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Armchair Best Friends

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Joan settles back into her armchair with a sigh, her still-too-hot cup of newly-delivered tea wedged in between her thighs.

"I don't even know what this is," she grumbles as she continues wrapping her blanket around herself.

"Really?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes, really," she states annoyedly. She was always missing something, wasn't she?

Sherlock slips into his second sweater with a shrug.

"And I suppose you do."

"Yes, of course," he doesn't hesitate to say. "Miss Moriarty is - well, is trying to - make advances upon you."

"Advances as in -"

"Romantic advances, yes."

"And where on Earth did you get that?"

Sherlock grins. There was at least a borderline run-on sentence coming, if not a proper paragraph.

"I'll remind you, Watson, I do have not only a view of the world and a processing capacity superior to those of the vast majority of people, but also prior experience with this matter."

"With Irene."

He tenses.

"Yes, that was the name by which I knew her."

"Sorry, sore spot."

"Inevitably, yes," he admits, in one of the most comforting tones he has. Oh, Sherlock.

"Well, it's not as though she's truly a "bad" person, though, which I know would be quite the deal breaker for you. She's simply...of the perception that she's less bound to moral standards than the average person."

"Sort of like you, except explicitly involved in criminal acts."

He nods.

"While you take issue with it, know that I am aware that you're drinking the tea she sent you."