So I've had this idea since my cheeky allusion to Dylan in A Study in Striptease. I've always meant to write it but never truly had the inspiration to but now I've read probably 50 joanlock fics in one week and there's simply not enough for my taste. I also binged both of the Charlie's Angels movies and I finally struck an idea so I hope you enjoy. I intend for this to become a multiple chapter fic so please leave a comment if you like it.

A sharp, frantic knock echoing through the Brownstone snapped Sherlock out of his latest experiment. He removes the paint brush from Clyde's back discarding the thing next to the various jars. It was an ongoing theory of his whether or not he could have a tortoise paint and push it off as "art". A theory he developed after a rather eventful galavant to a local art museum with Watson. Needless to say the night ended in bitten cheeks and clipped conversations from both parties.

As he made his way he made half the mind to grab his singlestick. The knock didn't sound particularly aggressive. To be fair if they were anyone posing an immediate danger they wouldn't knock. He settles for the abandoned ice pick lying idle from a different failed experiment earlier in the week. He slides the metal smoothly up the sleeve of his jacket before swinging the door open.

"Can I help you?" He asks. The woman standing in the door is of short stature, just barely coming to his chin even in her boots. Her red hair is disheveled and the bright red lipstick drastically clashes with her rumpled appearance. Definitely in distress but not clearly safe. He discards the ice pick into his back pocket just in case. He learned long ago not to misjudge a woman, especially by height alone. He had to get his nose reset by Watson twice that week.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" Her voice quivers with the tone. Not confident in her assumptions.

"Yes. You are?"

She seems to hesitate for a minute before answering, as if debating her response, "Dylan Saunders." She finally answers. "I'm looking for Alex Munday."

"I'm not familiar with the name. I apologize you must be looking at the wrong place." Dylan stops his the door before it closes.

"No I talked to Agent Quinn. You said you're Sherlock Holmes. You attended the bar Down the Rabbit Hole two years ago on a case."

"She knows what she's doing." Recognition flashes in his eyes for a brief second and he almost misses it as she continues.

"He told me to get with the NYPD and I did," She digs something out of her pocket before holding it out to him. It's a rather old picture, the coloring has gone slightly yellow. "Detective Bell pointed me here."

Sherlock takes the photo from her fingers analyzing it. Upon first observation he can tell it's three women holding burgers to their mouths caught in the moment. He recognizes the red headed woman, Dylan first. Next the blonde in the middle with her other fist to the sky, seemingly the only one noticing the camera poised on the three. But on the far left really sends his eyebrows to his now growing back hairline. A familiar looking woman sits with a small smile on her face gazing at the other two… Joan.

"Detective Bell must be mistaken. I don't recognize this Alex woman you're looking for. Only Watson."

"Watson?" The woman asks.

"Joan Watson, yes." He holds back the photo to her, his finger hovering above Joan's face. "Did you work together at the hospital?"

"Hospit… No!" Dylan is visibly frazzled now. "That's Alex!"

"Watson!" He shouts visibly startling the woman. "Come in. She'll be down shortly."

Dylan hesitates before stepping inside. She seemed to analyze his every move as he guided her into the living room. She sits first, eyes falling on the painting lying in the floor. "You paint?"

"No, Clyde does." He says nodding towards the tortoise who was slowly making his wake across the floor to their new visitor.

"May I?" Dylan asks, motioning towards Clyde. He nods giving the right away. Carefully the woman lifts him into her lap allowing him to crawl with free range. She softly strokes his shell and it seems to ease her anxiety a little.

"Sherlock?" His head snaps up with the footsteps that pad down the stairs. Joan's glasses are still perched on the edge of her nose, obviously had been reading before his interruption. She's wrapped in her comfy red cardigan and a pair of pajama shorts. Likely had been lounging all day since there were no cases reported as of yet. He'd even let her sleep in this morning. "Did Gregson call?"

"Alex." Dylan smiles discarding Clyde on the couch.

"Dylan…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Joan steps into the living room slowly allowing herself the time to take in the scene in front of her. Dylan was walking towards her, arms extended in a hug. She looked distressed but relatively unchanged despite five or six years without seeing each other. She spies Sherlock next, perched on the armchair with his eyes trained on the two of them. The look in his eyes sends chills down her spine. It's that look she'd seen many times but rarely had been on the receiving end of. Utter distrust and betrayal echo in his gaze shattering her heart yet captivating her at the same time. It's as if he's realizing how little he knows of her past all over again.

"Alex." Dylan laughs, tearing now gathering in her gaze as she wraps her arms around her. Joan returns the fierce hug without hesitation. She'd regretted losing contact with them both but life had taken over. They'd all gone their separate ways years ago. Just barely a few months before she'd met Sherlock. They came to a mutual agreement that they didn't want to be apart of the agency without one another. Dylan got a gig with the CIA, Natalie was pregnant with her first child, and it was just shortly after the accident for herself. They all went their separate ways.

"Where's Nat?" Joan asks pulling away. "Is she here?"

"No. She's home with Pete." Dylan says shaking her head. "But that's why I'm here."

"'Cause of Nat? Is she okay?" Panic edges into her voice. She'd only said she was home. "Is Pete okay?"

"Someone took Charlie."

Joan's heart quickly falls to her stomach. "Nat's Charlie?" Bile builds in the back of her throat. She hadn't seen the little boy since she'd held him for the first time. He'd been aptly named due to the man that had sent them on the mission where Natalie had met Pete. It wasn't hard for them to agree. "Who would take him?"

Dylan now passes her the phone with an image of a room pulled up. It looked nearly the same as any other six year old boy's room. Dark blue, a Spiderman poster on the wall, toys lying askew all about the floor. However one thing was glaringly off.

You did this Angels.

The bright red spray paint stains the walls an ugly mix. She spies the signs of struggle now. A clear path from where someone had been dragged or pulled, books knocked from the futile fight, a broken photo not far from the window.

"Oh my God." Joan whispers.

"We need to go." Dylan says. "It's time the Angels reform."

"Will someone kindly explain what's going on!" Sherlock shouts bringing attention to himself. His eyes are red rimmed in his aggravation. "Watson?" He asks. "Or should I call you Alex?" The name is spit with a venom she'd only heard him direct at two people: Mycroft and his father. Her heart feels a new sort of damage when it's twisted her way. A damage beyond shattering.

"You never told him did you?" Dylan asks.

"Sherlock I can explain." Joan speaks calmly taking a step towards him. He flinches away from her as if she's burned him.

"How much of it was a lie?" She wants to cry at the utter betrayal in his tone. He's just as heartbroken as she. "When were you going to tell me?"

"My name is Joan Watson." She utters as she did a million times before. "But I wasn't a doctor." He turns his back to her now. She's not sure if he's hiding his tears or hiding from hers. "I graduated at the top of my class in medical school but at the same time I worked for a man named Charlie. I was a spy by the name of Alex Munday."

"Dear Christ."

"Please Sherlock you have to believe me." Joan pleads now. "I know it sounds ridiculous. Dylan and Natalie were my teammates. You claim you're only unable to read two people to detect lies. Ask Dylan."

He spins around now, as hard faced and shut off as she'd met him. "Why? Why not tell me?"

"I-"

"Alex we need to go." Dylan speaks up now. "Nat needs us and I've got a pilot already on wait."

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"No you don't get to leave in the middle of this." He argues.

"Her son is missing Sherlock! I'm partially at fault for this I need to go help." She snaps at him. It's the first time she truly has in years and it only amplifies the hurt that his eyes betray lying beneath the stone persona.

"Then I'm coming." He asserts.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You can't." She begins.

"Don't be absurd. A child is missing and we need all of the deduction skills we can get our hands on. I'll call on Mrs. Hudson to care for Clyde while we're gone." She parts her lips to argue but she realizes it's pretty pointless to do so.

"Let's go."