Joan likes being on the phone with him as he falls asleep, but she totally understands his desire to train himself to fall asleep without it. Her return text lets him know that she's there if he needs her. She thinks about going back to her work, but decides instead to text Marcus and ask if he's free to get a drink with her. They meet in a bar frequented by cops and share a couple beers. Joan talks a little about Ted, how amazing he is and how much she misses him. Marcus is sympathetic, having lost relationships himself due to the job. They talk about work, about recent cases, about Sherlock. He walks her home.
The next morning Joan wakes up to a text from Sherlock.
Perry Perkins. Not an alias.
Well that answers her first question.
She texts Ted.
We have a name.
She throws herself into research, looking for mentions of the man in anything she can get her hands on, and turning to Everyone for help, promising them tickets to the next Richmond game in exchange.
It's only an hour before Everyone gets back to her with Perry's bank records, which showed a recent deposit of 25 thousand pounds from a Swiss bank account. The fact that he was paid so much only bolsters the Moriarty theory.
Joan contacts Sherlock, and the two of them do everything in their power to figure out who made that transfer. They fail.
By the evening Joan is at her wit's end. She hasn't talked to Ted since that text, too busy and too focused. When Sherlock tells her that their last resource fell through, Joan makes a decision.
The coffee shop is small and cozy, the sort of place that sells art and indie music CDs. Someone might notice that all of the employees are women.
"May I help you?" the barista, a woman with blue hair and a nose ring, says as Joan steps up to the counter.
"You know who I am," Joan says, a statement and not a question.
The barista stares at her impassively. Her non-answer is answer enough.
"I have a message for your boss," Joan says. "Tell her that if she ever hurts Ted Lasso again, I will not rest until I have burned her entire empire to the ground."
"One soy milk latte coming up," the woman says, ringing it up.
Joan pays for the same drink that killed Andrew and almost killed her, then leaves. She goes home and spends hours staring at the crazy wall, thinking about the Napoleon of Crime. She falls asleep on the couch.
She wakes to the ring of the doorbell. When she goes to the door she sees that an envelope has been slipped under the door. She looks outside. Whoever left the envelope is gone.
Joan picks up the envelope and opens it. It's a card. On the front is a picture of a wistful-looking greyhound.
She opens the card. "Thinking of you" is printed on the inside, then below that is handwriting Joan recognizes as Moriarty's.
My dearest Watson,
I am both flattered and wounded by your message. Flattered that you would think of me, wounded that you would think I would hurt you. I suppose I must make myself clear. I have no intention to remove you from the board. You amuse me. You are also important to Sherlock. Make no mistake, my dear; I could have had your lover taken and tortured, but it would not be sporting.
You may be assured, therefore, that you and yours are protected. Pursuant of this, and in a gesture of goodwill, I have handled your problem. I hope you will understand I cannot go to the source. Please trust, however, that no one will target your dear gaffer again.
Give my regards to Sherlock.
Ever yours, Jamie Moriarty
"Shit," Joan swears, and immediately calls Sherlock. She knows exactly what Moriarty means.
In London, Ted will find a similar envelope slipped under his door. When he opens it he finds a note and a photograph.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-07-13 09:47 pm (UTC)The next morning Joan wakes up to a text from Sherlock.
Perry Perkins. Not an alias.
Well that answers her first question.
She texts Ted.
We have a name.
She throws herself into research, looking for mentions of the man in anything she can get her hands on, and turning to Everyone for help, promising them tickets to the next Richmond game in exchange.
It's only an hour before Everyone gets back to her with Perry's bank records, which showed a recent deposit of 25 thousand pounds from a Swiss bank account. The fact that he was paid so much only bolsters the Moriarty theory.
Joan contacts Sherlock, and the two of them do everything in their power to figure out who made that transfer. They fail.
By the evening Joan is at her wit's end. She hasn't talked to Ted since that text, too busy and too focused. When Sherlock tells her that their last resource fell through, Joan makes a decision.
The coffee shop is small and cozy, the sort of place that sells art and indie music CDs. Someone might notice that all of the employees are women.
"May I help you?" the barista, a woman with blue hair and a nose ring, says as Joan steps up to the counter.
"You know who I am," Joan says, a statement and not a question.
The barista stares at her impassively. Her non-answer is answer enough.
"I have a message for your boss," Joan says. "Tell her that if she ever hurts Ted Lasso again, I will not rest until I have burned her entire empire to the ground."
"One soy milk latte coming up," the woman says, ringing it up.
Joan pays for the same drink that killed Andrew and almost killed her, then leaves. She goes home and spends hours staring at the crazy wall, thinking about the Napoleon of Crime. She falls asleep on the couch.
She wakes to the ring of the doorbell. When she goes to the door she sees that an envelope has been slipped under the door. She looks outside. Whoever left the envelope is gone.
Joan picks up the envelope and opens it. It's a card. On the front is a picture of a wistful-looking greyhound.
She opens the card. "Thinking of you" is printed on the inside, then below that is handwriting Joan recognizes as Moriarty's.
My dearest Watson,
I am both flattered and wounded by your message. Flattered that you would think of me, wounded that you would think I would hurt you. I suppose I must make myself clear. I have no intention to remove you from the board. You amuse me. You are also important to Sherlock. Make no mistake, my dear; I could have had your lover taken and tortured, but it would not be sporting.
You may be assured, therefore, that you and yours are protected. Pursuant of this, and in a gesture of goodwill, I have handled your problem. I hope you will understand I cannot go to the source. Please trust, however, that no one will target your dear gaffer again.
Give my regards to Sherlock.
Ever yours,
Jamie Moriarty
"Shit," Joan swears, and immediately calls Sherlock. She knows exactly what Moriarty means.
In London, Ted will find a similar envelope slipped under his door. When he opens it he finds a note and a photograph.
The note reads:
With Moriarty's regards.
And the photo is of Rupert Mannion.