A/N: I wasn't going to post this yet but someone asked me to so here it is! Hope you like it.

Don't forget to review

Spoilers: episode 1x15

Fran

The man greeted with a soft 'hello', standing there before her as if he belonged there. Joan watched him in shock, merely because she had no idea who the man was and second because he had just walked out of the shower, the towel hanging around his shoulders instead of covering his naked body.

After he had been introduced by Sherlock, first she learned his name was Rhys, then she had shockingly find out he was not only a 'friend' but also Sherlock's former drug dealer.

"As you may have guessed," Sherlock spoke while preparing a tea his friend had asked him. Joan tried as hard not to be worried by the presence in their house but it was becoming harder each minute, "last time Rhys was here he stayed in your old room."

"This was when you were still using." she stated.

"Two months after I got to New York, before I was carted off to rehab."

"Let's talk about this." Joan tells him and even though she cannot see his face she know he's uncomfortable.

"What's to talk about?" Sherlock asks her, still not meeting her gaze. "An old friend's daughter is in trouble."

"He's not just an old friend."

"He's the man who used to supply me with narcotics, I'm well aware." he told her. "And it doesn't make his daughter less kidnapped. And it's worth noting. He's an ex dealer as I am an ex junkie."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm not bouncing with joy at his presence." Joan responded, letting her anger slip just a little. Sherlock watched her from his spot near the kitchen sink, how she abruptly sat on the chair and poured herself tea. "Nor the fact that he showed up here unannounced."

"You think he might be some sort of trigger?"

"On a giant gun filled with drugs pointed at you, yes."

"I appreciate your opinion and your concern, my dearest Watson, but as I stated in our previous conversations, I have no energy and no desire to consume again. And I thought you knew the reason why." he told her, glancing back at her briefly. She couldn't help but blush at his words, obviously knowing he was talking about her and their relationship.

"Not interrupting, am I?" Rhys asked, walking into the kitchen. "Sorry again about upstairs. Should've figured you'd have a bird over."

"I'm not a bird," Joan responded, "I live here."

"I'm entirely sober now, Rhys." Sherlock told him. "Miss Watson is my companion, she keeps me from resuming to my old habits. Also my roommate slash girlfriend."

"Oh, I didn't know." Rhys spoke, shooting glances from Joan to Sherlock.

"It took me by surprise as well, but you know, life takes unexpected turns, love is one of them." he glanced at Joan as he spoke, smiling briefly.

Joan blushed for the second time in less than ten minutes.

.

.

.

All she could feel were Rhys' hands pushing her away from the crowd, all she could see was Sherlock being thrown against a wall, while a man punched him repeatedly on his abdomen. She tried to interfere, but Rhys' hands were strong and he constantly whispered her to 'stay out of it'.

She started panicking when Sherlock hit the floor with a loud thud.

She ran, pushing the man holding her aside, and fell on her knees next to Sherlock.

"You okay?" She asked him, though she thought it was completely unnecessary by the way he was clenching his stomach and how a cut was quite visible on his cheek. "I'm gonna take you home, alright?"

He got up slowly and she tried to help as much as she could. People around her danced as if nothing ever happened.

.

.

.

"What time did you get up?" Joan asked him, entering the kitchen. Sherlock was sitting on the kitchen table, scrolling on Emily's phone when she walked in. He looked uncomfortable and angry.

"Early." he answered. "I didn't want to wake you up and I couldn't sleep."

"What are you reading?"

"Emily's twitter feed." he responded, rubbing his face with his one free hand. "Excruciating medium. Demonstrates that brevity does not protect against dullness."

"Alright then, while you're on, that I'm going to put some antiseptic on that wound, okay?"

"Sure, if you feel the need to do so…"

She walked out, climbing the stairs quickly. Knocking on the door she heard Rhys muffled answer and strange noise coming from the inside. The door opened quickly, that's when the odd noises made sense, as well as the smell.

"You're kidding me, right?" she asked him. The half-opened window held a large pipe, she could clearly identify it as one being used by smokers. "You're in the home of a recovering addict."

"I opened the window."

"You don't do drugs here."

"That's not drugs, it's just a little bit of wacky backy."

"I'm gonna do you the favor of believing you're just an idiot." Joan snapped.

"Okay, thank you." Rhys answered, which seemed to piss her off even more.

"Hey, I'm not finished yet." Joan told him harshly. "As much as I want you to get your daughter back, I need you to understand, Sherlock is my number one priority. You will not do drugs, nor talk about them. If I see you putting his health in danger in any way possible, I will personally call the police and accuse you of being a drug dealer and a thief. Do you understand that?"

"Yes." the man murmured.

"Now give me the drugs."

The man protested but reluctantly handed her the package with drugs in it. She quickly threw them into the toilet and flushed, Rhys stormed out as soon as the drugs were gone.

.

.

.

"What about you? How are you doing?" Joan asked Sherlock. He was standing next to her, looking straight into the map glued to the wall, as soon as she asked him he turned his head towards.

"If you're asking if I'm a verge of a relapse the answer us a definitive 'no'."

"Are you certain?" She asked again. "Rhys being here could bring memories back. Sometimes it's hard to control those urges."

"Watson, have I mentioned that I do possess a powerful reason not to consume again?" he asked her. She nodded slowly. "Well, I think it's time for you to believe that reason is real and it's standing right here with me."

"Alright. Sorry I asked again…" She told him, standing up from her sit slowly.

Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, she didn't fight it, her body moving at its own accord. Then he kissed her, leisurely, taking his time to taste her. She moaned against his lips, for a moment forgetting they were not alone anymore.

.

.

.

She heard yelling coming from the parlor. She ran downstairs, surprised to find Rhys being pushed by Sherlock against the couch. He pulled away, nervous, as she showed up at the scene.

"I…I need some time Watson. I'll be in touch." Sherlock told her, walking pass her, grabbing his jacket and walking out off the house.

She knew something at gone completely wrong by the look on Rhys' face and by the way Sherlock hadn't looked at her not even for a second.

"Why is he so upset? What did you say to him?" she asked Rhys, to which he ignored her immediately.

"The truth," he told her, before walking out of the parlor quickly.

.

.

Three hours later she paced, and paced and paced, holding her phone in her hand. She dialed his number again, still getting no answer. She was on a verge of having a break down and calling the police.

"Sherlock, its Joan," she spoke into the phone again, "please call me when you get this message…please, baby, I'm worried about you, okay? Please call me."

She hang up, wiping the tears now streaming down her pale cheeks.

.

.

.

The kitchen door opened, Sherlock walking quickly inside where Rhys sat. Joan ran towards him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He held her, too, his arms immediately settling around her waist, pulling her closer to his cold body. He breathed her scent.

"Where have you been?" she asked him, pulling away slowly, but still remaining close.

"Around." he told her. "Good news, Rhys." he spoke to his friend "You will be reunited with Emily within the hour."

"What, you found her?" Rhys asked him.

"I telephoned the kidnapper. I told him you would pay the ransom."

"But you know I don't have the money." Rhys protested

"I have the money," Sherlock interrupted "or at least my father does. I reached out to him. He agreed to lend me 2.2 million, on condition that I perform various errands for him in the near future."

"I don't know what to say, man." Rhys spoke, smiling with relief.

"We'll meet Emily's kidnapper in an hour. I transfer the money electronically, he will release her." Sherlock explained. "Watson, my dear, would you be so kind as to fetch my tablet for me?"

"Sure." she responded, walking quickly out of the room.

Sherlock turned to his friend, seeing as they were now alone.

"There's something that you need to understand." Sherlock spoke. "I would have found Emily, with a little more time, I had no doubt. But it occurred to me that a little more time with you here would jeopardize not only my sobriety but also my relationship with Joan, giving she trusts me. After this day, you are never to darken my doorway again. Our friendship has run its course, have I made myself clear?"

The man nodded in response and Sherlock walked away as soon as he understood his request.

.

.

.

He pushed the door open when he saw cops walking in and out, his heart raising as he saw the ambulance drag his friend away. He found calm when he saw Joan in the middle of the room, running towards him the minute they found each other.

"I'm so glad you're okay." he whispered in her ear, sighing with relief.

"I'm fine." she told him, closing his eyes briefly as he held her. "They took Rhys to the hospital and the shooter to the station."

He pulled away, looking at her face, mentally searching for any scratches or bruises, relieved he found none.

"We need to go to the hospital and check on Rhys." she told him.

"No, I'll go. You stay here and get some rest".

"I want to go…"

"Joan." he spoke, she stopped complaining when he mentioned her name. "It's been a long excruciating day, stay here and sleep. I promise to call you when I've checked on Rhys and Emily."

"Oh okay." she responded, suddenly noticing how tired she was.

He kissed her, long and slow, tasting her lips, before parting away.

.

.

.

"How long have I been sleep for?" She asked him, approaching as he sat behind his desk, trying to glue together his long destroyed friend 'Angus'.

"Just over six hours." he told her. She groaned, climbing on top of his desk. He stared at her, as she stretched leisurely, and smiled. "You did a remarkable thing today, Watson."

"I just stopped the bleeding till the paramedics got there."

"After you incapacitated a armed gunman."

"Angus helped."

"Yeah…" he groaned, looking at his destroyed friend. "He offered me cocaine last night…" he told her. She snapped her head towards him, frowning. "That's why I threw him into the chair."

"But you didn't use it." she told him. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." he whispers. "Not now, not today."

He gets up, pushing his chair slowly, and walks towards where she's sitting. She immediately parts her legs to give his body room, he settles between them, his hands resting on her hips.

"You have no idea how proud am I of you." she told him, her hands travelling over his chest, coming to rest around his neck. "Of everything you've done. I know it must have been hard having Rhys around, testing your sobriety and your will power and I'm so glad this turned out well. I mean, as well as it can be expected."

"I told you Watson, I now have a reason to stay sober." he whispered. "And if I haven't been clear enough, that reason is you. It's us. This, what we have, I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you, you mean too much to me."

"I love you." she told him. He smiled widely.

"I love you, too, more than I can possibly explain."

"Then show me." she whispered seductively. Sherlock's smile grew wider, and in a quick motion he lifted her from the desk, into his arms and made his way towards his room, closing the door with a loud thud.

THE END