It couldn't be happening.
Joanna saw him fall. Sherlock, committing suicide.
It didn't seem real. Sherlock was too arrogant, too self-assured to commit suicide just like that. And that apology...she knew it was a warning that Jim Moriarty had threatened to kill Sherlock's only connection to his humanity.
Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. Joanna.
"SHERLOCK!"
There was a funeral. All big and impressive, of course. Mycroft had spared no expense, even fixing his brother up so that you couldn't see the blood from the fall.
Something inside her snapped. Broke into a million pieces to the point she didn't think she would ever be able to put them back together again.
She had thought the visions of seeing everyone she loved die because of a pointless war had been terrible. Being around dementors always brought them back.
But she knew without a doubt that if she ever went near one of those accursed monsters again, she would hear Sherlock's "note" and see him fall.
And she would break.
She wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if Sherlock would know how much he meant to her.
If he were there she had no doubt even he would be moved by the terrible, almost soul-destroying sound of her cry when she realized Sherlock was gone.
Even Sherlock, discreetly watching from a distance, would never be able to get that horrible sound out of his mind for as long as he lived. Even remembering it would bring such despair and crushing loneliness that he would need to be around others just to bear it.
He really, really did not want Joanna to find out he had faked his death. He was absolutely terrified to find out what she would do to him if she did.
Iris was on a mission.
She was going to wipe even the mention of Jim Moriarty from the face of the planet, to the point that if he ever surfaced again no sane criminal organization would dare want to work with him for fear of her wrath.
She had made headway by ferreting out his main bases of operation and the players involved. Now she just had to hunt them down and make examples of them.
In less than three months after Sherlock's death, word had already begun to spread among the criminal groups of her wrath.
Police all over the world were overworked when gangs, mafias and other organized crime realized the danger, and began to deal with the idiots who helped Moriarty before they brought the Black Iris down on their heads.
No sane boss of an organized crime ring wanted an assassin who didn't care about the collateral damage or even the cops to come anywhere near their base.
She even made sure she wouldn't be identified later, when she had finished avenging her friend.
Light green hair with red tips, her eyes a flat blood red that held no mercy or humanity in them. On her back was a pair of 'fake' wings, at least everyone assumed they were.
Iris never really did tell Sherlock what her animagus form was, outside of it being a rather poisonous variety of phoenix that was from Chinese folklore.
Zhen didn't need a gun or human methods to kill. By consuming poison, their very feathers became producers of a poison so deadly there was no cure...unless you had phoenix tears or willingly given blood from the bird itself. It was an ancient Chinese bird that was so rare nowadays almost no one had heard of it.
When the very air you breathe became a deadly poison, it was impossible to escape. When a Zhen animagus decided to end you, then it was easier and less painful to simple slit your own throat.
There was a reason the Black Iris ruled the Underworld in the UK. Not only did she have the perfect cover with her shape shifting abilities, but her animal form was so deadly that a basilisk seemed tame in comparison.
She didn't need to rule it directly to be the Queen. All she had to do was hold the fear of her wrath if she didn't get the answers when she wanted them over their heads. Well that and none of the current magical stock wanted to piss off the witch who so casually murdered Dumbledore and Voldemort without even a scratch on her.
It was better to give her what she wanted and hoped it was enough to make her go away...
India...
Iris was very good at killing, and even more persistent when it came to tracking down leads.
So when she heard of a nuisance who was killing her targets in a sloppy manner before she could forcibly extract information from them, she knew she would need to teach the upstart a lesson. Or simply kill them, whichever was more fun.
It had only been six months since Sherlock died, and the very idea of Joanna Watson, the woman-who-blogged was becoming a distant memory.
She didn't like it, but something inside her broke when Sherlock died and she didn't see a way for Joanna to return.
Which was truly a shame, because she liked being Joanna more than she did being the Black Iris.
Iris was a girl from a broken childhood and the product of piss-poor manipulations from a senile old man who though that the sacrifice of the one was worth saving a bunch of ungrateful bastards who were doomed to die out via inbreeding within a century. She had no qualms about killing because she had never been taught people were worth anything to begin with. She was worth even less, according to the people who raised her, a fact emphasized by the fact that the people she was supposed to "save" were so quick to turn on her for the smallest infraction.
If she was worthless, then so were everyone else.
There was a reason she let Joanna take control.
She didn't like being Iris Potter-Black, murdering psychopath.
Iris went around the corner, where her contacts informed her that the idiot who had been taking her kills would be. They had deliberately mislead the man into believing one of Moriarty's network would be at this location.
The second she saw him, her heart filled with rage and her soul turned to ice so cold that even the depths of Jotunheim would seem positively tropical in comparison.
How dare he. How dare he?
What doomed fool would dare take his face, his form after what had happened? The entire world knew Sherlock had been under her watch, and that the destruction of Moriarty and anything associated with him was because he made the Consulting Detective commit suicide.
Iris could feel her poison rise to the surface.
She would make this man's death so slow and painful her next targets would consider a bullet to the head tame in comparison.
She grabbed the dead man, and slammed him into a stone wall. Her fury was so palpable it was visible.
The dead man said nothing, but his lack of fear made something in her pause.
"You are either a complete idiot, or you have an open death wish. Otherwise you wouldn't be stupid enough to wear the face of a dead man," she snarled.
The man blinked, before a slow recognition came onto his face.
"And who said I was wearing the face of a dead man?" he replied in a familiar tone of voice with dead calm.
God, he even sounded like Sherlock. Right down to the snide tone.
"Don't play games with me. Sherlock Holmes died six months ago. Only an idiot would dare wear his face and use his voice when everyone knows I've been going after that fool's network for killing him."
Recognition turned to certainty, and what the man said next shook her to the core.
His smirk almost made her want to claw his eyes out and force him to eat them, and his voice was absolutely smug as he said with a familiar drawl that had made many a man want to punch him in the face just for breathing...
"Really Joanna, I expected you to track me down months ago."
Iris blinked, as dawning shock came upon her features.
"Sherlock?"
Could she possibly dare to hope? Then again it was Sherlock...the idea of him faking a suicide wasn't the least bit far fetched.
The fact he was brazen enough to kiss her on the lips, despite the fact any child could have told you she was the Black Iris was evidence enough for her.
"YOU COMPLETE BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU...!"
She started sobbing into his coat. The scent was all she needed to confirm it was him and that he was very much alive. The way he reluctantly held her as she bawled into his shirt, the tentative gestures of a man unused to touching others in a comforting fashion.
Once she was able to get control of herself, the first thing she said confirmed to him he was dealing with Joanna again, and not the vicious Black Iris.
"Of course you realize I'm going to make Mycroft suffer for years after this," she said, eyes red and voice hoarse from her crying.
Not only did he give Moriarty the ammunition to hurt Sherlock in a personal way, but he had the gall not to discreetly tell her Sherlock was still alive.
For that he had to pay and pay dearly.
Sherlock had to smirk as Joanna took out a mirror, spoke the pass phrase keyed to the window in Mycroft's office...and then reactivated Quibbs the annoying doll. Only now he had an extra feature that would react at random.
Never piss off a Black with access to the spells needed to make the most annoying Voodoo doll possible. Especially if they had a reason to get revenge on you.
She had the best night's sleep in months, as she had been too revenge driven to actually do more than lightly doze.
In America...
Sherlock was slightly confused as to why his fiancee was dragging him to a clinic for children diagnosed with certain mental disorders. They weren't due to return home for another several months, though he was well aware that Joanna was primary physician for children who gave the other doctors a harder time than necessary.
He thought she had a fairly good handle at diagnosing things like autism or Asperger's, so why was she visiting this clinic?
More importantly why in the bloody hell was she dragging him to the clinic when he had no interest in such things?
Joanna on the other hand wanted to confirm a suspicion she'd long since had after taking shifts with children who acted far too much like Sherlock on their worst days.
As a doctor, she was well aware she was too close to the patient to be reliable, but an outside observer who had no previous exposure to him was the perfect source.
She left Sherlock with the other doctors, then went to talk to some people who had experience coaching other doctors in recognizing the tell tale symptoms of things easily missed.
ADHD and ADD were fairly easy to pick up on. Autism, not so much.
Within twenty minutes of being around Sherlock, someone came to find her.
"Dr...?"
"Watson. Joanna Watson of London."
"Dr. Watson. Are you aware your...companion is a high functioning autistic?" he asked bluntly.
From the way Mr. Holmes reacted, it was likely he wasn't even aware of the fact he had it. Or he had been trained to ignore the obvious.
Joanna slumped, but not with dismay.
It was relief.
"Thank god. I had a feeling that he had HFA, but I was too close to confirm the diagnosis myself," she admitted.
"And since we have no previous experience with your companion, any diagnosis we make would be unbiased. Rather smart actually," said the man with approval. His name tag read 'Doctor Smith'.
"Fiancee, actually. I've had a suspicion since I was put on the rotation to deal with other children that have autism since they respond better to me back home, but I wasn't entirely sure. From what I know of the family it could have been missed for any number of reasons from his brother to his upbringing in general."
The Holmes, despite being very good with technology, were pure bloods. There was a high possibility that they wouldn't know the signs, or if they did, they trained Sherlock with some bad habits to disguise the issue entirely. It also explained Mycroft's behavior towards his brother, and why he "worried about him constantly".
Mainly it was the fact Sherlock had an extreme difficulty picking up on normal behavioral queues (such as his inability to recognize Molly's infatuation with him) and his lack of a brain to mouth filter which resulted in damn near everyone forced to work with him having the urge to punch him in the face. And that was before one got into his extreme fascination with explosions, crime and science in general. Autistic patients were well known to specialize in things to the point they became experts in the subject.
His abrasive attitude and narcissistic personality combined with the ingrained arrogance of a pure blood meant that most would have great difficulty catching on to the truth.
It also meant she would destroy Sergeant Donovan and Anderson the next time she saw them, because there was no excuse for their behavior when she finally had the proper name for Sherlock's behavior around others.
As the left the clinic, Sherlock's first words were "You took me there to confirm something, didn't you?"
"You have High Functioning Autism, possibly Asperger's Syndrome. I don't know if Mycroft subtly trained you to hide the common signs, or if it was an accident because of your upbringing. Since I was too close to you, I couldn't make a proper diagnosis and have it hold water."
Sherlock hummed. He did know what the terms meant, and upon reflection he did fit most of the signs attributed to both.
"Before you ask, I'm not prescribing any pills or treatments. I've suspected it for a long time and while you can be a complete bastard, I see no reason to change you. You're fine exactly as you are, and if Mycroft tries to hide it from some perceived idea that having an different brain chemistry from most I will hurt him badly enough to make him reconsider," said Joanna flatly.
She was used to Sherlock unfiltered, and she had no pressing desire to change him to make society feel better about themselves.
The only difference between when she first realized his possible condition and now was that she had confirmed the name for why he was such a complete ass that needed someone to act as his brain-to-mouth filter.
One year later...
Between Sherlock's skills and Iris' connections, it took much less time and effort to track down and destroy Moriarty's network.
Mycroft had been very annoyed and not very surprised to find out Joanna had found Sherlock. She had been missing for months since the funeral, so it wasn't too far stretched to believe she had gone on a revenge mission against Moriarty.
Nor had he been shocked to find out Sherlock had finally stopped prancing around and proposed to Joanna. He had been expecting it for months since they officially started dating. They were due to have the wedding once they returned to England.
A private ceremony presided over by Joanna's little club, and a select few friends. Only a few of Sherlock's family would be invited to keep everything nice and discreet.
Mummy was rather pleased one of her sons would be married, and thus would eventually produce grandchildren to spoil. The fact it was a girl from a good bloodline was just icing on the cake.
All over the UK, discreet invitations were popping up in the most random places.
Had anyone known to track this event, they would have recognized Joanna's handiwork in a heart beat.
Of course one invitation had to travel a bit...farther than most.
Clara took one look at her phone, then asked the mad man next to her with a rather...odd...grin on her face "Do you like weddings?"
"Love them."
"Well I guarantee my ex-girlfriend is going to love the plus one I'm bringing then," she said trying not to laugh.
Joanna was likely to have a total fan girl moment (along with a good chunk of her likely guest list) when she realized who Clara was bringing. Then she saw the other half of the invitation and she did laugh.
She sent a quick text, and got immediate confirmation with Joanna.
"So who's getting married?"
"An old girlfriend named Joanna Watson and her rather odd flatmate Sherlock Holmes."
The Doctor blinked, before looking at her oddly.
"Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes?"
"Joanna changed her name because she loved the classics, and was tickled pink when she found a flatmate who's name actually is Sherlock Holmes."
The Doctor looked pretty excited to go to the wedding now.
Clara looked at her phone again.
"And it looks like I'm due for a fitting in the bride's maid dress. I'm her maid of honor," she said after reading the text.
"When's the fitting?"
With the ease of practice, the Doctor set the T.A.R.D.I.S. flying into time and space so she could make it.
Besides, who didn't love weddings?
Joanna's first meeting with "Mummy" Holmes went rather well. The fact she had despaired in her youngest son marrying anyone would softened any potential perceived flaws she might have thought Joanna may have.
Though the 'reunion' with Mycroft could have gone better...for him.
Joanna was not amused in the least that Mycroft had subtly guided his younger brother into hiding the fact he was a High Functioning Autistic from society, or that he never discouraged the fact Sherlock had developed an abrasive personality in the first place.
His nose might heal in time for the wedding, but there was no way in hell Joanna was letting him hide the truth anymore.
It was not the Victorian era, and having a slightly different brain chemistry wasn't something you needed to hide. Especially when it was someone like Sherlock who functioned with his condition to be a productive member of society.
Too bad she already had a very effective barrister...otherwise she might have taken him up on the offer of several he had on retainer.
She was already writing a scathing letter to the newspapers that had jumped on the possibility Sherlock was a fraud when he didn't even want to be famous.
She was already working with her cousin Andromeda Tonks to have Donovan and Anderson fired.