The days following the escape and subsequent disappearance of Maria Lennard proved to be a time of confusion, elusion and infinite concern. Despite the best efforts of the police, FBI and consulting detectives, very little was established about her escape, the person who helped her, or her current location. The concussed agent in the hospital who Gregson and Sherlock interviewed gave a very vague and shady account of the events in question, stating his belief that the individual in question was approximately 5'9'' in height, medium build and dressed all in black. The person who assisted Lennard did not speak, but he did catch a look at the gun the individual brandished, which he was able to identify. Sherlock approached several pawn shops in the city and asked whether anyone had recently sold such a weapon, but his attempts proved fruitless. Joan's research into the vehicle used by the person who helped her to escape were moderately successful; she was able to gain access to CCTV footage from local stores and traffic cameras to establish where the vehicle came from and where it travelled to immediately afterwards. The day after Lennard's escape the vehicle in question was discovered three miles away, burned out, with very little to offer in terms of evidence, the only items that were not completely destroyed being the charred handcuffs which DNA established as having been worn by Lennard. There was little other evidence to be gathered, and the investigation was quickly becoming cold until, three days after Lennard's escape, the husband of Greta Mathers was murdered in the car park to his place of work. Detectives who caught the case searched the CCTV of the area and found that the assailant was none other than Maria Lennard herself, sending the city into a panic.
The next morning, a red-eyed but stoic Greta Mathers appeared on the local news, condemning the police and the FBI for allowing Lennard to escape, and directly blaming them for her husband's tragic death, which she portrayed as another attempt by her former PA to torment her. In the space of a few hours Greta Mathers was fashioned as the eternal victim of a cruel and callous killer whose murderous exploits were far from over, and whose presence in the city posed a very real threat to countless individuals. In the wake of this latest tragedy, the police and FBI considered those closest to the case to be in even greater danger, with any number of related individuals being potential new targets for the escaped killer. As a result, family members of victims were issued with protective details, as were the prosecution witnesses and prosecuting counsel. Several members of law enforcement were urged to accept this security detail, but many refused. Sherlock scoffed at the idea, repeating his previous statements to Captain Gregson, but with more tact and less venom. However, he did take it upon himself to tighten up Joan's own security measures.
For the next five weeks Joan moved location several times, never remaining in one place for more than five days. Sherlock had several small safe houses throughout the city, and he took her to each of them in turn, before heading back to the library once more. Although she was initially sceptical about the need for such a precaution, which she would not have taken if she were not pregnant, each time she felt her child move inside her she was reminded of why she was doing so. Each location was modest yet comfortable, with each bearing some resemblance to Sherlock's eclectic decorating skills, as seen in the brownstone, which she found reassuring. Sherlock and Joan continued to work on attempting to locate Maria Lennard, with Joan continuing to focus on the person who helped her to escape, whilst Sherlock investigated Maria's actions both before and after the assassination of Mrs Mathers' husband. Sherlock would spend the majority of the day consulting with the police and the FBI, and would often return to Joan at night, taking his usual precautions to ensure that he had not been followed. The arrangement, although elaborate, was something that they both got used to and accepted fairly quickly, knowing that the reason for them doing so was greater than their own comfort and preferences. However, after almost a month and a half had passed, Sherlock began to notice something different with Joan Watson.
In the first few weeks of their arrangement, Joan had seemed content and positive. She worked on the case during the day, and when Sherlock returned he would inform her of the newest developments, and they would compare information, discussing the issues into the night. Although she would find herself feeling restricted and restless, she left the properties frequently with either Alfredo or Sherlock. And when this was not enough to remedy her discomfort, she always spoke openly and candidly to Sherlock about her concerns, and they both found themselves consoling one another completely, united over their care for one another and their devotion to keeping their child safe. But during the past couple of weeks, something had changed. Each time Sherlock returned to Joan he found her seeming tired and almost detached. According to Alfredo, she had been keeping long hours, and instead of going to bed after catching up with Sherlock in the late evenings, she would work through the night. Sherlock also found that she seemed less able to discuss the things which concerned her, dismissing his concerns and assuring him that she was 'fine' whenever he asked. Despite this, Joan was maintaining her attempts to appear calm and confident, and her analyses of the evidence and existing case were as strong as they always had been.
During the six weeks she spent in Sherlock's various safe locations, Joan had gained more weight than she had done previously, and her pregnancy was now incredibly difficult to conceal. The subject of her pregnancy was the only issue that they discussed as much as Maria Lennard, and Sherlock found himself increasingly drawn to her growing stomach. When they would meet, they would sit close to each other, with Joan wrapped in blanket. She would lean against him, and his arm would drape itself around her waist, before resting a hand tenderly on her abdomen. Their baby's gentle movements changed instantly, and were replaced with a series of strong and confident kicks, which caused Joan and Sherlock to glow in equal measure. However, after a few weeks, Sherlock found that the sensation was having a different effect upon Joan. Instead of smiling brightly and holding her hand on top of his, she seemed worried, almost frightened. Her eyes would adopt a sorrowful and pained expression which she would never acknowledge, and her hand would hover nervously above her. Sherlock could guess at what it was that was causing her such fear and worry, but was doubtful that she would discuss it openly with him. Instead, he searched for a way to provide her with comfort and reassurance in the belief that they would be able to keep the baby safe, and that she was not alone. She did not just have Sherlock assisting her, but their trustworthy friend Alfredo. Although Alfredo had not yet been made aware of her condition, which she was able to shield from him, the consulting detectives knew that it was only a matter of time before he discovered their secret. Shortly after Joan entered the twenty-sixth week of her pregnancy, Sherlock attempted to discuss this matter with her, to gauge how she felt about it. As soon as he started talking to her about the baby, he noticed how her eyes became wide and slightly glazed, and she began nervously arranging and rearranging the papers on her desk. She regained her composure a few seconds later, and turned towards him with a small smile and tired eyes. After their brief discussion, in which they agreed not to tell Alfredo at that time, Sherlock realised that the contentment and well-being of Joan and their baby would be much improved by increasing her own levels of comfort. And he had an idea of how to achieve this.
A few days before Joan reached the twenty-seventh week of her pregnancy, Sherlock suggested that they return to the brownstone for a time, with Alfredo continuing to stay with them for the duration. Although surprised and initially concerned, the fact that Maria Lennard had not been seen in almost two months, and the fact that she had made no attempt on any other person linked to the case, meant that they had a brief period of time in which they were granted a temporary solace from their current limbo-like existence.
As soon as Joan stepped through the doors of the brownstone, at five o'clock in the morning on a cool autumnal evening, the first thing that struck her was the familiar scent of the place. That rustic, antiquated scent of nineteenth-century furniture, rare books and smoky embers. For the first time in several weeks, and despite the precarious nature of their present situation, she found herself feeling content. Joan dropped a bag onto the ground and stood still in the foyer, glancing around the familiar building as memories of the place rushed back to her.
"Welcome home, Watson" came the low voice of her partner, who was now standing by her side. She smiled lightly, but in a more genuine and content manner than he had witnessed recently, and looked up at him with a serene expression.
"It's good to be back" she returned tiredly, before removing her scarf and hanging it up, as Alfredo carried the rest of their bags in and closed the door slowly behind him.
"You want me to set up downstairs?" Alfredo asked, indicating towards the downstairs bedroom with his travel bag.
"Is that alright?" Sherlock asked, causing Alfredo to look up at him in surprise. The detective narrowed his eyes in confusion at the curious expression on his sponsor's face, before nodding once in understanding. "Although I fear I have not said it enough, Miss Watson and I are extremely grateful for your services to us over the past couple of months. I know it hasn't been the most adventurous of tasks for you, but-"
"Hey, man, I know" Alfredo returned, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. "And it's not a problem. I'm glad to be able to help. Besides, in this time I've managed to complete the latest design for a security system for that car you managed to get into in twelve seconds flat a couple months back."
"Ah, yes" Sherlock returned, nodding as he walked Alfredo towards the back staircase which would lead to his room. "If I weren't blindfolded, I'm confident that it could've been done in six."
"Cute" returned Alfredo as he reached the top of the stairs. "I'll be right down here if you need anything, alright?" Sherlock nodded in response, which he believed would be the end of their discussion. So he was surprised to find his associate lingering uncertainly upon the top step. "Look, I..." he began, placing his fingers to his face as he sighed into the darkness. "You take care of her, alright?" he began, causing Sherlock to watch him curiously. "She's not as strong as she wants you to believe. And as I've told you before, this isn't about you. Alright?"
"Of course" Sherlock returned automatically, before feeling Alfredo's strong hand patting him on the back approvingly, as the latter descended the dark staircase. Sherlock remained on the stairs for a few seconds, considering Alfredo's words and their impending significance, before the familiar sound of Joan's approaching heels drew him from his thoughts.
"Do you want some tea?" she asked, and he turned around just in time to feel her gently brush past him.
"If we have any that is consumable, then yes, thank you" he returned gently, his eyes shining through the dimness of the room. Joan reached for some of her tea on the second shelf of one of the cupboards, but turned on the spot and flashed him a wry look as he spoke.
"I've told you, this tea is my mother's recipe, and it will be right there with the twinkies come the apocalypse" she stated, smiling slightly as she removed the tea from the shelf and placed the kettle upon the stove. Sherlock watched her for several moments, his eyes moving from her face to her hands, and then to movements across the room. Although she had not gained a considerable amount of weight, her gait had changed slightly. Her posture remained very much the same, and she was still as elegant in her movements as she always had been, but there was something about the way that she walked that was different.
"Are your feet causing you some discomfort?" he asked gently, causing her hand to freeze above the tea cups as she placed her mother's tea in each.
"No, it's fine" she returned gently, speaking over her shoulder. Sherlock watched her for a few moments more, before walking slowly over to her. Joan felt her heart beat faster and her breath catch in her throat as she heard his approaching footsteps, which seemed to form a rhythmic beat alongside the boiling water. "Really" she continued, turning her head to address him as he reached her side.
"Really" he repeated, in an odd tone which was neither a statement nor a question. "Why don't you sit down and allow me to make the tea?"
"It's fine" she smiled gratefully, finding herself feeling nervous about the conversation.
"So you've informed me" Sherlock stated gently, as he continued to stand a respectable distance from her side. "On multiple occasions."
"'Fine' is my default adjective" she returned, handing him a cup of tea as she took a few tentative sips of her own. "But that doesn't mean it isn't true" she added gently, giving him a reassuring look. "Speaking of truth" she began, as she and Sherlock made their way into the living area, "why did you want us to come back here?" Sherlock stared at her for a few moments, before placing his tea upon a small table as they eased themselves onto the couch.
"The last couple of months have been difficult for you. It has been the most tempestuous and uncertain time that we have faced yet" he began, watching her for a reaction. But he found none. Instead, she watched him with listening eyes and an unreadable expression. "I hoped that bringing you back here, for a time, at least, would be able to provide you with the comfort and peace that is required by both you, and our child." Joan nodded in understanding, before placing her cup next to Sherlock's on the table, and leaning into the back of the couch.
"Your safehouses are very comfortable" she said amiably. "Particularly the library."
"I didn't mean physically" Sherlock returned simply, turning towards her as he spoke. "I can only imagine how difficult this is for you." Joan seemed taken aback by this statement, and her eyes widened for a moment, before she recovered herself completely.
"It's not easy on either of us" she returned gently. "But we have a very strong motivation, don't we?" she smiled gently, as Sherlock's eyes drifted to her abdomen.
"That's what I was hoping we could talk about" Sherlock began. "Or rather, what I was hoping you would talk about, and I will listen." Their eyes met across the couch for a moment, and they sat in a temporary silence, before Joan clasped her hands in her lap and began to speak.
"I don't understand" she stated, her eyes no longer appearing tired, but shining with a keen and renewed sense of alert interest. Sherlock watched her with a gentle expression, meeting her eyes with his own, before continuing.
"Watson I know that, due to Maria Lennard's escape and the immediate danger that has placed you in, we have not been able to devote as much time to discussing... arrangements for our child" he began, pausing for a moment to allow Joan to process his words. She swallowed slightly and blinked once, before taking in a deep breath and watching him with a patient and expectant expression. "And I know that that must cause you more torment and fear than you could possibly explain, even if you did feel able to convey such feelings to me" he continued gently, as she continued to watch him with a confident gaze. "But I want you to know that even amidst this current chaos, the well-being of our child will not be relegated to any other personal or professional concern."
"I know" she returned, pressing her lips together in a small smile. "Every the fabric of my clothes clings to my stomach, or the baby moves inside me, or I have this unquenchable thirst for fresh orange juice and grapefruit" she began, her eyes lighting slightly at the memories, "I'm just reminded of how much we have to lose, and how close we seem to be getting to that point."
"The point of losing the baby?" Sherlock asked gently. Joan nodded slowly in return, before tilting her head to the side slightly and casting her eyes upon the ceiling.
"This is the kind of danger I, we, were afraid of placing our child in, and they aren't even here yet" she began, attempting to retain her composure as she spoke. "I know that Maria Lennard is only one person, but she is indicative of the kind of people we find ourselves up against. She is one of many, and the threats to our lives do not begin and end with her." Joan looked towards Sherlock as she spoke, and found that he was watching her with a patient yet concerned gaze. "We can't expect our child to live in as unstable and dangerous an environment as we have been in in the past couple of months. It isn't right. It's the exact opposite of what we want for our baby, what they deserve. As much as we've attempted to find a solution, to figure out a way for us to stay together, I-" she paused, breathing in slowly and turning to face Sherlock directly.
"You're worried that that is no longer an option" Sherlock added, noticing how she appeared to be struggling with her words.
"The logical, rational part of me has been screaming that at me for the past few weeks" she said, her eyes drifting to the side. "But everything else inside me, every fiber of my being, is fighting to refuse that it can be true" she stated, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Every time I find myself thinking about it, I feel the baby moving inside me. I don't know if the baby had been moving all along but I just noticed it more when I was thinking about... about it, but... it seemed like the baby was trying to tell me something" she smiled, before inhaling deeply. "I just wish I knew what he or she is trying to say." Sherlock nodded once after Joan finished speaking, before allowing a comfortable silence to fall between them for a few moments.
"Is he moving now?" he asked gently, his eyes meeting hers, as she smiled slightly.
"She hasn't stopped moving since we got through the doors" Joan replied, her voice soft and like a melody. Sherlock's expression softened slightly at this statement, before edging slowly across the couch until he was sat right next to Joan. He cautiously placed his hands upon hers, causing her to unclasp her hands and accept his. He inclined his head slightly, encouraging her to lean into him, which she did. They remained sitting perfectly still and in a calm, peaceful silence for several moments.
"Perhaps he knows something that we don't" he mumbled into the darkness.
"She probably does" Joan returned. "Maybe she'll try kicking the answer to us in Morse code or something" she continued, causing Sherlock to sigh lightly in agreement.
"Quite possibly" he whispered in response, pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead. After a few minutes he felt Joan's hand loosen in his, and her breathing changed to indicate that she was asleep. Sherlock held her for several minutes, considering their conversation carefully as she slept. Sherlock adjusted her position slightly so that she would not be uncomfortable, before finding his attention drawn to the two cups of tea resting upon the table. Something about this sight caused a memory to flash in his mind, and remnants from a previous conversation he and Watson had shared when breaking into the medical facility to carry out her ultrasound entered his mind. His eyes grew wide for a moment, and he felt the familiar feeling of broken puzzle pieces sliding into place in his mind. Sherlock carefully lay Joan down upon the couch, bringing her legs to her, before wrapping her in a couple of warm blankets that they kept in the room. She always seemed so calm and peaceful as she slept, but tonight she was almost serene. He watched her rest for a few moments, before removing his phone from his pocket and calling a cab, which picked him up outside the brownstone several minutes later.
Ten minutes later the taxi pulled up outside an unfamiliar street which was brightly lit by the morning sun. Having already identified the correct house number, Sherlock paid the driver and walked briskly towards the affluent house before him. He cleared his throat slightly, before hurrying up the brick steps and knocking on the door four times in quick succession, before glancing down at his phone. It was quarter past six in the morning. Just as he placed the phone back in his pocket, the front door opened slowly, revealing a familiar figure in the doorway, who was dressed in nightwear and looking upon him with concern.
"What's happened?" the figure asked, opening the door wider upon seeing who the guest was. The understandable note of fear in the tone used by the individual caused Sherlock to respond almost immediately.
"She is quite safe, I assure you" Sherlock responded, causing the figure to relax notably. "I apologise for calling at such an early hour, but I need to discuss a matter with you most urgently. May I come in?"
"Yes, yes of course" the figure mumbled confusedly, before standing aside and allowing him to enter. Sherlock passed quickly through the threshold and into the unfamiliar house, pausing once he heard the door close firmly behind him.
An hour later, the bright morning light flooded into the foyer as Sherlock opened the doors to the brownstone, holding them open for his guest, who passed through quickly. Sherlock exchanged a few words with the guest, before heading into the living room alone, where he found the slumbering figure of his partner on the same spot on the couch. Although he was loathe to wake her, he had to. With a heavy and guilty heart he knelt beside her, placing one hand upon her shoulder and shaking her gently, calling her name as he did so. She turned her head slowly to the side in response, humming lightly as she did so. A few seconds later her eyes snapped open, and she found herself glancing curiously at Sherlock, who was watching her with a nervous expression.
"Sherlock" she mumbled tiredly, turning onto her side and pushing herself up on the couch so that she was in a sitting position.
"Forgive me for waking you" he began in a low, hesitant tone. "But there is someone here who wishes to speak to you on a rather pressing matter." Joan narrowed her eyes in confusion as Sherlock stood before her and nodded towards the doorway. Before Joan had time to pose a question, Sherlock had turned from the doorway and walked towards the foot of the couch. She turned her head to follow his movements, which seemed tentative and apprehensive, until a familiar voice from behind her made her heart stop.
"Sweetheart" came a voice from the doorway, followed by the sound of fast-approaching heels. Joan pushed herself from the couch and stood before it, her white shirt clinging tightly to her curved abdomen, as the woman walked quickly to her and embraced her warmly. Joan froze, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the woman's familiar and comforting hug. She stood still, her eyes wide and her heart racing.
"Mum" she whispered, her frozen finally allowing her to raise her arms and return the hug.
"It's alright" the older woman soothed, holding her daughter tightly to her. Joan was shocked and completely overwhelmed. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but she felt the tears welling in her eyes threaten to fall, and blinked them back resolutely. "It's alright, darling" Mrs Watson repeated, rubbing her daughter's lower back reassuringly. "Sherlock has told me everything" she continued, before removing her hands from her daughter and holding her an arm's length away, and running her eyes across her face, torso and abdomen, in a manner that reminded Joan of coming into her mother's house covered in scratches and bruises from a bike ride. Her mother's eyes rested on her stomach for a moment, and her normally conservative expression softened, as she lifted her face to meet her daughter's eyes. "You look beautiful". Before Joan could respond, she heard Sherlock take a couple of steps towards them.
"I visited your mother shortly after you fell asleep, and informed her of our current situation" he began, in a way that told Joan that he had been considering the wording of his explanation very carefully. "I did not wish to act inappropriately or unjustly to you by talking to her without your permission, but I apologise for it" he continued, taking another step towards them. "But as I was sitting with you earlier, I found myself reminded of something you said previously, and it made me consider something that we had not previously discussed. So I paid a visit to your mother, discussed the matter with her, and we believe that we may have reached a plausible solution, should you feel comfortable with it, of course" he added delicately.
"Please, sweetheart, sit down" Mrs Watson stated, ushering her daughter back towards the couch before she had a chance to react to Sherlock's statement. Joan sat in the middle of the couch and her mother sat to her left, holding he hand firmly yet reassuringly in hers. Sherlock remained standing near the end of the sofa, aware that his previous actions, although well-intended, had not been completely fair. He had, in a way, blindsided his partner. But he hoped that the conversation they were about to have would assist her in forgiving him.
"Sherlock came to me this morning and told me about you, and about the baby" she began, speaking gently as Joan watched her closely for signs of disapproval or judgement. But she found none. Instead, she recognised the same look in her mother's eyes that she often found in her own these days. "He told me about the concerns you both have for the safety of your child, given what you both do, and he told me about the sacrifices you were prepared to make to protect them. He also explained the current danger you are in, with this... this woman" she stated, attempting to be as diplomatic as possible and not distress her daughter. "But most of all, he told me how much you both want this child." Joan swallowed at this comment, shifting slightly in her seat as she nodded in response. Sherlock found himself drawn to her, aching to hold her, to console her, to apologise. But he knew that he would have the opportunity to do so, but that the present conversation between mother and daughter was much more important. And, as Alfredo had so helpfully reminded him just a couple of hours earlier, this was not all about him. Sherlock's mind was drawn from his thoughts as Mrs Watson continued to speak. "And if that is what you want, then I want to help you."
"What do you mean?" Joan asked, her eye travelling to Sherlock, who was standing quietly a respectful distance from them both.
"After telling me about your pregnancy, Sherlock talked me through an idea he had which, personally, I think is very astute, and that I am more than happy to do, providing that you are both happy with the arrangement" she began, squeezing her daughter's hand reassuringly. "Although, I can't think how you came up with it" she continued, glancing towards Sherlock as she spoke. Joan turned her head towards him and their eyes met briefly, which he took as an invitation to explain.
"When we went to the clinic for one of your ultrasounds, you mentioned your brother having what you described as a 'legion' of girlfriends" Sherlock began, gesturing with hie right hand as he spoke. "When you were asleep, I found myself staring at the tea cups beside you, your mother's tea, and the idea suddenly dawned upon me, as is often the way." Joan nodded briefly, before turning back towards her mother, who was continuing to speak.
"The idea, the possible idea, is that... after the baby is born, myself and your step-father could look after him or her, for as long or as brief a period as you choose. We could announce to family and friends that we are adopting an infant, but implications would be that the baby is the lovechild of your brother and one of his...legion" she stated, raising her eyebrows slightly at her daughter, "of girlfriends. Your brother would need to be consulted, of course, but I have no doubt that he would agree. He adores you. And, of course, we would never completely confirm the rumours that the child is Oren's, but we would not quash them either. People will believe what they want to believe" she smiled, squeezing her daughter's hand once more.
"This would allow us both to visit the child without attention being drawn, or speculation arising" Sherlock added, causing Joan to turn towards him once more. "The child could also have your last name."
"And, of course, whenever you both felt it safe for the baby, you would be able to raise him or her together" Mrs Watson continued, her eyes scanning her daughter's face as she spoke. "This will always be your baby, Joan. Yours and Sherlock's. We are simply guardians, guardian grandparents, if you will" she added, as Joan glanced up towards her. "But you will always be this child's parents. No matter what you decide. But the offer is there, and it is something that I would be more than willing to do for you both, and for my grandchild." Joan breathed in slightly, before turning from her mother to Sherlock, where she met his gaze.
"Is this what you want?" she asked gently, her eyes wide and glassy. Sherlock walked briskly towards her and sat by her side, placing his hands together as he watched her with care.
"This particular option ties up several of the loose ends that you were concerned about. It allows us to be part of the child's life, whilst creating a very plausible and very believable background story for them, thus ensuring their safety" he said gently, watching as Joan considered his words. "And it is not the end, Watson, far from it. As your mother has said, this child is yours, ours. And that will never change." Joan turned towards her mother and considered her expression for a few moments.
"Are you-" she began, breaking off slightly as she felt her eyes well up once more. "Are you sure?" she asked huskily as she successfully fought back her tears.
"Sweetheart, of course I'm sure" she returned instantly, squeezing her hand reassuringly as she spoke. Joan's eyes softened slightly and her body appeared to relax, much to the contentment of those who sat by her side. "Provided that I can teach the child to speak fluent Mandarin" she added lightly, whilst flashing Joan a mildly chiding look regarding her own command of the language.
"Sherlock, are you certain that you would be happy with this?" Joan asked gently, as she surveyed his face closely for signs of concern or emotion.
"Mandarin is a wonderful language, and widely spoken" Sherlock returned, causing Joan to smile slightly.
"I didn't mean the language-"
"I know what you meant" Sherlock returned gently. "What I want, Watson, is for our child to be safe, taken care of and cherished, and for you to be happy. Now, it is clear to us all that those factors are inextricably linked, so I believe that this is a solution that we could discuss and consider."
"This isn't just about me" Joan returned, causing Sherlock's eyes to narrow in confusion. "You've talked about what I want, what will make me happy" she continued, speaking gently yet with confidence. "But I want you to be happy to." Sherlock lowered his head slightly and nodded once, before raising his head and facing her directly.
"I wish to be a part of our child's life, but not at the expense of their safety and well-being. Like you, that is not something I would ever risk. But with this, with what we have discussed, the risks of our child being associated with us are negligible. Even if people do not believe the baby is Oren's, they certainly aren't going to think that the high-profile consulting-detective daughter, who has been in the media constantly and without any sign of or reference to pregnancy, is going to be the mother."
"What about my hospital visit?" she asked, thinking of the time she collapsed in the brownstone and was rushed to hospital.
"As you said before, you have had no follow up appointments and there is no further record or sign of you having continued that pregnancy. Anyone stumbling across your file will assume that you miscarried. And, considering the information in that file details the significant blood-loss you suffered, anyone reading the file would probably automatically assume that you lost the child." Sherlock stated gently. "Your medical records can be sealed, and we can petition to have them sealed or concealed if it is for the safety and well-being of yourself and our child. The doctors in question see hundreds of patients daily, they won't remember the precise details of each case, and so are unlikely to go spreading unproven gossip. Over the last few months we have been followed and photographed and working relentlessly, even since Lennard's escape you have been in the precinct, in the courtroom and featured in the press. No one suspects now, Watson, and it is highly unlikely they will later."
"Okay" she breathed, before leaning back and sitting up straight. "If you... if you are both sure, then, yes. Yes." Joan felt her mother's arms wrap themselves around her and draw her into another hug, which she felt much more able to enjoy this time. "Thank you" she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart" she returned, planting a kiss upon her cheek. "It will be my pleasure" she continued, removing herself from the hug and placing her hand tentatively upon Joan's cheek. "Now, I know that you've both had a long night, and have much to discuss. So, if you're happy for me to, I will give you both some space. But call me when you're ready, alright? Don't worry about the details right now, just focus on keeping healthy, rested and safe." Joan nodded in agreement, before exchanging some words in Mandarin with her mother, who kissed her once more before standing. She then made her way slowly over to Sherlock, extending a hand to him, which he accepted after rising from his seat. "Thank you for coming to me, Sherlock. I appreciate it. I know it wasn't easy. But you and I share a common bond."
"I quite agree" Sherlock returned, shaking her hand in return. "Please, allow me to walk with you." Mrs Watson nodded in return, before offering her daughter a warm look, and walking through the room and towards the foyer. Joan leaned back in her seat, released a long and calming breath, before drawing her legs close to her as she considered the events of the past ten minutes, which had completely changed everything. The sound of the door closing in the background drew her quickly from her thoughts.
"Watson" came the low tone of her partner as he re-entered the room. "I believe I owe you an apology. My conduct, whilst motivated by the sincerest and most honest of factors, was nonetheless-"
"Thank you, Sherlock" she stated, cutting him off before he could finish. Initially she had been annoyed at him seeing her mother and telling her their secret without having discussed it with her, but after the conversation they had just had, she appreciated how difficult he must have found going to her mother, let alone making such a request. Sherlock remained still for a moment, watching Joan with a questioning look, before walking slowly towards her and sitting by her side. They remained together in the calmest and most enjoyable of silences for several moments, until Joan turned to Sherlock with a light expression playing upon her features. "You once said that my parents are 'conventional'" she began, causing Sherlock to turn to face her immediately. "Are you not worried that they could... 'normalise' your child?" she asked, her lips lifting into a small smile. Sherlock met her eyes and returned her calm and playful expression.
"As conventional as they are, you are the embodiment of their parenting skills, the product of their nurturing capabilities" he began, clasping his hands together in his lap as he spoke. "And I am quite fond of you."