Holmes sat across from Captain Gregson's Great Aunt Rose who, perched on the edge of the sofa, was well into minute twenty-one of her monologue about the virtues of her puppy, Queegie. Sherlock agreed to meet with her out of respect for the Captain. Dognappings were not a priority for him, nor for the Captain, who had obviously pawned her off on Holmes. Joan, sitting beside Great Aunt Rose, could see Sherlock was phasing into his "meeting" look: physically there but mentally writing a monograph, probably on the use of explosive beeswax. Watson put down her mug, and tried to break the trance by offering Great Aunt Rose another cupcake. The woman accepted the gooey treat and continued her testimonial on what a good boy Queegie was, without missing a beat.

"Well, I tried," thought Joan as she helped herself to a cupcake. Joan, who had also tuned out the chattering of the older woman, became aware that Sherlock's gaze had shifted to her.

He flashed his eyes wide at her and stared a fraction of a second too long at her breasts.

Watson ignored him. Sherlock again caught her eye, tilted his head a little and slowly looked down at her breasts.

Joan shot him a look that implied "Sherlock, no. Not appropriate. Not now!"

His eyes were her weakness. Blue and grey and so open to her she sometimes felt they let her walk into his soul. Joan snapped back into the present. Sherlock still watched her and she felt the slightest of blushes rising. Of course, he sensed her embarrassment and encouraged by it, again, let his eyes roam down Watson's torso.

Joan narrowed her eyes, set her mouth in a thin line and ever so slightly shook her head at him hoping he would realize this was not the time for this sort of behavior.

Great Aunt Rose continued on about her beloved companion, unaware of the silent conversation being had around her.

Sherlock sat up a little and one more time looked at Watson, first straight in the eyes and then he shifted his gaze down to her right breast and then intently back at her.

"My god," Joan thinks, "what an oaf." It then dawned on her. She looked down at herself. A big glob of white frosting dangled from her sweater. Discreetly, she took her napkin and cleaned herself up while Sherlock mockingly rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention back to their visitor, as he stifled a yawn.