The woman walked out of a doorway, shouted "This is for Elana!" and pulled the trigger.

Joan crumpled onto the sidewalk; a red spot appeared in the upper left quadrant of her blouse. Sherlock, mouth agape, stood paralyzed, pinging back and forth for a nano-second between helping Watson and destroying her assailant. The woman ran.

A sharp intake of breath roused him to action. He shouted "Call 911" to the gawkers and dropped to his knees,"Watson ….. Watson …Watson …." He blinked the tears out of his eyes and quelled his rising panic with the prayer like repetition of her name.

The blood seeped deep red through her white blouse. Sherlock could hear the whisper of Joan's voice recounting how the blood had drained out of Mr. Castoro, how she stood unable to stop it …

He reached out to her. "Breathing, she's breathing, it's alright, she's breathing …." He murmured to himself and touched her face for reassurance. Hurriedly, he removed his jacket, placing it under her head. He tore off his vest, pressed it to Watson's wound, and applied pressure. Sherlock held on, repeating her name, telling her she'd be fine, looking for any signs of consciousness as blood began to ooze through the fabric and onto his hand.

Someone in the crowd called out to him that an ambulance was on its way and a wave of gratitude washed over him. Watson was still and pale and unresponsive and Sherlock tried his best for her to remain in control.

He reached for his phone, dialing with one hand.

On answering, Bell knew immediately something was wrong.

"Marcus." Sherlock took a steadying breath, "Joan has been shot. Her assailant ran off on foot …" He gave the detective a detailed description of the woman and their location and hung up before Bell could ask any questions. Joan was coming to. A look of pain and anguish crossed her face but her eyes remained closed. He could hear an ambulance approaching in the distance.

Sherlock dropped his phone and placed his hand on her head, smoothing her hair, and whispering, "You're alright, Watson, I'm right here, the ambulance is on its way, I'm right here Watson … .." Her head turned towards his voice, her eyes fluttered but didn't open.

The next few moments were a blur of lights and sounds and action as the EMTs arrived and took over. Sherlock would not leave her side as they worked on her and he attempted to assist, much to the paramedics dismay. They told him she'd be fine, it was not a lethal wound, he shouldn't worry, but still he stood over her and them, and watched every move with an eagle eye.

Sherlock entered the ambulance with her gurney and the paramedics did not try to stop him. He sat by her head, moved in close and softly talked, told her what was happening, where they were going, that she'd be alright. Joan opened her eyes and with effort focused on his face; her hand moved to find him. He took her hand on seeing it move and continued talking, more for his sake than for hers.

Her eyes betrayed her fear. Joan listened to his voice and searched his face to find comfort and reassurance. "Stay … Don't go … Please …" Her voice was husky and low and pleaded with him.

"I'm right here. I'm not leaving. I promise," he held her hand a little tighter and moved closer to her. "I'll not leave … I promise, Watson." Emotion welled within him, as he realized she might be reliving another time, another trauma.

The EMT took a moment to check on her patient, and made notes as she went. Watson watched her.

Sherlock saw the beginnings of recognition in Watson as to her situation and once more explained to her what was happening. Joan turned to him, a bit more clear eyed and looked at him as he talked. Concern clouded her face. "Are you okay? Not hurt?" she whispered.

"I'm fine…" He tried to smile and his voice broke as he answered. "Not to worry, I'm fine."

Joan continued to stare at him and he reciprocated. The EMTs voice broke in, "You can kiss her if you'd like, I won't watch." She smiled at him and turned her back.

An irritated Sherlock turned his gaze away from the paramedic and back onto Watson and found a look of amusement on her face. She looked like his Watson again. His whole face softened at the sight of her and he leaned in and softly placed a kiss on her cheek, letting his lips linger on her skin. He moved his mouth to her ear and spoke to her in his softest tone, "I love you." He stayed there breathing her in. Sherlock heard her answer whispered on his neck, "I know."

He pulled away from her and found a half smile playing on her lips, that was quickly marred by a wince of pain. He dropped his head to her shoulder and held her hand a little tighter.

They were met at the hospital entrance by a medical team that separated her from him. She needed to be prepped for operating and after many admonishments and suggestions to the staff and apologies and reassurances to Watson that he'd be waiting for her and he would not leave, he allowed them to take her. He watched her being wheeled away. She looked so small…

Bell and Gregson found him sitting, elbows on knees, head bent forward onto his hands staring at the waiting room floor. He looked devastated, exhausted, completely alone.

Bell whispered to Gregson, "Holmes without Joan is just kind of pitiful." Gregson nodded and agreed.

Before they could do much more than greet Sherlock, a nurse came in, "Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock leapt out of his chair. "You can come in and see your wife now." Sherlock shot a quick look of "not one word," to Bell and Gregson and he followed the nurse down the hall.

Joan was sitting up in bed. She was conscious, bandaged and glad to see her partner. "There you are," her tone was soothing. "How are you?"

Sherlock shook his head at her, "You are the one whose been shot Watson. The question is how are you?"

"Better." She lay back gingerly on her pillow, "Much better." She motioned for him to come closer and kept motioning him closer until he was face to face with her. "This is not your fault." Joan looked him in the eye to make sure he was understanding. "You couldn't of prevented this."

He broke eye contact and looked away, "I should have been quicker, more vigilant …"

"Sherlock!" Her voice was stern and commanded his attention. "Thank you." She reached her good arm out and brought his face right up to hers. Joan placed a kiss on his stubbled cheek, and whispered, "I love you."

They stayed frozen in the moment, unwilling to let it end, until Sherlock found his voice and answered her, "I know."