For the rest of the day, Joan and the brownstone sat in mourning; the house silent, save for creaks and tiny groans produced in sympathetic accompaniment to her small gasps and stilted cries. Numbness eventually overtook her grief, leaving her unable to act or think except in elliptical patterns that brought her back to where she started. ... She went over and over the words in his letter. Why? Why did he take the heroin? Was he now in danger of a relapse? Where was he going, had he placed himself in harm's way on purpose? Was it her fault? Had she hurt him? She needed to talk to him, needed to tell him everything was alright, he wasn't a burden, he was her friend ... Grief came round again and displaced the numbness causing tears to once more spill.

Joan was aware enough to know this crisis was not all due to Sherlock's leaving. The events of the past week haunted her. Fear, anxiety would suddenly swell within her, suffocate her and just as quickly vanish. Joan had seen herself acting out, saying things, doing things that just were not her but had felt powerless to stop. She needed help, needed to talk to someone but emotional fatigue mired her and she could not move forward.

Anger rose towards Sherlock for leaving her when he, better than anyone, knew the trauma she had suffered. Joan railed against him and his insensitivity, only to quickly stop, the sadness enveloping her at the thought of how he must hurt as well.

Throughout the day the phone had rung a few times, Alfredo, Gregson, a solicitor. Each time her heart jumped, but after verifying it wasn't him, she'd let the calls pass through to voice mail, promising herself to answer them tomorrow.

The day eventually turned grey and faded into darkness. She managed to move herself away from his chair, ending up on the sofa for the night. The slight scent of him on the pillows brought tears and she eventually fell into a dulling sleep.

The phone ringing startled her awake. She grabbed at it, answering without checking the caller id.

"Hi, Joan? Its Dr. Reed."

Joan cleared her throat and sat up, "Hi, Dr. Reed." She skewed her voice into a normal range. This was her therapist from last year, she didn't want her to know what an utter mess she had made of her life.

"Joan, I'm going to be direct here. I received a voice mail yesterday from a friend of yours who was terribly worried about your well being. He told me of the events of the past week or so and asked that I check in on you. This is not the way I usually operate but his sense of urgency and concern plus the nature of your trauma convinced me ..."

"Sherlock?" her voice was frail and small.

"Yes. I have my whole afternoon free today. Why don't you come on in around one." Her voice was warm and reassuring.

"I'm not sure I can..." tears were rolling down her face, her voice wavered, "I have some ... errands and uh ... I..."

"Joan, either you come see me or I will come see you..."

"Alright ... Alright, I will be there." She hung up and found herself enraged that Sherlock still managed to control her life even after he had abandoned her and just as quickly as it came the anger faded as she thought of him alone somewhere, still trying to look out for her well being. Joan wished she could talk this out with him, let him know he too was cared for. Instead, she stood, took a breath and talked herself through preparing for this day, her first day alone, trying to regain a sense of normalcy.

Reality began to shine through the crevices of the wall she had created to numb the pain. She needed to deal with these emotions head on, take charge and take care of herself.