Chapter 12

Author's Note: I've had two deaths in my immediate family in the past few months (father and father –in—law ), so I'm sorry it took me so long to put an ending to this story. I've lost track of responding to reviews during that time as well, but I've read and appreciated each one. Thanks to all my readers! Your reviews were well received at such a rough time.

"They're going to take her to the hospital for some tests and stitches." Gregson told Sherlock as the ambulance doors closed on Joan.

"No…no…I have to go with her." Sherlock started to go after the EMT's, but the detective stopped him.

"I told her we'd be on our way." Gregson said. "I'll drive you there. Hold on a second." He went to speak with Detective Bell, who was coordinating the retrieval of evidence in the hotel room.

"Ok. Get in." Once they were speeding into traffic, Gregson spoke again. "Now explain to me why the hell you ran off to do this on your own, Holmes."

Sherlock was staring out the window, as if he could will the car to end up at the hospital faster, just with the power of his mind. "There was nothing you could have done. I was moderately sure there would be no danger…to me. Obviously I misjudged." The words came out forced. "I did not…foresee that Joan…would be in danger." The last words were painful to speak; his jaw had to work several times to get all of them out.

"You couldn't have known." Gregson dismissed. "So. Tell me about the meeting."

Sherlock gave him a brief summary. As far as Gregson could tell, there was going to be no way to get this Moriarty guy on a charge. "How did you know where Joan would be?"

"The picture Moriarty showed me. It was his mistake. It was obviously a hotel room. There was a cast iron radiator, which dated the building. I also saw a part of the brightly painted mural on the wall of the Baker Building outside the window. The artist was profiled in the New York Times last month with a picture of his painting. I put those together and came up with the Ibis Hotel—the only hotel of the right age near the Baker Building."

"Damn. You're good." Gregson smiled and shook his head.

"Not good enough." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stared angrily out the window.

"Look. There's no way you could have known that this guy would send someone after Joan."

Sherlock didn't reply.

They arrived at the hospital. Gregson stopped the car at the entrance and turned to Sherlock before he got out of the car. "You can't blame yourself. We're going to do the best we can to get this guy."

Holmes gave him a black look, then stepped out of the car without a comment. Gregson sighed and went to park the car.

Her eyes were closed when he stepped in. He studied her without speaking, noticing the swollen look to the side of her face and the pale cast to her skin. He stood stiffly, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking for the right thing to do or say.

He was gazing downwards, looking at the floor and gathering his thoughts when she spoke. "Sherlock."

"Joan." He said simply, walking stiffly over to the bed. He met her eyes and she saw the telltale tightness of stress in his jawline. This kind of stress was not good for him. She knew he blamed himself for the kidnapping.

Joan grabbed his hand in hers and studied it a moment. His strong fingers clasped her hand back tightly. "You know…you're lucky I got kidnapped." She smiled at his surprised look. "Because I would have kicked your ass if you left me out of this thing."

"Well…I guess I was lucky, then." He examined the stitches in her scalp. "Looks painful."

"It's not bad. I'm a tough girl." She replied, sitting up and swinging her legs to dangle off the bed.

He nodded, but still said nothing. She reached up and touched his cheek, turning his gaze towards her and away from his feet. "Sherlock, stop it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't blame yourself. And anyway, the doctors said I'm fine."

"But you might not have been." He said slowly and deliberately, his eyes threatened tears that wouldn't fall. He couldn't help thinking of what could have happened. He faced her, but didn't meet her gaze; he focused his eyes somewhere beyond her.

"Yeah, and you might have gotten killed too. Life is full of risk." Her hand slipped from his cheek to take his grasp. "We both might have gotten killed a hundred times by now…by a hundred different criminals that we've brought to justice. You couldn't have foreseen any of this."

"I should have deduced it." He focused on her, then turned his head toward the nurse who knocked.

"No. You can't deduce everything." Joan replied.

"I can try." He told her.

"Miss Watson, they'll release you if someone's here to take you home." The nurse glanced to Sherlock and then back to her patient.

"Yes, we're ready to go home." She replied. When the nurse had left, she looked back into Sherlock's eyes. "Moriarty will be back, won't he?" She asked softly.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Watson." He knew now that the safest place for her would be right beside him. He'd allowed his love and fear to cause him to make an error in trying to protect her, but he wouldn't make that error a second time. There were myriad dangers in the world, but he would keep them all at bay. And when the time came, they would defeat Moriarty together. "Ready to go?"

The bright smile she provided him with said it all.

Author's note: Complete for now. There may be another story arc for this one in the future, however!