Just a quick little twoshot drabble thing I thought up after some events recently :) I haven't written any Joanlock in a while, so ta-dah!
This is my 25th story (: Thanks for all the continued support to get here! I couldn't have done it without you guys!
Elementary © CBS
"Watson! Let's go!" Sherlock yelled up the stairs. After much thumping and swearing, Joan came dashing down the stairs in a t-shirt and some jeans.
But not just any jeans.
Those jeans.
"You're wearing jeans? Outside this building? Good lord Watson, I never thought you'd realize that there's no need to dress so formally every time you step foot outside this brownstone," he explained as she passed him by.
"Well maybe if someone did the laundry like they were asked to several times, I wouldn't have to look like this on your stupid errands," she snapped back. Sherlock gave a frustrated sigh. Of course he didn't do the bloody laundry for a reason.
"You know my agreement Watson. I am to clean out the fridge once a month. That's my job, and I am always so spot on with it." She rolled her eyes and walked out the door as he watched her walk in those jeans.
They were simple jeans, a lighter wash and pockets on both the front and the back. They flourished out at the bottom, giving her almost a bellbottom jean look. Oh but they hugged her in all the right ways. They weren't skin tight, but they defined her hourglass figure quite beautifully, framing her delicate hips perfectly. They made her ass look amazing, and they showed the strength of her legs while keeping her steps graceful and inviting. He took in every curve, every detail, of those jeans.
Arm in arm, they walked downtown. She took pride in every step she walked. Her coat didn't cover the butt of her jeans; it in fact stopped right at the waistband of them. It revealed to him her two simple back pockets, both completely empty save for some cash. He made a mental note to try and find a reason to have his hands in her pockets later.
They continued on shopping for a few more hours. Sherlock always made sure that their list consisted of things either adorning the very top shelf or one on the bottom. He would watch her bend in those jeans or reach up and stretch them out. He just wanted to hook his fingers in her belt loops and hold her hostage by it. He suspected that she was clueless of his observations, since she was too distracted with their so-called 'errands' to really notice.
They chose to take a cab home instead of walk. Sherlock watched her bend again and get into the cab. The way her jeans almost became part of her was most fascinating. They moved with her, bending as she pleased and fitting her figure perfectly. He got in after her and sat down, giving the driver an address. Without delay, they were off and home in no time. Sherlock grabbed some of the bags and got out, turning and offering her a helping hand. She took it with gratitude. She stopped for a minute. Her hands were now full of bags and her cash wasn't in any of those bags.
It was in her back pocket.
Sherlock smirked and walked over.
"Let me give you a hand there," he said, and fished into her back pocket of her jeans. She didn't say anything; she just waited patiently until he found the cash. He paid the cabbie and closed the door. They walked up the brownstone steps and into their small home.
"Sherlock I need you to do the laundry," Joan said before hanging her coat. He didn't reply at first. "Sherlock. Laundry. Now." And with that she walked off into the living room to put her bags down.
He watched her go in her jeans and smirked. He could make time for one load of laundry: the denim load.
