[Sherlock is very naked, and Joan is doing her best to keep her eyes averted. It's clinical, she tells herself. Totally clinical. Besides, the few times that she looks back, she sees how thin he is. How bruised. How scarred.
He tells her about the wallet, and she sighs. Of course. She unties the bag, fishes the wallet out, puts it on the dresser, then goes back into the bathroom to wash her hands.]
Ack, sorry! Forgot it was my tag!
He tells her about the wallet, and she sighs. Of course. She unties the bag, fishes the wallet out, puts it on the dresser, then goes back into the bathroom to wash her hands.]
So, that was you. Sherinford Jones.
[The name had crossed her radar once or twice.]