He ran, sprinting up the subway stairs in a blind panic. People were pushed out of his way. The image on his phone was unimaginably horrendous. He was nauseated and panicked and he kept running. Feelings rushed at him: loss, sadness, excruciating pain and guilt that he had not been there to stop him or her or them. A pool of blood in Watson's bedroom. A pool of blood in Watson's bedroom! A pool of blood just like Irene's. He kept running. Moriarty was laughing at him somewhere deep in Newgate. Sherlock ran faster. He had called and texted Watson and received no response. NYPD was on their way. Holmes reached their front door. His hands shook as he tried to catch is breath, fumbled with his keys. His vision blurred from sweat and tears as he finally unlocked the door and banged it open and did the same with the next door.

"Watson!" his voice was raw and hoarse and filled the whole brownstone with his despair. "Watson!" he repeated as he tore up the stairs to her room.

A freshly showered Joan had just finished dressing when she heard the downstairs doors bang open. She walked toward her bedroom door and when she heard the sound of Sherlock's voice desperately yelling for her, she panicked and ran towards the staircase. Something was horribly wrong. Panic rose inside her at the sound of his voice.

Watson saw Holmes running up the steps at the same time he saw her. Relief bathed his face. He charged at her with such power that she just stood there unsure what to do but ready to receive the full force of him as he barreled towards her.

Holmes felt confused and relieved and elated at the sight of her. On her face he saw only concern for him of all things. "Sherlock what is it?" was all she managed to say before he had enveloped her so completely in his arms she seemed to disappear inside him. He burrowed his face into her neck and Watson held on tight. She slipped one hand beneath his jacket and grasped at his shirt, while holding the back of his head with the other. Not knowing what was wrong, Joan attempted to comfort him by murmuring repeatedly that he'd be fine, she was there, it would be alright.

When he could finally draw a breath, he raised his head, took her by the shoulders and inspected her, his questions flew at her: had she been hurt, was she alright, who else had been here. She answered his questions quickly - she was fine, there was no else here, she wasn't hurt. Finally she took his face into her hands, and forced him to look at her, "Sherlock. I am fine. What's happened? Are you alright!"

He leaned his cheek into her hand, brought his hand up to cover hers for a second and gently brought her hand down to his chest and held it there. Staring into her eyes calmed him, his breathing became less jagged, as he regained his composure. "I ... I received an image, more than likely from Moriarty," he stopped and took a breath, he couldn't look at her as he said the words, "a pool of blood ... on, on the floor of your bedroom." Joan's whole body tensed when she realized the shock this must have been for him. Her mouth opened but no words came out.

"I called and texted and you... You never answered and... I, I feared the worst." His voice was barely a whisper. His eyes finally rose to meet hers. The sadness in his eyes was overwhelming. She bent her head forward onto his chest and moving her hands around to his back and clasping him tightly to her. His lips met the top of her head and they held each other in silence, their breathing slowing and synchronizing.

Downstairs the unlocked doors were opened quickly and loudly as Captain Gregson and Detective Bell followed by what appeared to half of the NYPD entered the brownstone.

"Holmes! ... Holmes!" Gregson shouted as he entered.

"Up here, Captain" Sherlock responded from the top of the stairs where he and Watson had just disentangled themselves. "She's alright. It seems we've been the victims of a cruel hoax." He found her hand at his side and held on.

Gregson ordered his guys to do a quick run through the brownstone to make sure all was in order. He and Bell quickly went up to talk to Watson and Holmes.

"I'm fine. There's been no one here but me." Watson said and went on to explain she'd been in the shower and had no idea that Sherlock had called. Holmes turned to speak to Gregson.

"Captain, the image. It is most certainly Watson's room. The ... the blood pool must have been digitally added but the photograph of the room implies some one was here to take it." Sherlock pulled out his phone, pulled up the image. He and Bell walked into Joan's room followed by Joan and Gregson. Sherlock proceeded to inspect the angles. He avoided showing the photo to Watson but she peeked around his elbow. The image startled her.

"This was taken today. See my sweater there on the bed, it's in exactly the same place, as is the afghan on the chair."

Holmes looked up at the ceiling. "The camera is ..." he walked and peered and looked up again, "there!" he said pointing to a spot overhead. "Captain, if one of your men would be so kind as to go to the roof and check about 14 feet due east from my apiary, I believe they'll find a minuscule camera that has been drilled in place there." Bell took the job himself and went to find the camera. "It may be little comfort," Sherlock turned and spoke to Watson, "but at least the physical boundaries of our home were not actually breached."

The camera found, they spent several hours combing the rest of the building for other such devices. Enough food was ordered in to feed them all as they continued working. Bell and Gregson did not leave until close to midnight when they were sure about the safety of their comrades.

Quiet settled on the brownstone. Sherlock performed a check of all the windows and doors while Joan went upstairs to change. He was still very much ill at ease.

Joan came out of the bathroom in her pj's to find Sherlock standing by the door, waiting for her. He too had changed into what passed for sleeping attire for him.

He looked at her seriously and calmly said, "I'm sleeping in your room tonight."

Joan saw the exhaustion and guilt that hung on him. An old wound had been reopened. "Alright," was all she said as she turned towards her bedroom. He stood surprised. He had an argument fully prepared to convince her to agree to his request for his peace of mind if nothing else. Not needed. He shut his mouth and followed her.

Watson turned down the blankets on the bed as Sherlock walked over to his chair. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

"This is where I always sit when I ..." He blinked and stopped short of admitting how often he came in to watch her sleep.

Watson suppressed a smile catching his almost admission of something she had long been aware of. "Don't be foolish. Get in the bed." She climbed in expecting him to follow.

"Watson, I, I don't ..." he stammered as he came to the empty side of the bed.

"Sherlock! I'm tired. Get in." She turned off the bedside lamp. "I trust you with my life, surely I can trust you in my bed."

He climbed in, adding softly, "Yes. But I'm not sure I trust myself." Joan thought that might have been a compliment but with him she was never sure.

Sherlock laid flat on his back, a good distance away from her, awkwardly glancing sideways at Joan who was on her side facing him.

He spoke, "I'm thinking it may not have been from Moriarty. The photo ..."

Joan adjusted herself so she could get a better view of him. "I've been wondering the same thing," she said. "It feels a little heavy handed for her doesn't it?"

Sherlock' s discomfort fell away. He turned on his side to face her, "Exactly! Moriarty doesn't warn. She would have struck full force, perhaps not killing but definitely hurting you and by proxy ... me."

They settled down for several minutes of "pillow talk" - an intense dissection of the situation and possible avenues to pursue tomorrow. The strangeness of sharing the bed fell by the wayside. They faced each other and continued to talk intermittently until Joan realized he had stopped answering. She inched a little closer and lightly placed her hand on his. Even in sleep he responded to her touch and held on to her. Comforted, her breathing slowed and she joined him in sleep.