Joan Watson stood before the abandoned warehouse with a sense of bitter resentment. She couldn't have kept her hands from shaking if she tried.
She wondered before going in the moss-covered entrance door if she should tell Sherlock the indecent predicament she was about to step into. But Joan Watson didn't
have the heart to crash Sherlock Holmes' world. He had already made tremendous efforts to understand the logical intricacies of how the world practically works, she
could just about imagine how his head would explode once he knew about the real Jamie Moriarty.
He once described her as a master spider seamstress who weaves about devious webs to ensnare victims worldwide, the truth, as it is, was much more vile. The mere idea
of having a woman to lead the greatest evil on earth was shocking enough to take. Joan would die first before letting Sherlock take the slightest glimpse of her world.
Her world. The one she was born into and the one she desperately tried to escape by becoming a surgical doctor in which every nuance had rules and sense.
The eerie rusting house pulsated with sickness beckoning Joan to take haste and step inside.
"Took you long enough" Jamie said. At a glance, it looked about like a drugger's den but at a more curious glance it looked completely like
Moriarty. Dark, tormented, and... sick.
In a doctor-like manner she said as she took a step beside her bed, "How are we feeling today"
She stretched an arm across a pillow, turning the side of her mouth to a cruel smirk, "Exquisitely painful, in the best of ways"