Jo stumbled into the startlingly bright June sunlight and winced. She was more exhausted than she could ever remember being, and that was counting med-school, her residency, and pulling double, and sometimes triple, shifts in an active war zone; of course becoming a fugitive — hostage — whatever — took a lot of effort, which would have been fine, really, if it hadn't been for what had happened at Bart's. It seemed like an eternity since she had last been outside, but it had barely been twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours and her entire world seemed to have collapsed. She had been taken into police custody shortly after Sherlock's jump, and, after hours of repetitive questioning, was released early the next morning.

It was Monday and the city was just coming to life with restaurants opening and people bustling to work. She could vaguely remember being signed up for a shift at the surgery, but even calling in sick seemed like too monumental of a task for her to deal with just then. Going back to Baker Street was absolutely out of the question - she had just enough energy to hope that someone had broken the news to Mrs. Hudson gently - so she hailed a cab and gave the address for the one place in the world she still felt safe.

Jo knocked on the plain door, praying that Mary hadn't left for work already and steadying herself for disappointment; when the door opened, her relief was so palpable that her knees buckled. Luckily, Mary Morstan's reflexes had always been superb, and she managed to catch her friend before she hit the ground, practically carrying her to the couch. Now that she had reached her goal it was as if her strings had been cut and Jo collapsed gratefully onto the cushions. She let out a shaky sigh when Mary sat down and allowed the soldier to lean against her solid body.

"I heard what happened," Mary whispered, softly petting Jo's hair. "It was on the news."

Jo squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to speak. "He isn't — wasn't — a fake. He didn't do any of the things they say he did."

"I know," she answered. "You believe in him and that's more than enough for me." The doctor just nodded, not knowing what else to say.

A few minutes later Mary shifted, her grip on her friend becoming more firm. "Come on, let's get you into bed. You need sleep, and the couch will kill your shoulder." Jo didn't respond but moved when she was prompted. Mary's flat was small, so the trip to the bedroom was short. Even so, it seemed to be almost too much for Jo, and after watching her fumble helplessly with the buttons on her jacket for a few moments Mary stepped in and helped her get undressed and into bed. Mary went to close the curtains and when she returned Jo latched onto the sleeve of her shirt with almost childlike desperation.

"I don't know if I can sleep," she whispered, not looking directly at her friend.

Mary forced a smile. "That's alright. Give it a try, and if it doesn't work then I'll give you something to help." Jo nodded and squeezed her eyes shut again. A full minute passed with neither woman speaking or moving.

"Stay," Jo finally said, her voice barely audible. "Please."

"Of course," she agreed, slowly pulling away to strip down herself. "As long as you need me to; I've already called in sick for today." Jo just nodded and let herself be be manipulated until both women were as comfortable as possible. She buried her face in the warm, dark space between her friend's neck and shoulder and finally let herself cry as Mary rubbed soothing circles on her back.

Jo didn't leave Mary's flat again for an entire week, and even then, she only left because she was in desperate need of her own clothes. Mary went with her while Mrs. Hudson was out in order to get the essentials and the whole trip was over within an hour and a half; she felt bad for avoiding her landlady, but she couldn't bare to deal with the other woman's grief as well as her own. She had finally called into work and had been granted a leave of absence, and she had built up enough of a savings working with Sherlock that she didn't have to worry about money for at least a month or two — especially since Mary had offered to let her stay with her for as long as she needed.

The funeral was a quiet affair, planned entirely by Mycroft (not that Jo had wanted any part in it), with only a handful of Sherlock's family and friends. Angelo cried loudly in the back and Mrs. Hudson sobbed quietly at Jo's side; Mary, of course, held her hand through the whole thing. Lestrade gave the eulogy. It was obviously sincere and heart felt, and when he got choked up half-way through Jo could see the guilt written all over him; she still couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for him.

They left shortly after the service. Jo had no desire to speak with anyone there; Mrs. Hudson wasn't sure she could manage interacting with any of them without losing her temper, and Mary, who had become rather fond of the landlady since she had shown up at her flat unexpectedly, demanding to see Jo, had been itching to get both women out of there from the moment they arrived. They went out to lunch because while neither of them were really hungry, Mary had implemented a strict meal plan as soon as she realized that without prompting Jo would simply have ceased to eat. They sat in silence, sullenly picking at their food. Finally, Mrs. Hudson broke the silence.

"You never met Sherlock, did you Mary?" She asked, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She continued when the brunette shook her head. "You would have liked him, I think. He was very sweet, in his own way. And painfully honest. He wasn't nearly as heartless as he wanted people to believe he was."

Mary smiled, eager to hear more about the man her friend hardly spoke about. "How did you meet him, then? Jo says that you knew him longer than anyone else." At this Jo finally perked up, interested in the conversation for the first time; she had never managed to get any more of the story than Sherlock's original pronouncement on the subject.

"Yes, he was twenty-one, I think, when we met," she answered, smiling fondly as she remembered. "Still in uni at any rate. My niece went to school with him, and she mentioned that he sometimes helped students with their problems.

"My husband had already been convicted in Florida, but his lawyers said that they had found new evidence that would prove his innocence. I knew better than anyone that he had killed those girls, and that if he was released I would be the first one he came for. So I paid for Sherlock to go with me to the hearing and he proved that the lawyers had fabricated the evidence; it was huge scandal.

"He wouldn't let me pay him anything, either. He refused to take anything from anyone; I think it almost killed him that his family was paying his tuition. He did come by and let me feed him up once a month or so. He'd fall asleep on my couch after dinner, every time like clockwork; I think he just liked knowing that there was someone else around, the poor thing. He was so lonely, at least until you came around, Jo; I was so glad that he found someone."

Jo shook her head. "We weren't together. We were just friends. I'm surprised I managed to catch his attention at all."

"I saw the two of you together, and there wasn't anything 'just' about your friendship," she replied seriously. She softened her tone and continued. "I don't think I'd ever seen him take to anyone the way he took to you. He tried to impress you, cleaning up the flat and taking you to those suicides. Don't you dare think he was anything other than utterly fascinated by you, Jo Watson."

She smiled. "If you say so. Although I think that may have been his one and only attempt at cleaning. You'd think that a man with a sock index would have been a bit more particular about where he put his things." The other two women chuckled, and so Jo launched into another story about Sherlock's antics, which was followed by Mrs. Hudson answering with one of her own. They continued for hours, and Mary wouldn't have stopped them for the world, happy that Jo was showing any sign of progress, no matter how small.

Three weeks after Sherlock's jump, Jo went back to work. She hadn't been able to bring herself to go back to Baker Street again after she and Mary had gone to pack some of her things, but she knew that she couldn't hide away forever and going back to work was definitely good way to start her return to society. Her shift was exhausting - although in a pleasant way - but she still made it back to flat before Mary did. Wanting to stay busy, she set about making dinner. The meal was almost done when Mary came in, her arms loaded with folders filled with papers that stuck out haphazardly. Her suit was well tailored and flattering, even though it was badly rumpled after a long day at the office; the pinstripes slimmed her never-going-to-be-hourglass figure and the navy blue went well with her olive skin tone and dark brown hair. Taller than Jo barefoot, the heels she wore made it more than noticeable. Her hair had started to escape from its bun and was wisping around her face and curling at the nape of her neck; her plump cheeks were flushed from the summer heat.

"Honey, I'm home," she announced, sounding frazzled yet cheerful.

Jo smiled at her. "How was the office, dear?"

"Hellish," she answered, plopping her folders on the counter-top. "You would not believe the people I have to deal with. I'll tell you about it over dinner."

She nodded. "Alright, it'll be ready in a mo. You should get changed."

"Right, I'll just slip into something more comfortable." She joked, waggling her eyebrows. Jo laughed and turned back to the stove.

Mary came back dressed in sweats and a vest just as Jo was putting the food on the table. "This smells fantastic. It's nice to come home to a hot meal."

"Well don't get used to it," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to keep my hands busy." After a beat of silence she continued, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice. "Anyway, you were going to tell me about your day. Just hold on a sec; I even have wine."

Her friend grinned, settling into a chair. "Wine and dinner? You should be sainted; I'll start the petition myself."

"I don't think that that sort of thing is done by petition," she answered dryly. "So, what happened? Did your new assistant start hitting on you again?"

She laughed. "No, I managed to shut that down pretty effectively the last time he tried it; although I think I might have preferred dealing with that. Instead I had to deal with seventy year old billionaire, his twenty-nine year old fiance, and his snobby children. He wanted me to write up a pre-nuptial agreement for them, but his obnoxious children kept butting in every two minutes because, apparently, a basic pre-nup wasn't good enough for dear old dad and his mounds of cash. I could barely get a word in edge wise."

"Oh the horror," Jo teased. "It must be awful for a barrister not to be the loudest person in the room."

"Shut up," Mary answered, scowling at the other woman. Jo shrugged sheepishly and the barrister continued her story. "Then I had to spend my lunch-hour at the shop because apparently my new artist didn't show up for her appointment and I had to cover for her. And by the time I got back to the office I was late for my meeting with the partners at my firm, so I had to pay penance by staying late. The Tube was late and over-crowded, as usual, and I still have tons of research I need to do for one of my cases."

Jo grimaced sympathetically. "Have you ever considered that only having one career might make your life a whole lot easier?"

"I have, actually," she replied, taking a drink of wine. "But what's the fun in that? Besides, what would I do with the shop? Dad would spin in his grave if I sold it, and I love tattooing. I just need to hire more reliable people."

"Yes, because artists are known for being terribly reliable and consistent," she muttered sarcastically.

Mary rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous of my ridiculously exciting life. Why don't you regale me with your fascinating tales of treating London's hypochondriacs." Jo laughed, ignoring a twinge at how similar to Sherlock that sounded, and launched into a story about an eighty year old couple who had been married for sixty years coming in looking for sex tips; it kept them both thoroughly entertained for the rest of the meal.

Later, Mary insisted on doing the dishes, despite Jo's best attempts to get her to let her help. In the end she was shooed away, dropping a brief kiss to Mary's lips in thanks. She made it all the way to the sitting room before realizing that she had just kissed her friend and that that wasn't a very platonic thing to do. She sat down on the couch and waited, not sure of what she was going to say when Mary came back out.

When Mary finally did come out of the kitchen she leaned against the door jam and crossed her arms. "So."

"Yep," Jo answered, not sure what else to say.

Mary sighed. "We've done it before; it doesn't have to change anything."

"True," she agreed. "But it's been a while; we're not kids any more."

She nodded. "Jo, you're my best friend, and a damn good shag; we know from experience that we can keep those two things separate. I'm not cut out for monogamy; you know that. All I'm offering is easy comfort and a good time. But only if you want it."

"It won't work if I stay here," Jo answered after a moment of consideration. "I'll have to find my own place."

Mary broke into a smile. "I'll help you look for one this weekend."

"So we're really going to do this?" She asked, smiling hesitantly herself.

She nodded. "If it's what you want."

There was another pause before Jo nodded as well. "It's what I want." Mary's smile morphed into a grin and she moved gracefully to the couch, cupping Jo's face and pulling her into a languid kiss.