Chapter One

Golden sunlight filtered through the window and a chill permeated the flat causing Joan to shiver into wakefulness. Sitting up, she could see her alarm wasn't set to go off for another hour but she knew that sleep wasn't going to be coming again even though she was tired.

Her therapist had said it was depression...survivor's guilt...broken heart. The list of her reasonings for Joan's abysmal sleep were rising but Joan didn't believe them. She didn't want to. Perhaps she was still stuck in the denial stage of her grief. She just felt...empty. Each day since Sherlock's death was the same. Get up, go to work, come home, sleep, wash, rinse and repeat.

Her body felt the same. Empty and broken. Food was impossible to keep down and she was just tired all the time. Greg had taken to forcing her to go out again. He said that staying in the flat was dragging her down and the sad part was that he was right but she couldn't bring herself to pick up and leave just yet. All she had left was the memory of their last night together and this place.

If she closed her eyes she could still feel the phantom touch of Sherlock's hands on her, smell his aftershave as he loomed over her and see his stormy grey eyes as he entered her and stormy was the right word. There were so many emotions swirling in his eyes at that moment that Joan had been overwhelmed with the intensity of it. She had wanted to show Sherlock just how much she loved him and believed in him even after Kitty Riley's exposé about Richard Brooke.

Joan had been terrified that Sherlock might have thought that she believed the reporter's elaborate lies but he surprised her. It had been a needy, desperate and, now that she looked back on it, bittersweet night of lovemaking. It had been slow and perfect in every way. Exactly what they both had needed. Joan now knows that Sherlock had to have deduced Moriarty's plan. That he was going to have to die and maybe it had been his way of showing how much he loved Joan without saying it. Maybe it had been a way to give her a happier memory of him other than seeing him jump off of that fucking roof at St. Bart's and see his broken body haunting her dreams. Whatever it had been, it had been amazing and it had hurt.

Slipping out of bed, Joan slowly got ready for the day. The ever present nausea a companion as she forced down dry toast on her way out the door.

The community clinic was her main focus these days. She was about to see her next patient when an email came up on her screen. A check-up. Sarah had been taking an interest in her health since she had come back and had been harassing her about it. "Sick doctors can't treat sick patients" had been her motto and Joan had agreed to keep her off her back. It seemed she was collecting on her promise.

It was another hour before Joan found herself on the other side of the white coat as a patient. Sarah walked in with a carefully neutral expression on her face and a slip of paper. For the first time in two months Joan felt something. Fear.

"What?" Joan laughed nervously.

Sarah sat on the rolling stool. "When was the last time you had a menstrual cycle?"

Joan laughed, relief flowing through her. "Oh my god! You had me bloody terrified! I'm on the Depoprevara shot. I don't have a cycle."

Joan stood and grabbed her clothes from the chair next to the exam table when Sarah's next words stopped her cold. "You missed your last dose, Joan. Remember? You were caught up in a case and forgot."

Her heels slipped from numb fingers as Sarah's insinuation slipped through the fog clouding her mind. She just stood still as the other woman came up behind her and handed her the urinalysis report stating positive on the pregnancy test.

"During your pelvic exam, I could feel that you're probably about eight to ten weeks."

Sarah's words continued. A buzz started to fill her ears. Panic and fear were first to come through. She couldn't do this. It was hard enough just living without him let alone having his child! She never thought that in her 30 years of life that she would be one of those women who considered termination but it was first on her list. Moving on would be impossible. To see a child with Sherlock's eyes or hair or face looking back at her would be too much.

Joan realized Sarah was still talking about maternity leave and support, oblivious that Joan wasn't listening to a word. She pulled on her skirt and top, slipping on her shoes while Sarah was still talking! Sarah handed Joan a prescription for prenatal vitamins and it was that that had Joan jerked from her stupor.

"I never had this exam, Sarah. I'm going to need a few days off." She swept out of the room before Sarah could answer and bumped into the new nurse that Sarah had hired.

"Congratulations, Doctor Watson! I took the liberty of making you an appointment at..."

"You made a mistake, Mary. My test results were mixed up with another patient's." Joan snapped and Mary's face morphed into confusion. A frown marring her features.

"No." She shook her head slowly and Joan wanted to shake her. Never had she believed Sherlock's appraisal of idiotic people before today. Mary wasn't taking the hint. "No. I don't think so, Doctor. There has only been men and an elderly lady in today."

"Nurse Morstan. You. Were. Mistaken. Cancel the appointment and clear my schedule for the week." She said it slowly to emphasize her point. Joan was grateful that the woman seemed to understand and meekly left.

Grabbing her messenger bag, Joan left the office and started the walk to the tube station. It was on the walk that Joan cursed Sherlock. She was mad. It was like a final twist of the knife that had been lodged in her heart since his death. Her eyes burned as she fought off tears and started looking up clinics on her phone. She pressed the call button and her signal dropped. She tried again and it failed.

"Goddamn bloody piece of shit phone!" Tears were falling down her cheeks as she tried again when she saw a black Audi slide up next to her. She really did not want to deal with this.

She kept walking, ignoring the car and trying again, only to have her phone turn off completely. She knew it was Mycroft's doing and shoved the phone in her pocket. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. She swung towards the car with a frustrated huff, tension tightening her muscles.

"Piss off, Mycroft." Joan hissed at the car before the window could roll down and stormed off down the pavement. She knew she couldn't evade him forever but she could try. She came up to an alley and was about to cross it when the car pulled in front, blocking her path.

The tinted window rolled down and Mycroft's face came into view. Joan was beyond pissed.

"You shouldn't be walking long distances in your condition, Doctor Watson." He said it so calmly, so matter of fact that Joan wanted to punch him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see two men in suits nearby, hovering. Of course he had known, the bastard.

Joan smiled, a twisted, cold smile that had sent many an intern scrambling. "What? My high arches? I know high-heels can be a bitch but I'm fine. Thanks for your concern." She said acidly.

Mycroft's lips twitched in amusement. "Don't play dumb with me, Joan. It doesn't suit you. Get in the car."

"My mother always told me to not get into cars with strange men." She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and started to walk around the car.

"Don't make me ask again, Doctor."

The implied threat only strengthened as the two men in suits closed in on her. Joan stopped, closing her eyes in frustration. The sound of a car door opening and a hand on her elbow gently guiding her into the car. She opened her eyes when she felt the car move.

"What do you want?"

Up close, Mycroft looked as tired as her. His face was pale, stress lines surrounded his eyes and mouth and he looked like he'd lost weight. She still blamed him for Sherlock's death and she knew he blamed himself as well if his appearance was any indication.

"Start any wars?" She said abruptly.

Mycroft chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Not today but I hear congratulations are in order."

Joan really understood Sherlock's dislike of his brother. Mycroft looked Joan over with assessing eyes, taking in every detail. His gaze stopping briefly on her abdomen before sliding up to her eyes. She could see him cataloging every minuscule detail about her appearance.

"It's not what you think. It's not his." She lied and Mycroft raised an eyebrow in intrigue. Lying to the Holmes brothers never worked. Mycroft shook his head slowly.

"I know that it is, in fact, Sherlock's progeny."

The temptation to punch him was overwhelming.

"I know that my dear brother was the only man you have been intimate with in the past six months."

It was growing harder to resist. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do I even want to know how you know this?"

"Probably not."

"I'm not keeping it. I..." She looked out the window as her eyes burned from tears threatening again. "I can't handle this right now."

The ride was silent for a minute while Joan composed herself. "And anyway, didn't you say that sentiment was for the weak?"

"Choosing life is never for the weak. I believe you're letting your emotions cloud your judgement. What do you believe Sherlock would want?"

Joan's head snapped around. "Thanks to your epic screw-up, I'll never know."

Hurt and guilt flashed through Mycroft's blue eyes but it was quickly gone. "Take until Monday before you finalize your decision. Before my brother died he made me promise him something."

"What?"

"That I would take care of you."