The chill of early October roused Joan from her sleep. Confused, not sure where she was - Italy, airplane, home - her eyes opened and focused. In the dim light, she saw Sherlock. He lay on his side, in his shirtsleeves, his face not more than a foot away from hers, sound asleep. His fingers lay lightly in the palm of her hand. Wherever she was, she was safe. Memories clicked into place. She wondered how long she had been asleep. The room was still quite dark and the muted sounds of the city night came through the closed apartment window: the rev of a motor, the far off cry of a siren, the hollow laughter from the street below as the last of the partygoers headed home. All of it told her she was back in New York, but having him there with her, told her she was home.

Joan shivered. He was asleep on top of the covers and she didn't want to wake him. Sliding her hand carefully from under his fingers, she managed to get out of bed without disturbing her partner. In the closet she found the big quilt that her Aunt Lettie had made for her. Technically, she was a step-aunt but Aunt Lettie had always loved Joan as her own and the feeling was mutual. She shook out the quilt and got back into bed, carefully extending it over Sherlock making sure to cover his back. He moved in his sleep and as she hovered over him, drew his arm up and around her waist and gently brought her down to lay by his side. Joan covered herself and he settled in next to her with a satisfied sigh. Warm, safe and comfortable, she quickly fell back to sleep.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

The morning light filled the room. Joan woke before Sherlock, a rarity she ascribed to her body not yet having processed the change in time zones. They had spooned for most of their time in bed together but he was now sprawled on his stomach, an arm and a leg over her. She remembered having seen this particular sleep habit of his before, usually with the red sofa. Joan extricated herself quietly and decided to fix breakfast for him much as he had done for her on so many occasions at the brownstone.

On her way to the kitchen, she heard a noise at her front door and noticed the doorknob being turned. Flashbacks to her abduction flooded her and panic rose. She needed to warn Sherlock, she needed to get away, yet she stood rooted in horror. The door began to open. Joan picked up a lamp to throw at her assailant and screamed Sherlock's name. In a blur of motion and cacophony of sound, Sherlock came running into the room, barefoot and disheveled, calling out for her "Watson! what's wrong?" Joan threw the lamp in the direction of the opening door screaming "Get out," and Emily with Joan's key in her hand screamed and crouched out of the way of the lamp as it crashed into the doorjamb behind her.

"It's just me, it's just me!" a very frightened Em said from the little curl of a ball she had made herself into.

Standing behind her, Sherlock realized what was going on and held on to a Joan's shoulders murmuring over and over, "It's alright Watson, it's alright." He felt Joan trembling and pressed his body close to hers, "It's just Emily. You're alright. I'm here."

Sherlock looked towards Emily who had now realized she was in no danger. "Are you alright?" he asked her. She nodded and stood.

Joan finally responded. "I'm okay, I'm okay." Sherlock rubbed her upper arms and moved her towards the sofa. "I over reacted. I guess I'm not quite through with those flashbacks," she tried to laugh at herself.

He got Joan seated and Emily came and sat next to her. Sherlock was kneeling in front of Joan, holding her hands. "Take a breath and let it out..." Joan did as asked.

"I'm alright, really." She reassured him.

He took a moment to visually confirm what she was saying and when satisfied, let go of her hands. "How about I make us all some tea, hmm?" Joan smiled and nodded. Emily, who was still rather stunned by it all, looked from one to other. Sherlock went off in the direction of the kitchen.

Emily reached for Joan's arm, "I was going to air the place out, water the plants. I thought you were due back tonight."

Joan patted Emily's hand, "I caught an earlier flight, got back yesterday mid-day."

"And promptly made a mess of things," Emily tried to lighten the mood as she surveyed the nest of documents, photos and files on the floor before her.

"Sherlock is not one to pick up after himself," Joan said with a smile. "Plus, you don't want to break the connections you are visually forming until you have ..." She stopped talking upon seeing the look on her friend's face.

Emily's smile faded and her voice dropped, "I was so hoping the time away would help you realize you have other options, that you can do better." She followed the comment with a concerned little smile.

Joan was not amused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing really... I just thought that once you got away from his circle of influence, you might realize that this, this life is not for you. That you have other options. I mean this is not normal." Emily whispered, "He is not normal. This is not you. Look at you."

Joan had finally had enough. "This is me, Emily." She pointed to their work spread on the floor before them. "If that doesn't fit into your notion of acceptable or normal, then I guess, I am not normal, we are not normal. As for being under Sherlock or anyone else's influence, for the first time in a very long time I am making my own choices and not trying to please others."

Emily tried to placate her, "That's not what I meant ..."

Joan needed to get this out and she continued, "Meeting Sherlock was one of the best things that has happened to me. He held up a mirror and let me rediscover myself, the self that I've kept hidden away all my life because she wasn't "normal."

"Joan, I didn't ..." Emily realized she had upset Joan and that had not been her intention.

"It's not your fault, Em. I've kept myself to myself for most of my life. Trying to fit into what everyone else wanted for me. A great profession, a husband, family, ... and I've tried but that's just not me. I am this, with or without Sherlock. He accepts me as I am, doesn't ask me to change, and cares for me no matter what, the way I care for him. And this life that I've chosen, that I have decided to lead with him is exactly what I want. I took the time, I sorted it all out and at the end of the day, this is what I want from my life, preferably with him."

-:-:- -:-:-

Sherlock stood in front of the stove intently watching the kettle. He had heard every word spoken between Joan and her friend. The apartment was small and his hearing was acute. He was by turns elated, scared, perplexed, angered, touched. For a man who did not process emotions well, all this left him overwhelmed. He continued staring at the kettle waiting for the stream of steam to rise. It had gotten very quiet in the other room.

He heard her walk in but continued staring at the spout rather than turning to look at her.

"Emily just left. She had to get to work."

Sherlock nodded his head, "Mmm." He moved his eyes to look at her. She was staring at the teapot. Joan assumed he'd heard most of their conversation and didn't know what to say at this point. She became aware of his gaze and turned to it.

They stood there, neither speaking, searching each other's faces until the steamy whistle of the kettle broke their trance. Sherlock turned his attention to the stove top, and spoke facing it rather than her, "What say we have our tea and then move our work back the brownstone? We have more resources there at our disposal."

"Yes." Joan readily agreed. Anything to break the awkwardness of his knowing how she felt and not acknowledging it or his feelings.

"Good." He poured the water into the waiting teapot, placed the lid on and turned to her. "Cups?" She took a step towards the cupboard in front of him and swiftly found herself enveloped tightly in his arms, his lips at her ear, "Thank you." She tightened her grip on him in response.

And just as quickly as it happened, they pulled apart. Sherlock spoke to the floor, "If you'll pour, I'll start putting the files back in the box for transport. I have a theory we can hash out over tea." He bobbed his head, looked quickly at her with a flick of a smile and left the kitchen.

Joan stood happily bemused for a second and then moved to get the cups.