The bedroom was quiet, dimly lit from the glow of the city lights. Cold. Watson eyes fluttered open, her hand went to pull up the blanket that had slipped off of them. Her companion slept next to her, his face inches from hers, smooshed into the pillow, mouth slightly open and crooked. They were on their sides facing each other much as they were when they fell asleep except they were closer. Sherlock's arm rested on her waist, one of her legs had slipped between his. Joan brought the blanket up and covered herself as well as him. As she did, her hand strayed to his face and she took advantage of his sleeping state to gently touch his cheek. In the silence of the night, she could admit to herself how much she cared for him. On impulse Watson moved towards him, not sure of her intent other than being closer to him. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and met her gaze. With the smallest of movement their lips met in a short gentle kiss and then found themselves again and stayed a little longer. She gradually pulled away and moved her head onto his shoulder. Sherlock rested his head on hers, wrapped both arms around her and held on. Her legs curled around his. He sighed a contented sigh as she snuggled in and slept.

The next time she woke up it was to the far off sound of his phone ringing. Light flooded her bedroom and Sherlock lay sprawled on his stomach across half the bed, one of his legs casually thrown over her. She was on her back, an arm covering her eyes the other dumped not very delicately, across her partner's head.

"Sherlock your phone's ringing," she tapped his head with the back of her hand.

"Yes." He said, face still on the pillow. "It's downstairs. Would you be a lamb and run get it ..."

She snorted and said "Surely m'lord as soon as hell finishes freezing over," and rolled over taking the majority of the blankets with her.

"It's alright whoever called me will shortly be calling you." Her phone rang.

"You are so clever," she said sarcastically. "Hello. ... Yes, he's right here. Hold on."

She whispered, "Take it, it's Bell."

Sherlock sat up with a grunt, "Yes... I see. ... Watson and I will be there."

"Where will we be? Did he have any information about the camera or who sent the photo?" Watson was up out of bed and reaching for her sweater.

Sherlock was up and heading to the bedroom door. "I assume that's what the

captain wishes to discuss with us." He turned, looked uncomfortably at her and tried to say something but was having difficulty. "That bed is too comfortable. I can see why you linger in the mornings." He moved as if to leave but turned back to look at her, "I ... um..." he pointed to the bed and moved his finger back and forth, and finally just looked at Watson hoping she would understand. Watson nodded, gave him a hint of a smile and that was enough for both of them. Sherlock gave her one of those lingering gazes he reserved only for her, bobbed his head a bit and turned, calling over his shoulder, "I'll start breakfast. Don't tarry."

She had been afraid their night together would make the day uncomfortable for both of them. Although really nothing at all occurred but a hug and a kiss, or maybe two. But once they left the bedroom, solving the mystery at hand, became their sole focus.

They arrived on time at the precinct to meet with Gregson and Bell. Both men looked particularly grim and Joan was asked to wait outside the Captain's office while they talked to Sherlock. Holmes protested, "Surely whatever information you have, Watson has every right to hear." Gregson wouldn't meet her gaze, ignored Sherlock's comment and had him step into his office. Watson sat outside intently watching what little she could see of them and trying to read their body language.

Gregson and Bell presented Holmes with a file of documents. "I know this sounds impossible and I want you to hear us out before you fly off the handle. But every piece of evidence we found points to Joan having done this herself." Holmes' face scrunched and morphed into a series of looks that told the Captain he thought that was sheer idiocy and didn't believe him for a minute. But he kept quiet while Gregson continued. "The camera we pulled from the roof, Watson's fingerprints were on it. The image that was sent to you came from an email account of Joan's, one she hasn't used for a long time, but hers nonetheless. She accessed it the day before the image was sent and then again, when she sent it to you. The phone from which the image was sent, we traced it back to her as well. It's a throwaway purchased in Chelsea two days ago. We were able to trace it, the clerk remembered her, ID'd her from a photo. The image was created on her laptop. The metadata clearly points to it." Holmes was carefully inspecting each piece of paper and evidence presented to him. "Have you noticed any odd behavior from her as of late? Did you guys have some kind of spat or argument that would cause her to do something like this?"

"Captain, this is absurd. Watson is not the type of person to do something of this nature. If she were upset with me, she would tell me. ... Or bounce a basketball off my face." Gregson and Bell look at each other.

Bell piped in, "So there is a history of violence?"

"What? No! It was ... I hit her first with ... its not what it sounds like. You are wrong. There is something missing here, something that we are not seeing."

Gregson reserved his most damaging evidence for last. "We found the phone used to send the image. Her fingerprints, possible DNA sample we're waiting on." Sherlock opened the evidence bag to examine the phone. The faint smell of Joan's perfume made his heart clench.

Watson was brought in and confronted with all the evidence. The look on Gregson and Bell's faces was one of embarrassment and pain. Joan was a friend. Sherlock sat back vacant and numb. Joan was confused and denied vehemently all that she was accused of. More than anything she was wounded that Sherlock did not speak up for her. In the end, Watson looked Holmes square in the eyes and asked, "You know me better than anyone, do you really believe I am capable of this? Of hurting you in this way."

Sherlock stared back blankly at her, speaking without emotion in his voice, "Is it possible to truly know another person?"