Author's Note: Thanks again to marshmellowdeviant, neshama, Jane Q. Doe, fanatic, for reviewing! This is our final chapter and I hope you all enjoyed the journey we've had, thanks for reading, favoriting and following. Hopefully I'll see you all return for my next work, enjoy!

Chapter Five: We'll Meet Again

Despite multiple attempts to question him, Sherlock gave away nothing for the entire drive. He just kept saying that they would know when the time came, and that he had to be absolutely sure. This seemed rather extravagant for an attempt to corroborate, but once they got to Per Se both Gregson and herself had given up their attempt to get information. Joan also analyzed the invitation, but the only information was that it was a charity gala and told her nothing except that this was going to be some rather rich party-goers. She thought of asking how on earth Sherlock even got these tickets, but considering the fact that he wasn't responding to more pertinent questions she thought better of it. Gregson pulled up outside and Sherlock was out in an instant, opening Joan's door and offering a hand to her before looking to Gregson.

"Follow the instructions I've given, and I'll see you inside." He nodded to him and Gregson simply shook his head in response as Sherlock offered his arm to Joan, "Shall we?"

Joan took the arm offered, looking around herself as they entered, "Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?" She whispered between the clenched teeth of a false smile.

"Best not to ruin the surprise," He whispered to her as they took the stairs and began to meet the milling throng of the New York elite.

"Will you at least tell me how you got an invitation to this?" Joan smiled to a curious gaze, before focusing back in on Sherlock, "Or what our cover is?"
"The provider of this particular gala owed me a favor." He gave a confident grin at that as they cleared the staircase and moved into the meeting hall. Though Per Se was hosting the event, they were not using the restaurant itself and instead it was hosted in the large ballroom. "And our cover is simple, you are a surgeon and I shall be myself."

The tables were set up beautifully, soft blue lighting and intricate light structures, a lit ice sculpture, and even an area for dancing with a string quartet for their entertainment. Joan had never been in a place so decadent as the entire room had been set up with beautiful flowers, plants, and lighting that made it seem otherworldly. Sherlock tightened his hold on her arm slightly, and she turned her attention to him. "Our table is the closest to the orchestra on the right, I shall meet you there in twenty minutes, until then I suggest you mingle." He had leaned close to whisper into her ear under the pretense of curling a bit of loose hair behind her ear, and Joan gave a slight nod of understanding. They separated, Sherlock disappearing into the crowd as Joan went to leave the small white clutch she carried where her seat was.

The curious eyes were slightly unnerving since she was not normally privy to such functions, still she met them with a confident smile and a sure gaze. She kept up that sure charade until she got to her table and finished her quest to set down her clutch. Now she was left oscillating at her chair and looking over the crowd. She attempted to spot Sherlock, but the ballroom was shadowy and she couldn't find him anywhere. She was about to genuinely try to hunt him down when a man stepped up to her with a confident smile.

He had perfectly white teeth, bronze skin, and brown hair that was perfectly movie star-styled. He moved with confidence in a fine Italian suit as he stepped directly toward her. "Dr. Joan Watson?" He asked, and his voice carried a very faded accent of some form. She found herself searching for where she could possibly know him from.

"Sorry, do I know you?" Joan asked when her mind came up a blank, and he simply smiled again with a soft laugh following the motion.

"No, no, do forgive the assumption. I spied your card as we are seated at the same table."

"Oh," Joan said with relief, moving away from her chair as he offered a hand to her.

"I am Dr. Jean Clauette, and I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have a fellow doctor at my table." He was laughing again as they shook hands, Joan feeling similar relief. "You are a surgeon, yes?"

"Oh, yes, how did you know?" Joan felt a bit of deja-vu at the mentioning, but his eyes never left her face and she made sure she wasn't using beeswax for her hands.

"Intuition, I was a surgeon myself before I moved to cosmetic surgeries." He kept that same conspiratorial tone.

"Oh? The hours must be much nicer at least." Joan forced herself to smile. So he was one of those, moving from helping people to making a fortune out of female insecurity. She would insult him if they were in different company, but here a cosmetic surgeon was probably the least grimy of most of the millionaires and billionaires present at this social function.

"Yes, much." He responded with a nod, but his eyes were distracted looking at the crowd before returning to her. "Forgive me, I must mingle with a few of my fellows. Would you care to join me?" He offered his arm, and it took every bit of her patience to not make a snide remark.

"Oh, no thank you. I'm waiting for some one myself, but I'll see you later."

"I can almost guarantee it as we are at the same table." He bowed at the waist and moved back into the throng as she felt a breath of relief leave her in a sigh.

She decided to mingle then, putting distance between herself and the would-be doctor. Dr. Clauette was not as slimy as most plastic surgeons, but there was something in the way he looked at her and spoke that made her skin crawl. She went into the crowd with the plan to get refreshments, but found herself stopped every few feet by some one introducing themselves, making small talk, and Joan began categorizing them on her way to the back bar.

There were several debutants, one of which was here with her fiancée, another with her girlfriend, and the third was here with her adulterous paramour. Two heiresses, sisters who were here together and were quite philanthropic, most of the high league of wall street, four foreign bankers who conveniently left their wives back in their home country, six models, two more surgeons, and no less than ten major broadway actors. She'd feel more blessed to be here if it wasn't for the fact that almost everyone here was so arrogant, sure of their riches, and trying to compete with their peers that it brought to mind a dog show. She felt relief when she finally got to the refreshments, grabbed herself the nearest glass of wine with guilt, and began to trek back to her table.

Sherlock was not there when she returned, even with it being close to forty-five minutes since she saw him, and she quickly drained her wine and set the glass down next to her place card. Sherlock did leave his jacket though, so she must have missed him in the impossible trek to the refreshments. Amuse-bouche we're being carried on silver trays by severe looking wait staff and she grabbed the nearest to her with a gentle smile to the long suffering wait staff. The evening continued to pass with herself and Sherlock missing one another, the second time she returned he had stolen his napkin and disappeared while she had been in close conversation with Gregson who finally made an appearance, he was apparently sitting somewhere else. The third time she saw him disappear into the crowd just as she escaped from a group of women who would not stop talking about her dress.

It would appear they were going to be constantly served a variety of small snacks, and Joan kept her desperate hunger at bay while she found herself engaged in conversation once again with Dr. Clauette. So far no one had actually struck her as Paula Aberdeen's killer, there were three plastic surgeons in attendance, but it seemed unlikely they would be the ones, and Paula was not quite A-list enough to be killed out of jealousy.

Still, despite being slimy, Dr. Jean Clauette was good company. He was apparently French who came over to America for med school and never left. He went to a prestigious university, his family was loaded, and he was unmarried. He asked her to dance a total of four times and she only accepted once, and it was returning from that that she finally ran into Sherlock.

Sherlock approached them immediately, and quickly took her arm with an easy grin that was hiding more malice than she expected. "How are you doing, my dear?" He asked, and stressed the endearment which had her looking up to him confused.

"I'm fine, Sherlock." She was more annoyed than she intended to be, but Sherlock just kept smiling and eyeing Dr. Clauette. "Sherlock, this is Dr. Jean Clauette, Jean this is Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard of your work." Jean said, an easy smile as he offered his hand, but Sherlock refused it, instead tightening his grip on Joan.

"You promised me a dance, Watson. I was hoping we could use this time to do so." He gave a very cold nod to Dr. Clauette before, somewhat forcibly, guiding Joan towards the dance floor.

"Sherlock, can you even dance?" She asked as he made of show of moving them directly into the center of the floor and quickly took one hand in his and pulled the other to his shoulder.

"Dance lessons are quite common in boarding schools, it's expected for every insufferable party with far flung royals and heiresses your father imposes on you." He said it bitterly as he placed his hand just below her shoulder as the band began to play. He relaxed as he began to move her in a rather easy waltz once the music began, "but it has proven itself a useful skill to maintain." He said as he began to move her in a circle and keeping a polite amount of space between them. "I see you have befriended Dr. Clauette," He leaned to whisper close to her ear as he kept his head turned from hers. He pulled her a little closer, as he moved her into a quicker circle, his feet between hers as he moved her around the floor with a confidence she was surprised by.

"What of it?" She asked as he eased them into another waltzing motion and kept his grip on her hand without pressure.

"Keep an eye on him," He said after a moment as he leaned to dip her, pulling her downward before moving back up to small gasps of appreciation. She hadn't noticed people were beginning to spread away from them, too busy maintaining balance and following Sherlock's rather obvious bodily cues for their next movement.

"Is he who we're here to watch?" she whispered to him, before he spun her outward, holding her hand fast before pulling her back in and replaced his hand beneath her shoulder as she placed hers on his.

"No, but I have met the man before." They were moving again in the ease of a waltz, Sherlock's gaze following those on the floor, as they were given a rather wide berth by the other dancers, which would appear to have been his plan by his rather flamboyant display. "He is a rather prolific womanizer, and has been known to be of a rather unscrupulous character."

"Sherlock, I can handle myself." She couldn't believe what she was hearing, he was worried she was going to fall for some full of himself plastic surgeon? She rolled her eyes as the music dwindled and he stopped them before separating himself. "Are you going to tell me who we are here for?"

"In due time, but for now I believe I'd best speak with Captain Gregson. I shall return to our table in due time." And he was gone, disappearing into the crowd as she sat in the center of the dance floor amongst a few whispered words and fading applause. Left on the dance floor, she would feel embarrassed if it was anyone other than Sherlock. To be honest, she was amazed he made it through the whole song.

Despite Sherlock's warning, when Dr. Clauette waved her toward him and his fellow surgeons she took the offer. Talking medicine was so much easier than current fashion trends, stock trends, or banking trends and she found herself concentrating on each of them with a deeper suspicion. The implants were removed, and even though the hand was shaky it would take a knowledge of how they were put in to get them out intact. No fragments of silicone were found, and she kept her mind open as they discussed. Still she felt a plastic surgeon was too obvious to keep Sherlock's attention, and he hadn't been within ten feet of any of these men except Dr. Clauette and he was snubbed the moment they met eyes.

She returned to her table with Clauette, sharing the horror stories of on-call rotations just out of med school, and finally caught sight of Sherlock. He was in deep whispered conversation with Gregson, and she was about to excuse herself with Clauette place his hand on her arm with more force than she expected. "I hope you will understand it gives me no pleasure to have to do this." He said quietly and she felt something cool against the small of her back, "But your friends are known to me, and I would prefer to leave without being accosted."

"And if you scream, I will be forced to shoot you." He whispered against her ear with a vicious hiss that told her this was no idle threat. He shoved her and she tried to make meaningful eyes with Sherlock and Gregson, but they were too engrossed and too far away as he began leading her through the winding orchids and hibiscus toward the silver door of the wait staff entrance.

"I think you have this all wrong," She said gently as he backed into the door, and kept a hand on her shoulder to keep her from running as they moved from the soft blue and yellow lights of the party to the bright white of more utilitarian spaces.

"Oh? Captain Gregson of the NYPD and the renowned Sherlock Holmes appear at a party together, with you and this is all mere coincidence?" His voice was vicious as he turned her around and began leading her out. "I am thankful you know, without you I was unsure I would make it out, but there is no chance the great Sherlock Holmes would endanger his lady friend."

"I'm not-"

"Quiet. Holmes has wanted me for years, and I will not let him grab me now." He tensed his arm as he led her into the shadows as some wait staff passed with champagne and she heard the noise of the party quiet as a microphone was tested. It appeared the speech for the charity was about to be made, and so all the wait staff was out delivering drinks for a toast. He had obviously planned for this since they came across no one as he lead her towards the back door.

"Open it," He whispered, and shoved the gun into her back with enough force that she was sure he had ripped the silk. She opened the door, and saw a backstreet and a car waiting.

"You really came prepared didn't you?"

"One has to be ready for anything, no?" He said with a slight laugh, "Now I am sorry to say I shall have to take you with me-" But he silenced as he saw Sherlock step out of the shadows beside the car, a fierce and angry look in his eyes.

"I knew you were a willing to do many things, but kidnapping my date seems low even for you Clauette." He was keeping his tone even, but Joan could see the way he was clenching his hands showed how much he was restraining himself.

"Well, I had to be sure of your cooperation Mr. Holmes, now I suggest you let me take Dr. Watson or I may be forced to do something to harm her." Sherlock lifted his head, hiding the frown on his face as he stared Clauette down.

"I am not letting you leave Clauette," He said quietly, and Joan felt the gun twist into her back as he bent her backwards against it, his hand on her shoulder sure to leave bruises.

"Then I am afraid we are at odds Mr. Holmes," He twisted the gun again and she winced, she could feel the muzzle creating a bruise as she kept her eyes on Holmes. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, a sign of some kind, a clue or a tic that would tell her what to do. Instead he was standing perfectly still, eyes on hers with something between fear and anger. "I am sorry, Ms. Watson,"

She felt his fingers lift to hit the safety and could wait no longer. She leaned back, shoving him back against the door they came through and lifted her heel as high as she could to catch him in the leg and raising her elbow to hit him in the face. The arm on her shoulder gave way and she turned, grabbing for the weapon as she heard Sherlock's feet on the pavement. The gun went off and she winced and shoved upward, and could feel a sting and the sound of ripping material.

Sherlock grabbed him, calling out as she saw not only Gregson but several uniformed officers running to where Sherlock was holding the gun man, before the gun was taken from his fingers and Sherlock stepped back while the officers forced him to submit.

Joan's hands were holding her side, her body burning as she felt a bit of slickness against her hand as she leaned back against the wall. Her other hand reached up and realized that somewhere in the fight her pearls had been ripped from her throat. Sherlock was moving her hand, eyeing the wound with intense eyes before looking up to her. "It missed you, only a graze." He said with visible relief before looking over her, his shoulders tensing as his hands moved from her shoulder to tilting her head to look at her neck. "Forgive Watson, I had not considered he would take you by force."

"Wait - what?!" She was livid as Gregson came over, looking her over as she stared daggers at Sherlock. "You set me up as bait?!" She was screaming at him as Gregson quickly stepped in to stop her from hitting him.

"You knew about this Holmes?" Gregson asked, looking severe as he handed Watson the medkit from the patrol car as she finally dared to look at the small wound and the state of her beautiful dress.

"Not precisely, Captain. I had thought he was going to offer to take Ms. Watson home, and I would suggest she do so giving us ample excuse to look through his apartment. I did not consider that he was going to use his gun to take her by force." Sherlock explained as he leaned down to assist Watson in dressing her wounds.

"You knew he had a gun, and you used me as bait." Joan said calmer this time, and leaned her head back against the wall. "You are so lucky the adrenaline is wearing off Sherlock."

"I'm glad you're ok Joan," Gregson said, before looking to Sherlock, "And you ever pull a stunt like this again Holmes I'm not only going to bar you from working for the NYPD, I'm going to give you a beating like you have never experienced." He left then to talk to the officers and leaving them alone as Joan reached up to move her hair behind her ear.

"I am so sorry, Joan." He said it so softly she almost didn't catch it, his fingers finishing with the bandage as he stood and looked at her meaningfully. "I knew he was armed, but I did not consider he would take this course of action." His face spoke of shame as he turned and leaned against the wall beside her.

"Why didn't you tell me you suspected him?" Joan asked, her eyes taking in Sherlock's profile as he frowned, eyes raw and body tense.

"I needed to see how he interacted without bias, so I placed you in his path sure he could not pass up how attractive you were. I did not want your body language to clue him in to the fact that you were suspicious of him." He leaned his head back, and she heard it thud against the brick. "I did not realize he had seen Gregson, or that his guilty conscience would lead him to act so drastically."

"He said you'd been after him before."

"Yes, in Marseilles. A girl died soon after he operated on her, I suspected foul play to hide something that went wrong with the surgery, but I could not prove it."

"So, Paula Aberdeen. ." Joan said with a quiet wonder, it made sense, something went wrong with the implants and so he removed them by force. "Do you think he knew about Cummings?"

"No, he merely capitalized on a known killer in the area." He shook his head as he finally looked over to her, "believe me Watson, I never intended you to come to harm."

Despite how mad she knew she should be with him, she reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder, a small smile on her lips. "I know, even you can't know everything."

"That would appear to be true. I did not know that you would take him down so expertly, you will make quite the prolific fighter once you allow me to supply you with lessons." Sherlock said, and Joan rolled her eyes in response. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm, and she looked down at herself with a frown.

"Rebecca's poor dress, she's going to hate getting it back like this, and you owe Ms. Hudson a new string of pearls." Her eyes not hiding her dismay of the state of her beautiful dress. It was ripped in several places from the struggle, one of her straps barely holding on not to mention the rather large hole caused by the gun. He offered his arm again, and she took it as he led her out of the alley and hailed a cab.

"I'll pay to have it fixed, I am sure Ms. Verace will be more than happy to ensure it is done expertly." He smiled slightly as the cab eased over and he looked down to her, "I'd hate to have your best dress ruined irreparably."

He opened the cab door as she gaped at him, and he quickly crossed to the other side and entering to sit beside her, giving instructions as she stared at him. "It's. . .mine?"

"Quite so. I realized you had nothing to wear to such a function, and Ms. Verace gave me a rate I could hardly scoff at." Sherlock kept a small smile on his face the whole ride home as she stared with wonder at her dress.

Once at the brownstone he quickly exited and opened her door for her, handing her the white clutch she brought with her. She hadn't even realized he pocketed it, but he gave her a secret smile before offering his arm and leading her up to the brownstone. "I hope you didn't find the evening a total loss, Watson." His voice still held a guilty tone as he unlocked the door and opened it for them, "and that you'll consider doing this again at some point in the future."

"What, being bait?" She said with more venom than she intended, he recoiled at her tone. "Sorry," she said after a moment, and Sherlock nodded.

"You'd best freshen up Watson, and I request that you return and let me redress your wound. The job I managed to do was hardly satisfactory." Joan nodded slightly as Sherlock moved into the kitchen to set the kettle on. When she came down ten minutes later he was in the living room in his armchair, two cups of tea on the nearby table.

She crossed to obtain her tea and stopped when his hand touched her wrist, his eyes searching her own. She smiled, and he relaxed before handing her the mug of tea. She took it gratefully taking a sip as Sherlock raised and guided her into the kitchen. The first aid kit was already sitting out, and he offered her a chair which she sat on backwards before leaning over and pulling out gauze, tape, antiseptic wipes, and ointment started working on the graze that was just above her left hip.

"What did you mean when you asked if I would do this again some time?" Joan asked as she winced at the sting of the antiseptic swab.

"Well," Sherlock said hesitantly his vocals betraying how unsure he was, " I was hoping that the evenings events have not soured your opinion of that dress or my company enough that you would refuse to allow me to take you out for dinner." His wording was so strangely formal and Joan looked down to see him genuinely embarrassed. His facial expression sheepish and self-aware.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Sherlock?" Joan asked, mirth evident in her tone as he placed the gauze and stood up quickly and avoided her gaze.

"Technically I've already taken you on one, as you were my date for tonight's affair." Sherlock said, and Joan couldn't help laughing as his facial expression turned from embarrassed to insulted. "What? I was the envy of the event."

"Hardly, though you could of told me that you knew how to dance." Joan said with a smirk, and Sherlock moved to the opposite chair with an easier body language. "So is it true that your father forced you to learn to dance."

"Every word, though I usually made a scene to get out of lessons or simply played the music for everyone else to dance to. Still, some of it rubbed off on me." There was more than a little resentment in his wording, but he was relaxing as he took a long sip of his tea. An easy silence came over them as Joan leaned over the backing of the chair and rested her head on her hands and Sherlock stared past her into the living room.

"I accept," she said after a few moments, and Sherlock came out of his distracted stare to stare at her with confused frown. "Your offer to take me out again, I accept. But this time, no gun men."

"I promise, I need to make up for tonight's events after all." He matched her smirk with one of his own as Joan stretched and started to stand. "I have reservations at Brooklyn Fare for next Friday, I should have your dress in pristine condition once more by then."

"What's the occasion?" Joan asked, the fact that he had most likely made these reservations far in advance not lost on her.

"We'll have been partners for a year, I believe it an occasion worth celebrating." He smiled to himself as he spoke, his eyes staring into his tea intently.

Joan stood, smiling herself as she put away the gauze and tape before closing up the medkit. Then she picked up her mug, placing it in the sink. Sherlock stayed still, eyes staring into his mug as she crossed back to his side and leaned over, placing a light kiss on his cheek. He froze and Joan couldn't help the smile. "Thanks for an interesting evening, Sherlock. See you in the morning."

He didn't stop her, but she caught him smiling as she started up the stairs toward her room. For the first time in four days she was going to get a good night's sleep.