They both sat in Gregson's office as they questioned Oscar about the drug dealer, they hadn't dicho a word to each other since leaving the brownstone. Sherlock could tell when she was annoyed with him, he had seen that look many times. He moved closer to her and buried his face in her hair.
'Joan, please, talk to me.' He kissed her shoulder. 'I'm sorry.'
She sighed.
'I know tu are, but you've been keeping más secrets from me first it was Irene, then your brother now this. How many más can i expect?'
'No more.'
'You sure about that.' He placed his forehead on her shoulder, not wanting to look in...

“Stay,” he said.
That was the segundo time Joan Watson’s world had stopped in her whole life. She was about to leave Sherlock and mover on to another client, and she had been in that situation thousands of times- the fact of leave a client and then go to another was common for her, it was a routine. But for some strange reason, she couldn’t leave Sherlock so easily. She had become a way attached to him, they were friends? Joan wondered, but then she remembered that “Sherlock Holmes doesn’t have any friends.” She couldn’t help herself and imagined how a día without Sherlock could...