a few seconds after these thoughts entered her head, Joan's eyes snapped open, and a familiar sensation struck her, causing her to react immediately. She leapt from the bed, carelessly disentangling herself from the sheets, as she rushed towards the bedroom door. She could hear Sherlock call her name once, but his words and actions immediately after that were unknown to her, as she rushed into the bathroom, threw herself on her knees, and was violently sick into the toilet.
As she was vomiting, Joan became vaguely aware of Sherlock entering the room, but she was too tired and sick to acknowledge this. Instead, she leaned further into the toilet bowl as she continued to be sick, her throat burning and her head spinning as she threw up the very little food she had been able to eat the night before. When she had finished, she felt her whole body shaking, as she breathed heavily, letting out a few staggered breaths. She then felt a soothingly cold wet flannel pressed gently to her head, as Sherlock crouched down beside her and handed her a glass of water. She mumbled some words of thanks, before taking the glass from him and allowing herself a couple of small sips. Sherlock removed the flannel from her forehead and placed his right hand gently in the middle of her back, as Joan adjusted her robe and wiped her mouth with some tissue, throwing it into the toilet and flushing it. Joan used the flannel to wipe her mouth and face, and found that it provided her with a cooling and soothing sensation that she was grateful for. She was about to attempt to stand, when she felt Sherlock's strong arms encase her, and pull her gently towards him. She still felt shaken and unsteady, so she did not argue, and simply allowed herself to rest against him. They remained perfectly still for several minutes, neither of them moving or speaking, until Sherlock broke the silence.
"I would never dream of being presumptive, Watson" he spoke gently, running his hand gently down her arm, "but I personally didn't think that last night was that bad." Joan laughed lightly at this remark, before pressing her forehead to his chest and gently pushing herself from him, so that she was sat upon the floor, her legs beneath her, watching him carefully. "I thought your morning sickness had stopped" he added gently.
"It flares up now and again" Joan responded, reaching for the glass of water. "It's nothing to worry about, though. It's perfectly normal" she added, smiling at him reassuringly as she took a few more sips. She placed the glass by the side of the toilet, before crossing her arms across her chest as she realised how cold the bathroom was. "And last night was far from bad" she added in a low tone.
"I know" Sherlock responded in a light tone, feigning arrogance. Joan glared at him, her eyes glistening mischievously. Sherlock's satirical tone disappeared as soon as it had emerged, and within a moment his voice was adopting the caring, compassionate manner which she recognised. "You're quite sure you're alright?"he asked gently, as he ran his hand comfortingly down her back.
"I'm fine" she replied instantly. "I'm hungry" she added, turning her head towards the door as though she were expecting a mountain of food to materialise before her.
"What would you like?" Sherlock asked, relieved that she felt able to eat. She had barely touched food in the last couple of days, and it had been worrying him.
"Would you..." she began, as she ran through a mental list of the different foods, flavours and textures she knew, desperately seeking something plain that she felt she would be able to eat without being sick. "Would you make me some of those Yorkshire puddings?" Sherlock eyes her quizzically for a moment, before his lips turned upwards into a small smile, and he nodded. Sherlock pushed himself up from the ground and extended his hand to Joan, who accepted it, and stood beside him. He could tell that Watson was tired and weakened after her recent bout of morning sickness, and was grateful that she allowed him to guide her slowly down the stairs, before easing her into a seat at the dining table. She watched him carefully as he prepared the batter, and a few minutes later the comforting scent of the Yorkshire puddings filled the air, reassuring them both. As Sherlock handed her a plate with two of the odd-looking savoury foods upon it, she smiled slightly as she picked one up. "I can't believe it took me getting pregnant for you to actually let me have one" she laughed lightly, lifting the Yorkshire pudding into the air slightly, before taking a small bite. The food quickly became a favourite, and Sherlock would often make them for her over the next month, especially if she was feeling unwell. They both marvelled at how strange it was, that the one food their child permitted Joan to eat was the one which comforted them both.
The next month was even hectic than the previous one had been, with Sherlock and Joan continuing to assist Captain Gregson and the NYPD with an array of current criminal cases, whilst continuing to conceal Joan's condition. Although she had not gained that much weight, and her changing shape could be easily concealed, Joan still found herself concerned that her secret would be uncovered too soon, and their child would be placed in danger. The increased media attention that the case and, by extension, she and Sherlock, were receiving, only added fuel to this already powerful fire. Her concerns about this particular issue were heightened when, shortly after she passed the twenty-week mark of her pregnancy, she was called to testify in the Maria Lennard case once more.
On the morning she was due to testify Joan awoke just as the sun was rising, and found herself sitting in the middle of her bed, the blankets folded beneath her stomach, as she stared at a spot in the centre of her bed. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands clasped in front of her stomach, as her eyes adjusted to the gradually increasing lightness of the room. The last time Joan testified was several weeks ago, and she only spoke for a few minutes, just long enough to demonstrate the evidence against Lennard. But this morning would be different. Instead of providing a broad outline of the events, she would be expected to relive them. She would have to explain what happened in front of her colleagues, legal professions, the jury, and even Maria Lennard herself. Joan felt slightly sick at the prospect, and found her arms wrapping themselves protectively over her growing stomach as she thought of the woman who so nearly ended her life. But as she felt the shape of her abdomen beneath her fingertips, she was reminded of the man who saved her, and of the gift he provided her with on the very evening of her attack. For a moment, all her fears and anxieties were removed completely from her, and she basked in that brief period of time. But only for a moment.
Joan reluctantly eased herself off the bed and walked towards her wardrobe, pulling out a semi-formal black dress with white lace detail. The material was light and floaty, and would easily conceal her bump. As Joan held the dress against her, she found herself staring curiously at her stomach. She was quite small for twenty weeks. She turned on the spot and threw the dress on the bed, before pulling her bed-shirt over her head and dropping it on the floor. She was standing to the side, facing her mirror, wearing just a bandau top and underwear. Her tousled hair and tired eyes were offset by her glowing skin, and although Joan was too modest to admit it, she looked serene. But her attention was soon drawn from her face and to her stomach, which looked slightly larger than when she last saw it this bare. Joan placed a hand on each side of her stomach and splayed her fingers, attempting to press the tips of her fingers together without moving her hands. It had been the casual and un-technological way in which she had measured the size of her stomach, and today, for the first time ever, her fingers did not meet. Joan smiled slightly, sighing out a small laugh as she gazed down at her stomach. She ran her hands gently across her stomach, marvelling at how smooth her skin felt upon her curved abdomen. At first she had been worried that she would not be able to connect with the baby due to her concerns about his or her future, and the uncertainty of the role which she and Sherlock would play in their child's life. But her love for her child remained constant and unwavering, and with each day that passed, she felt a deeper connection to her baby. In the past few weeks she had began to feel the baby moving inside of her, which was incredible. For some reason, these movements tended to occur when she was at a crime scene, and they tended to increase when Sherlock moved further from her. At first Joan thought she had been imaging this, that she had been romanticising something which was a pure coincidence. But then she found herself wondering whether the baby was not reacting to the movement of Sherlock's body, but his voice. The further away from her he moved, the lower his voice. The baby just wanted to be close to him. And yet, despite this, the closeness which the three of them seemed to share, the baby had yet to kick. Joan knew it was not uncommon, and the frequent movements of their child reassured her as to their well-being, but she could not help but wonder why he or she had not kicked yet.
Joan inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she allowed her hands to rest on her stomach for a few moments, before she turned on the spot, grabbed her robe, and headed for the shower. Half an hour later, Joan was showered, dressed and ready for her court appearance. She wore the black dress with a thin black jacket and a white scarf, which draped itself lightly across her neck, and covered her stomach completely. Joan picked up her bag and walked slowly down the stairs, and was slightly surprised to find Sherlock standing at the bottom.
"It's seven thirty" Joan stated simply as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "You've been up all night, you should rest". She knew that he had been up late having a conference call with several members of MI6, with whom he had been discussing protective details for his partner in return for his services. Joan had been unable to sleep that night, and found herself waking up every hour or so. Because of this, she knew that Sherlock had only crept into his bed at five-thirty. He must have been exhausted.
"I assure you, Watson, I do not require sleep at this precise moment" he returned, his voice low and gentle. "As I have told you on numerous occasions, you are not alone." Joan pressed her lips lightly together, her eyes lowering slightly as she drew her jacket across her chest.
"This isn't baby-related" she replied pleasantly.
"I think we both know that that is not true" he returned gently. "And again, as I have said" he continued, walking towards her until their bodies were almost touching, "I am here for you both". Joan lifted her head and watched him for a moment, his eyes watching her with a look of certainty and conviction.
"Alright" she conceded, knowing that she would be unable to change his mind. And slightly grateful for it. "Thank you". Sherlock nodded in response, before turning on the spot and opening the front door, holding it open as she passed through.
"It will be quite alright, Watson" he stated as she reached the threshold. "This will all be over soon." Joan turned towards him and nodded, before walking slowly through the doorway and down the stone steps. She hoped he was right.
The courthouse was the busiest Joan had ever seen it, with legal professions, witnesses, spectators and media personnel battling for entrance to the room in which the most famous case the city had seen in the past century would be held. Sherlock and Joan met Gregson at the entrance to the courtroom, and found the exasperated Captain attempting to usher away the various media personnel and curious civilians from the court proceedings.
"Hey, hey over here!" he called to Sherlock and Joan, who made their way through the busy crowd and to the Captain's side.
"Captain Gregson" Sherlock began, nodding towards the Captain as he spoke. "Things are certainly heating up."
"Tell me about it. I got fifteen of my guys patrollin' these corridors to stop the civilians, media and all other unauthorised personnel from enterin' the courtroom."
"A difficult task, I'd imagine" Sherlock responded as he glanced across the crowd.
"You bet it is" Gregson returned. "Anyway, sorry. Good morning, Miss Watson" he stated, his voice adopting a more genial tone as he turned towards Joan.
"Good morning Captain" she returned, giving him a weak smile, as she looked at the clock on the wall to his right. "Shall we go in?"
"The trial starts in ten minutes, so yeah, get your seats. I'd imagine you won't be testifying for another hour or so."
"Yeah, I thought so. Thanks Captain" Joan returned pleasantly, before leading Sherlock past their colleague and into the crowded courtroom.
There were several empty seats throughout the courtroom, due to the fact that all non-essential personnel had been banned from attending, which included members of the public and especially the media. The only people in the room were the judge, jury, police officers, witnesses, some family members of the victims and the defendant. Joan walked down the centre aisle, passed some police officers and detectives she recognised, and towards the middle row. As she took a seat, she noticed that Greta Mathers was sitting on the opposite side of the room, dressed in an expensively-tailored navy blue skirt suit, white blouse and red lipstick. Her face was pale and her eyes were cold, as she stared at the back of the head of her former PA. Joan turned from Greta and faced forward, watching the judge prepare some papers as the proceedings began. She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, and found her nerves returning to her once more. Sherlock, clearly sensing her discomfort, reached his hand down subtly between their seats, and clasped her hand tightly in his, squeezing it reassuringly. Joan returned the squeeze, which seemed to remove a significant part of anxiety from her body, before their hands separated instantly. They had not revealed the status of their relationship to anyone, and would not introduce it in open court.
An hour after the proceedings began, testimony had been given by Greta Mathers, two police officers who arrested Maria Lennard, and Captain Gregson. The prosecution had explained how Maria had been arrested, and what events had led to it. Joan listened as they described her attack in veiled terms, before the sound of ADA Roman Damelia's voice calling her name to the sound drew her from her thoughts. Joan stood immediately on the spot, placed her bag upon her seat, and walked confidently towards the stand. She glanced across the sea of unfamiliar faces in the gallery as she was sworn in, before resting her attention briefly upon the face of Maria Lennard, who was staring at her with a curious expression. Joan found her arms crossing themselves protectively across her stomach as she considered the younger woman's cruel stare. Sherlock noticed the movement, which many in the room would put down to nerves, if they even noticed it at all. But as Joan's eyes left Maria's face and found Sherlock's in the crowd, they both knew exactly what it meant. They were reminding themselves of precisely what they were fighting for, and who they were desperately trying to protect.
"Miss Watson" began the voice of ADA Damelia, a diligent prosecutor Joan had had the pleasure of working with on several occasions. "For the court, would you please recount the events of the afternoon of February 12th of this year?"
"Yes, certainly" Joan returned, her voice sounding much more confident than she felt. In a couple of minutes Joan explained with precision the details of that afternoon. Of how she had received a panicked call whilst out on a jog, causing her to rush to Greta Mathers' apartment, where she came across the woman's unconscious and badly injured body, before becoming aware of the identity of the serial killer they had been searching for. Joan continued to explain the events which followed.
"Can you tell us, Miss Watson, what happened after the defendant revealed herself to you?" the ADA asked, placing his fingertips together as he spoke.
"After the defendant, Maria Lennard, revealed herself to me, we had a brief conversation regarding Greta Mathers, who was unconscious and bleeding from a serious head injury" Joan responded immediately, her confident gaze meeting the ADA's.
"Did you try to help Ms Mathers?"
"Yes" Joan replied. "I was administering first aid when Miss Lennard revealed herself to me."
"What happened next?" he asked gently. Joan swallowed once, before taking in a deep breath and continuing.
"I tried to reason with Maria. I explained that I understood why she was upset, that she felt she had been betrayed by someone she cared about. I told her that what she was doing would not bring her peace of mind, and that the women she had killed prior to her attack on Greta were innocent, and had done her no harm."
"And how did she respond to this?"
"Maria... clearly did not agree. She was becoming agitated and increasingly hostile."
"Did you fear for your life?"
"What?" Joan asked, caught off-guard by the question.
"At that moment, Miss Watson, did you fear for your life?" The ADA repeated gently.
"At that moment, no I did not" Joan responded.
"Did you think you could reason with her?"
"No" Joan answered, her voice slightly lower. "No, I... It became apparent to me that I would not be able to reason with her."
"And why was that?"
"Because she saw me in the same way she saw those other women. Greta, and the other women she killed."
"In what sense? What makes you so sure?"
"She told me 'you betrayed me'" Joan began. "She-"
"You did betray me" came a cold, low voice from the defence table. Joan's eyes left the ADA, who had turned to face the table, and fixed themselves upon the cold, burning eyes of Maria Lennard, who was watching her with an angry expression. "And you are the same."
"Miss Lennard, you will remain silent during the testimony of witnesses" the Judge began, glaring at her reprovingly. "One more outburst from you and I will hold you in contempt."
"Miss Watson" began the ADA, turning back and facing Joan. But Joan did not respond, instead, her eyes remained upon Maria for a few seconds more, before she turned to the side and faced the ADA. "Miss Watson?"
"Yes. Yes, sorry" she said, composing herself once more.
"That's alright. Now, in your own time, can you please tell the jury what Maria Lennard did next."
"She made a reference to a previous attack on myself, in an elevator at the crime scene of one of her victims. She told me that I survived once but that I would not again."
"You won't" Maria spat, her wide-eyes gleaming with rage as she looked at Joan.
"Miss Lennard!" called the Judge. "I am warning you-"
"You won't survive again" she continued, her lips curling up into a small, sinister smile. "You are just like them, and you did betray me. You said you would help me, and I trusted you."
"I did want to help you" Joan responded, her eyes not leaving Maria's face. The Judge turned to the side and called Joan's name, causing her to turn towards him. But before he could chide her for addressing Lennard directly, the defendant erupted into a fit of pure, uncontrollable rage.
"Liar!" she screamed, kicking over the table in front of her as she stood from her chair, her shackled wrists before her. "You betrayed me!" she screamed, before lunging forwards. "You'll be just like them, just like them! You're worse, and you'll suffer worse! You will!" As Maria spat the words towards Joan, court officials rushed towards her, grabbing her before she got anywhere near the shocked Joan Watson, who was staring at the scene in disbelief.
In just a couple of seconds, after having appeared calm and almost detached throughout most of the morning's proceedings, the timid-looking young woman behind the defence table had transformed completely. Joan's eyes widened as Maria was tackled to the ground by three security officers, as her sheepish-looking attorney leapt out of the way. There were cries of shock and outrage from the courtroom as the Judge banged his gavel furiously and ordered the officers to remove her from the courtroom. As Maria was hauled from the courtroom kicking and screaming, Joan remained frozen to her seat, staring in absolute shock at the sight before her.
"Watson!" called a familiar voice, perhaps the only voice that would draw Joan's attention away from Maria Lennard, who had now been removed from the courtroom. She turned to the side to find Sherlock pushing his way through the confusion and making his way towards her. As Sherlock reached the stand, the Judge's loud, booming voice commanded silence, which even Sherlock obeyed.
"In light of recent events, I am calling a twenty-four hour recess, during which time Miss Lennard will be re-evaluated by a competent psychologist" he began, as order was restored to the astonished individuals in the courtroom. "In the meantime, Miss Lennard will be removed to a psychiatric facility pending her psychological evaluation" he continued, banging his gavel before rising from his seat.
"All rise!" commanded an usher, whose orders were followed immediately by the dazed people within the courtroom.
"What just happened?" Joan mumbled as she stood from her seat. She felt as though she was dreaming, that nothing that had transpired in the last minute or so had actually happened. How could it? Maria Lennard was perfectly calm, almost asleep, during Joan's testimony. What had caused her to react so violently, and at such a time?
"Watson" Sherlock stated gently, as he noted the look of confusion and panic upon her face. Joan was pale and unsteady on her feet, and he knew that any unnecessary distress would be dangerous for both her and the baby. He needed to get her out of there. "Watson, come down, come with me" he continued, in a kind and patient tone. Joan turned to face Sherlock, who was watching her expectantly. She nodded, before turning to the side and walking slowly from the witness box and to his side. By this time, Captain Gregson had also joined them.
"Come on, I'll take you both home" Gregson said gently, putting his hand on Joan's back and guiding her through the crowd.
Fifteen minutes later the trio arrived at the brownstone following a silent journey, with only Gregson's police radio providing any sound.
"Thank you, Captain" Sherlock stated as they pulled up outside the brownstone. Joan echoed his sentiments, before exiting the car and standing beside Sherlock on the pavement.
"No problem. You guys need anything, you call, alright?" Gregson responded, staring solely at Joan as he spoke.
"Thanks" she repeated, nodding as she pulled her jacket closer to her. Sherlock thanked the Captain and shut the car door, before walking with Joan into the brownstone.
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Joan walked straight for the coat rack and began removing her back and jacket, placing them in their usual place as Sherlock watched her curiously.
"Watson" he said in a low, kind tone. Joan did not react to this, but removed her scarf and placed it beside her jacket, causing Sherlock to take a few steps towards her. "Watson" he stated once more, his voice gentle and tentative. Joan removed her hands from the scarf and turned towards him, her wide eyes meeting his.
"I'm fine" she stated resolutely, tossing her black gloves on the table. "Really, Sherlock."
"Of all the things you are right now" Sherlock began, standing so close to her that the tips of their shoes met upon the ground. "I am fairly certain that 'fine' is not one of them." Sherlock reached out his hand and placed it carefully upon her upper arm, in a simple yet comforting gesture that calmed her slightly. "Let's sit down" he stated gently, indicating towards the living room. Joan watched him for a moment, exhaling a deep breath before nodding in agreement, and leading the way towards the room. She took up her usual seat upon the red couch, and Sherlock sat by her side. They were silent for several minutes until Joan was finally able to put her thoughts into words.
"It doesn't make sense" she began, narrowing her eyes in confusion. "She was calm. Completely calm. She showed no signs of agitation or even interest throughout the proceedings. I don't... it doesn't make sense."
"She flew into a similar rage before though, did she not?" Sherlock asked, causing Joan to turn towards him. "When you confronted her in Greta Mathers' apartment?" Joan thought for a moment, before shaking her head slightly and leaning back in her seat.
"This was different" she countered. "In the apartment, there had been a build up. As I said in court, she got more agitated and more distressed, and then she snapped. But today, there... there was just the explosion." Sherlock was silent for a moment as he considered her words.
"You don't believe that her behaviour in court was consistent with her pathology?" he asked, clasping his hands together as he considered the statement.
"No, I don't" Joan returned. "I don't think so at all, I... It doesn't make sense. What she said, that makes sense. That was, in a Maria-Lennard-esque manner, almost logical. I befriended her because I felt for her, I empathised with her. And then I found out who she was and... and I stopped her from killing Greta, the woman who had been the focus of all her crimes, the defining element of her motives. It is understandable that she is mad at me, that she wants revenge. But the way she said it in court, that... that wasn't-"
"Her" Sherlock added, as Joan seemed to struggle to phrase her thoughts. "Her actions today do not correspond with her actions over the previous months. She has an explosive temper, yes, but, as you said, there has always been a build up."
"Yeah" Joan responded, her eyes widening as she considered the events of the past hour. "Why would she do that?"
"The evidence against her is airtight, Watson" Sherlock began. "Perhaps it was a defence tactic? She could be preparing herself for an insanity plea, in a desperate and very final attempt to get herself off the legal hook, so to speak." Joan considered his words for a few moments, and ran through the logic in her mind. That made sense. It was the sort of manipulative, sinister and malicious thing Maria would do.
"Yeah, maybe" Joan began. "I mean, in less than a minute she enabled herself to form a defence whilst unnerving a key witness to her crimes. Perhaps she thought she could scare me out of testifying, too." Joan closed her eyes for a moment, and found herself feeling more relaxed having arrived at a plausible conclusion for Maria Lennard's actions in the courtroom earlier that morning.
"That is very possible" Sherlock returned. "We will have to see what the psychological evaluation determines."
"They're usually pretty quick" Joan returned immediately. "Certainly within twenty-four hours. And due to the high profile nature of the case, I'd imagine it would be sooner." Sherlock nodded in agreement, before turning towards Joan, who appeared notably calmer and more relaxed than before. As his eyes ran analytically across her face, he noticed how pale and weary she looked.
"You slept less than I did last night, did you not?" he asked, causing her to turn to him with a small, tired smile.
"Yeah" she smiled, lowering her head tiredly. Sherlock edged slightly closer to her, placing his arm across her shoulders and drawing her to him. Joan was too tired to argue, and she was comforted by his gesture. Until a few months ago their relationship had almost exclusively prohibited any form of physical contact. But now, everything had changed, and the smallest degree of physical contact provided them with infinitely more comfort and reassurance than anything else they could possibly imagine.
"You should rest, Watson" he said gently, his voice almost hypnotic.
"So should you" she mumbled in return, as she leaned into his chest. He was wearing a dark blue shirt beneath his waist coat which smelled of honey and expensive aftershave, which were two of the scents she so often attributed to him. She nuzzled against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and was instantly asleep. Sherlock remained still for several moments, until the steady pattern of her breathing revealed her unconscious state. He held her closely to him and pulled her gently back, so they were both leaning against the back of the couch. Sherlock held her gently to him, marvelling at how tired she was recently, and how frequently she required rest. It was yet another thing about her pregnancy which fascinated him. As he considered this point, and others, he found his own eyelids feeling heavy and tired. Less than a moment later, Sherlock too was asleep, his cheek leaning gently upon Joan's head, as continued to hold her to him in their slumbered states.
A loud banging sound roused them both from their respective sleeps immediately. The room was dark and cold, indicating that they had been asleep for several hours. Joan pushed herself from Sherlock and stood up instantly, as her partner sprung from the sofa and made his way to the front door, which proved to be the source of the banging. Joan was at his side immediately, her eyes wide and her features devoid of fear or tiredness. Sherlock removed his hidden dagger from its secret spot and held it against his wrist, before glancing through the peep-hole. Sherlock's head leaned back in confusion, as he placed the dagger upon the table and opened the door widely, stepping back to reveal the familiar figure of Captain Gregson.
"Captain" Sherlock began, his voice containing no remnants of tiredness. "To what does my door owe the displeasure?"
"It's Maria Lennard" Gregson began, his eyes wide and his face ashen. "She's escaped."