Elementary Discovery

by phaedraphelan

This piece explores the relationship when Sherlock and Joan come to terms with their true feelings for each other. Neither of them had any idea of how deep these feelings would go.

Discovery

By phaedraphelan

Summary:

Things come to their inevitable conclusion in Sherlock and Joan's lives and it is so much more than they could have ever possibly anticipated. This is one of the ways things could have come to a head in their relationship.

Disclaimer: This "Elementary" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Elementary," the actors, their agents, the producers, the CBS Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

The night when he had told Joan that he had named the new species of bee Euglassia Watsonia they both had realized how very close they had become. Without Irene in the mix they were suddenly face to face with where their feelings were going to lead them.

After revealing to her his decision to name his bee species after her and seeing her reaction to that, it had been all that he could do to resist taking her into his arms at that moment on the roof of the brownstone with the sun setting in the distance. Only his fear of being wrong again after having been so deceived by Irene kept Sherlock from taking her into his arms and declaring his love for her. As it was, he had taken her hand in his and stroked each of her fingers and then kissed her hand tenderly. Joan simply cupped her other hand around his cheek as tears silently brimmed in his eyes.

"When I said that Irene was the most outstanding of her gender, that was a serious error in judgment on my part and I beg you to forgive me for those foolish words. I know now who the most outstanding of your gender resembles, and it most certainly is not the likes of Irene Adler."

"I forgive you, Sherlock. I forgave you," Joan said softly.

"I think perhaps we should go downstairs, Miss Watson. I think that I am very close to overstepping boundaries here. Please, will you make us some tea? My nerves are still somewhat rattled by recent events."

Joan flushed as they released each others hands and backed away from each other with difficulty. She went down to the kitchen and proceeded to make tea and toast for the two of them and he sat on the sofa and just stared at her as she moved about the kitchen. It fascinated him to watch her graceful movements about the brownstone. It was the sound of her footsteps that he now listened for each morning that assured him that his life was still in order, that he was not alone, that he would see her face soon and hear the unique timbre of her voice that made his heartbeat surge into another gear against his will.

Joan brought the tea and toast to him. She never minded serving his needs this way. To her it had seemed logical for some reason from the beginning of their relationship. Now, as she knelt before him in the traditional Asian manner for the first time and he received the tea from both her hands to his, it had a particular significance to both of them. He could have never imagined Irene serving him this way even in the most heated moments of their liaison. As the ebony curtain of Joan's hair fell forward when she presented him with his tea, his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly he appreciated the depth of the tea ceremony in Asian culture, the implied meaning when a woman kneels to offer a cup of tea held in both her hands to someone that she cares for deeply.

Joan sat on the floor beside the sofa, her shoulder just barely touching his knee as she drank her tea and Sherlock reached forward to gently touch her shimmering hair letting its raven strands slip through his fingers as they sat there quietly communing together. Sherlock finally dropped off to sleep and when he awakened it was nearly midnight and Joan had covered him with his favorite blanket and gone on to bed.

With this change in their circumstances after Irene was revealed as Moriarty that released him from his attachment to her, Sherlock found his distraction with Joan took on a powerful sexual aspect. Whereas he had always been aware of her femininity, curious about her changes of temperament when she was menstruating, interested in calculating her cycle, measuring her need for companionship of a sexual nature (he did not know if she was taking the pill, but he thought perhaps she was) now he found himself watching her every move about the brownstone, especially when she marched away from him that way that she did straight as a ramrod but with her hips switching from side to side. When her scent assaulted him sometimes unexpectedly as he passed by her bedroom or they passed each other on the stairs or when she came in sweating and flushed from a jog with the heat of her body radiating her scent, he felt powerless to keep his member from twitching and his pulse from accelerating. His desire for her suddenly seized him without warning when he came close to her at times like these and completely turned his world upside down in a most pleasurable way.

Along with this he seemed to have lost that horrible compulsion to take his own life which had held him captive for so long. He was as passionate as ever but he found he had no desire to calm these urges by making one of his regular appointments with prostitutes. That kind of sex had lost its fascination. Actually he had used it only to clear his mind so that he could focus on his cases without distraction, with better control of his sex drive. Since his addiction, the intensity of his responses had not been the same. The most intense and exhilarating pleasure had seemed to elude him, even in the moments of climax. And yet paradoxically the slightest stimulation took him over the edge. He had lost his ability to last and he feared that it was never going to return . . . and he feared that in spite of his intense attraction to Joan, he might disappoint her. But when his thoughts strayed to Joan, he knew that he wanted Joan on every level. He wanted her intellectually, emotionally, and sexually all at the same time and this want would not go away.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a sound from their tortoise Clyde who was lumbering across the floor and had stopped for a moment when he came across Sherlock's stray Croc shoe. He began to make a grunting sound and, dragging his rear a bit, began to rub up against it. Just at that moment Joan came into the kitchen and saw Sherlock staring at Clyde.

"What's going on with the tortoise?"

"I think his sex drive is in gear, Watson."

They both got down on their knees and saw Clyde's bright purple penis hanging from his carapace and he was emitting a white milky liquid.

"Sherlock, his penis! Look at his huge dickey bird! He's ejaculating. He needs a mate! What are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock looked up at her and smiled at the term she used for the tortoise's penis.

"Joan, you are a surgeon. I never expected to hear such a euphemism for the male member from you!"

"Well, that's what we called it when I was in high school. It just came out," she said flushing deeply.

"I am not a veterinarian, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at her and answered her most emphatically.

"His dickey bird? I can't help myself. What do you expect me to do about Clyde's dickey bird?"

Joan sat back and stared at him and Sherlock's eyes met hers.w

"You make me think about having sex, Miss Watson . . . with you . . . all the time. For the last several nights I have lain in my bed in the same state as Clyde here. What can I do about that?" he spoke quietly as he observed Clyde's predicament before he turned his attention to the tortoise again. "Clyde, old boy, we need to give you a bit of privacy."

Sherlock picked Clyde up and went to get a paper towel to clean up his emission as Joan sat stunned on the floor. Clyde's purple penis was still hanging outside of his shell.

"I think his . . . his . . . his equipment is stuck," Joan said finally. He's had his 'come' . . . his seminal emission already And his . . . it should have retracted. The . . . the tortoise care book says you should put him in a shallow dish of warm water . . . so that he can . . . relax."

"Do you really think tortoises 'come', Watson?"

"I told you that I am not a veterinarian. I simply am deducing."

"And so you are."

He patted Clyde's shell and put him in his terrarium to finish his private business. Then he sat down to finish his coffee.

Joan got up and got her coffee and sat down at the table near him. She was rattled and blushing after seeing how seriously their little tortoise friend was in need of a sexual companion.

"And how are you handling your sexuality, Miss Watson?"

"I handle it, Sherlock. I . . . I handle it."

" You're not really dating anyone. I know you rarely go out. And since you have been here, you may have noted that my habits have changed, no prostitutes of late, no Lynch sisters."

"I'm not here to monitor your sex life, Sherlock."

"And I'm only employing my powers of observation, Watson. We do live together and I am aware of your cycles. Your headaches, your craving for chocolate fairly advertise when you are about to have your menstruation. And your lovely eyes always look a bit puffy at that time, but I'm not sure how it all affects your sex drive. I have noticed a somewhat pronounced restlessness at certain points in your cycle that is quite 'endearing.' I call it the 'cat on a hot tin roof syndrome.' I deduce that you are taking 'the pill', but I would be very interested in your sexual temperament without the pill . . . your highs, your lows, as Professor Higgins of Pygmalion fame, put it in song in the musical version My Fair Lady."

"Sherlock, is this conversation necessary? I do have a private life, you know." Joan felt her face flushing red as Sherlock continued.

"I believe we started this conversation several days ago. My feelings are certainly not a revelation."

"Now I am getting a headache."

Joan was unable to meet his piercing blue eyes, so she picked up her coffee and retreated to her bedroom upstairs. She sat down on her bed and contemplated what had just been said. Deep inside her, she felt herself tingling with need for a man's attention, and not just any man. She wanted Sherlock. She knew that the matter between them would have to be revolved and she was just afraid, afraid of the next stage of things, afraid to try to be what he needed, to exceed or even match what he had had with Irene/Moriarty. She had been having nightmares of being with Sherlock and hearing him call out "Irene" at that moment instead of "Joan." And yet she knew that she loved him more than she had ever loved a man.

"Oh, God! This is such a mess," she breathed as she lay down across her chenille bedspread. She was quite disturbed, unable to think about anything but Sherlock and her feelings for him.

Sherlock had to get out and away from Joan for a while. He had said more than he intended to say and watching her helpless flushing in reaction to his description of her sex drive let him know that he had guessed right on all scores. Living in the same house with Joan had built up such sexual tension between them that their feelings were just like a tinder box, ready to burst into flames at any moment. It was only a question of when and how it would affect the other aspects of their relationship.

Sherlock found Tommy Gregson in his office at the precinct and went and flopped down in his favorite chair there. He was obviously agitated, jumpy and fidgeting in his characteristic manner.

"What's up, Sherlock?"

"I think I am in need of fatherly advice."

"Is Watson all right?"

Sherlock just waved his hand in a gesture of frustration that Gregson had come to know.

"Yes, that is the problem. She is all right in every way. She is perfect, perfectly intelligent and perfectly beautiful. I have started to have dreams of her every night."

Gregson smiled and shook his head.

"It's not unusual for a man to dream about a beautiful woman, Sherlock."

"I'm having very explicit dreams," Sherlock stated as a matter of fact. "Normally I simply call a dolly mop to take care of the situation. Everything calms down for a while. But I have no desire to call upon a prostitute. Not when it's Watson that I am seeing in my dreams."

"Maybe you are in love with her, Sherlock. That would certainly be understandable. She is beautiful, brilliant, self-aware."

"I need her. I live to see her, smell that fragrance she wears. The times that we happen to touch it is like a jolt of electricity between us. Bollocks! My flesh twitches at the merest thought of her!"

"Why don't you talk to her about it? Tell her how you feel."

"I have never been 'in love' with anyone like this, Gregson. I thought I loved Irene, but, in view of recent revelations, I realize that she did not love me at all, but that she used me, enabled me when it came to the drugs, deceived me actually in the ultimate sense. Now that the illusion of loving Irene is out of the way I . . . I deduce that Watson 'loves' me, really loves me and it scares the hell out of me, because I fear that I love her equally as much, perhaps even more."

At that point Detective Bell came into the office and saw Sherlock's state of unease.

"What's up, Sherlock? You look exceptionally 'jumpy' today. Everything okay?"

"It's my feelings for Watson, for . . . for Joan."

"So, I am not surprised at that. If you've got a 'jones' for her, you two need to go for it, man."

"I am quite discomfited, Marcus. This is all so new to me. I am accustomed to taking care of such matters by making an appointment with a prostitute. No strings, no lasting involvement, just meeting a need for release and then moving on. But I can't, man! I cannot walk away from this. And I'm terrified that she will push me away, decide to move."

Sherlock dropped his head in embarrassment after revealing his pathetic situation.

"So you don't use those prostitutes any more?" Marcus Bell stated it more as a fact.

Sherlock threw up his hands in acknowledgement combined with frustration.

"I don't need a whore, Marcus. I don't want a whore." Sherlock paused for a moment and continued. "It all seemed to come to a head with Clyde this morning."

"Clyde? Your tortoise?" Gregson asked.

"Yes, he was trying to mount a Croc shoe and his penis, or as Watson called it, his . . . 'dickey bird' got stuck in the out position and he ejaculated all over the floor."

"Dickey bird? That's a new one," Bell said, trying to suppress an outright laugh.

"That's what Watson called it. The poor creature was in quite a state and we had to attend to it. Oh, damn, at that moment, all I could think about was my own-'dickey bird.'" Sherlock flushed now and nervously crossed and uncrossed his legs as he described the situation in his household.

"I think that Sherlock needs to go home and take care of a couple of matters, don't you, Marcus?"

"I agree wholeheartedly," Marcus said, shaking his head gravely. "I think you need to attend to Clyde first, and then the two of you need to take care of each other. Find him a female to mate with. I think it is safe to say that you have found yours," Marcus said pointedly but with a twinge of disappointment.

Sherlock stood up to go, running his fingers nervously through his hair, rocking to and fro in place.

After he left Gregson and Bell shook their heads and smiled.

"He was so jumpy today. Man, his 'jones' is on him bad."

"I think that is fair to say. He says that he can't keep from twitching when he is around her," Gregson chuckled. "It is serious with him."

"Do you think Watson wants him too? I can't imagine what she would really want with that weird guy."

"I'm sure of it. 'They' are what is going to happen . . . and very soon I predict. He's strung out tighter than a drum. I feel sorry for him."

"It must be great to find a woman that turns your life upside down like that. One of these days . . ."

"Yes, one of these days," Gregson said. "I'm giving them a few days to work this out before I call them in on another case. They are in no shape for this kind of work right now."

Sherlock left the station and went to the pet store where he got supplies for Clyde and explained the situation with his pet tortoise. His vet friend there was very helpful and Sherlock walked out with a book on breeding tortoises and a young adult female Russian tortoise in a carrier. He assured Sherlock that one female should suffice for Clyde since he was a relatively young tortoise and this was the first time he had exhibited the symptoms of sexual maturity. The vet had x-rayed the female to assure that she was not carrying eggs already. Any progeny would be from Clyde. And the pet store had agreed to take any little tortoises that would be produced and sell them for him. He had well in mind plans to put together a nesting box for the tortoise family that would eventually come along. All of the necessary paraphernalia would be delivered within the next couple days.

When he entered the brownstone with his new addition to their family, everything was quiet. He assumed that Joan was upstairs lying down. She had complained that she had a headache earlier. He knew she was just past mid-cycle, her hormones pressing her buttons. And he wanted her in the worst way.

When he set the carrier with the female tortoise down, Clyde immediately became excited and scurried over to inspect things, pushing his head into the carrier to try to get to the female. The female was curious about her new surroundings as well, but stayed in a corner of the carrier away from Clyde.

"Watson!" Sherlock called out. "Please come down and see what we have here. I picked up some Thai food and I have a surprise for you."

"Be down in a few minutes, Sherlock."

Joan heard him come in and got up from where she had been lying all afternoon trying to quell the urges she felt for Sherlock. She went into the bathroom and freshened herself up, put on a short black skirt with her tank top, combed her long stone straight hair and went downstairs to see what Sherlock wanted to show her.

He was sitting at the table, legs crossed, very smug with himself, watching Clyde try to get to the female tortoise he had brought in.

"I have solved Clyde's problem, Joan. Our vet friend has sold us a consort for him, a female. It seems that this is the time of the year that Russian tortoises seek to mate. I don't think it's really humane to deprive Clyde. His state of satyriasis earlier was evidence of his need."

"You are referring to the fact that he could not retract and he was rubbing against your Croc shoe and making those pitiful squeaking noises?"

"Exactly, his penis or, to use your word, his 'dickey bird' was giving him quite a problem today. As you can see, he is very interested in our new member of our household."

"Does she have a name?"

"No. Why don't you name her, Joan?" Sherlock's voice softened with an affectionate tone he reserved only for her.

"I think that we should call her Clara. That fits. She is very pretty. They are such beautiful creatures." Joan had become quite attached to Clyde since they took him.

"She is the exact same breed. That is very important. Otherwise her eggs could perhaps be too large and they could become impacted and that could cause very serious problems. Actually if they like each other, we will likely find ourselves in the tortoise breeding business. The pet shop will be glad to sell them for us if they produce healthy young ones. The income will be helpful. And with your medical background, you shouldn't mind helping me with this project. Meanwhile I am going to take her out of her carrier and give them some privacy to get acquainted. And we should eat this food before it goes completely cold."

They sat down to eat after Sherlock eased 'Clara' from the carrier in the far corner of the kitchen. Clara was reticent at first, backing up from Clyde, but then he approached her and after smelling her hind parts, he proceeded to lick her head several times till she stood still for him and bowed her head in submission.

"I think she likes him," Joan said. "I thought he would just jump on her."

"He is trying very hard to be gentleman about this despite the fact that he was quite at the end of his tether," Sherlock said sanguinely.

Sherlock and Joan began to eat, supremely conscious of one another as well as their tortoise pets.

"How is your headache?"

"It's better. I stayed in . . . bed . . . all afternoon." Joan flushed helplessly when she said "bed."

Sherlock looked up from his food, his blue eyes meeting Joan's brown ones, taking all of her in.

"Joan, do you concur with the medical opinion that the pill causes migraine headaches in some women? I seem to have read that somewhere."

"That is a prevailing opinion."

"Then I would offer that you should perhaps consider discontinuing using it. Anything that diminishes your capacity to do what you do so very well should be rejected, if possible."

"Then I would have to consider the possibility of becoming pregnant . . . if I were having intercourse."

"With the right man would that be that worst thing in the world that could happen?" Sherlock flushed slightly, realizing where the conversation was leading.

"Intercourse or becoming pregnant, what are you talking about, Sherlock? And who would be the right man?"

Before Sherlock could reply they heard a scurrying sound from the corner where Clyde and Clara were getting acquainted and both of them turned their chairs to see what was going on. Clyde was behind Clara, having trapped her in the corner and he was already mounting her pushing his penis into her. When they joined, Clyde began to emit a distinct squeaky grunt with each thrust.

"Oh, my goodness!" Joan exclaimed.

"I was going to warn you that these male tortoises are quite vocal when they copulate."

There was something so sensual about the sound Clyde was making that it aroused both Joan and Sherlock. Joan felt her own arousal and flushed darkly. Her eyes met Sherlock's and he stood up and came in front of her, his eyes full of his need, all his body language betraying it as well.

"I'm like Clyde. I'm in such pitiful shape. I need you to take care of me, woman, in . . . in every way. I give up. I need you, Joan. I . . . fear that I don't quite know what to do with myself."

He turned suddenly away from her and left the kitchen and went to bedroom that adjoined the kitchen and closed the door behind him, leaving a very frustrated Joan sitting at the table.

Joan sat there for a minute and the got up and went to the bedroom and slowly opened the door. He was lying on the bed, obviously under stress, holding a pillow to his chest.

"Please, Joan. Don't come any closer. I . . . I don't want to hurt you. I truly don't want to hurt you."

Joan sat down on the bed and reached to touch his shoulder.

"I am not afraid of you. I know that you would not hurt me. Do you want meto lie down with you, Sherlock?"

"Oh, God, yes!"

Joan lay down beside Sherlock on the bed and took the pillow from him and gently turned his face toward her.

Then the man who never offered his mouth in a kiss because of his resistance to the intimacy it involved, searched for Joan's mouth in a tentative kiss. His head was spinning as he tasted her lips and then he was lost in the sensation of Joan's mouth opening under his. He groaned helplessly into her mouth and then his manly passions took him over completely and the kiss became searing and unrestrained as he embraced her and completely possessed her mouth.

"Please, Joan, I do need you so. Please . . . say 'yes' to me."

"Yes . . . Yes, Sherlock."

The kiss went on and on as Sherlock groaned softly, pathetic in his need for Joan, pushing up Joan's skirt and slipping his hand between her thighs as his passions escalated.

"I will never hurt you, Joan . . . never hurt you."

"I know. I know that you won't hurt me."

His hands were shaking as he stared at Joan and kissed her again and Joan saw all of his desire in his blue eyes. Joan pulled at his shirt breaking a couple of buttons in the process so that she could press her hands against the hardness of his muscled chest and drew him even closer, her fists gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock growled, as he drew her onto him quite literally inhaling her, and then Joan cried out as his lips found her mouth again in a kiss so passionate that it took her breath away.

"Oh, Sherlock! Sherlock!"

"Do you need me, Joan? I need you so badly!"

"I need you too. I need you. I do want you! Oh, God! Sherlock"

"Oh, dear God, Yes! Yes!" Sherlock cried out as he took her hand and drew it down to touch him where she had never touched him before.

"Sherlock . . . oh, Sherlock . . . you're . . ."

"I will never hurt you, Joan. Please, Joan, will you permit me to know . . . you this way?"

"Yes, Sherlock, yes!"

Joan capitulated, accepting him, and at that moment they both gave themselves up to their situation.

"Oh, God, Joan! Joan! My beautiful little one!"

And Sherlock kept talking but quickly became incoherent as he made love to her; the only words Joan could understand were 'love' and 'need' over and over again. Sherlock saw all the stars of the Milky Way galaxy exploding in his brain and Joan saw halo after halo of yellow and blue lights till finally they lay dazed and panting on the bed.

"Sherlock . . . what just happened to us?"

"I think we're channeling Clyde and Clara. You're priceless, luv . . . priceless." Sherlock chuckled. "Those blasted tortoises are still at it. I meant to warn you about the sound they make when they're having a go at it. I read that they can go at it for up to ninety minutes."

"Those tortoises . . . Sherlock . . . I was already excited and they finished me off. I got so hot."

"It's not the tortoises, Joan. It's us. We were hot already . . . ready to go up in flames. I love you . . . I do love you, Joan Watson. Can you possibly love me?"

"Oh, yes, Sherlock . . . baby, I love you."

They kissed over and over, drinking from each others mouths, trying in vain to slake their thirst for one another.

"Oh, God, woman, I am undone. I've lost control of myself, Joan. We're hardly finished here."

"Oh, Sherlock, my baby . . . my sweet baby," she moaned as she quivered in his arms.

When Joan called him "baby," Sherlock's eyes filled with tears. He had never felt so loved in his entire life.

It was nearly three in the morning when Sherlock wakened in bed with Joan. He got up and went to urinate. He then went to check on Clyde and Clara and found them nestled together in Clyde's favorite warm spot near a radiator in the corner where they had mated. Sherlock put the blanket that Clyde loved to sleep on over the two exhausted tortoises.

Poor little bloke wore himself out on his lady friend. I guess I'll leave you two there warm and cozy for the rest of the night. Well, we both got lucky tonight, Clyde. I am so in love . . . my heart is so opened up to this woman. We fit together so perfectly. It's like we were made for each other . . . our bodies, our minds.

Sherlock went back to the warmth of bed with Joan and slid in beside her, wrapping his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair, her skin.

"Sherlock . . . Sherlock . . . yes" she murmured as his warmth enveloped her. "Oh, baby . . . Sherlock, I love you."

"I need you, luv. I love you and I need you. You are so beautiful . . . so beautiful," he whispered over and over into her ear till they fell asleep again.

It was morning when Sherlock wakened first, as normal, but with Joan literally wrapped around him hugging him and his eyes filled with tears as he basked in the sensation of being loved by this woman.

"Joanie, luv," he whispered as he drew her up for a morning kiss, "I am needin' to be with you, and that need is so great."

He threw back the covers and Joan saw the look in his eyes, languid and full of his love for her.

She lay on her back and held her thighs open for him and he mounted her and came into her, and she just wrapped her legs around his hips and gave herself to him, soothing the need in him, calling him all the sweet names she had dreamed of calling him, assuring him that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, because it was true. They threw back the covers from their nakedness and the early morning chill of the room was forgotten as Sherlock and Joan came together upon their bed.

They gazed into each others eyes as they loved each other but when ecstasy seized Joan, she lost vision, unable to see anything except the stars bursting in her brain as she fluttered like a butterfly, her teeth rattling together as it happened for her. At the sight of her in such powerful throes of rapture, Sherlock felt what seemed like an electrical current run up and down his spine, causing his handsome features to contort in agony as his release came. Joan swooned in surrender and nearly passed out.

Later Joan awakened to the empty bed and she hugged her pillow as she remembered Sherlock's masterful loving of her. She had sensed that it would be this intense, but it was far deeper than she could ever have imagined, because now she realized that Sherlock was just as in love with her as she was with him.

She finally got up and took a shower and went to find Sherlock. He was sitting drinking tea at the kitchen table, wearing his favorite worn woolen robe and his slippers, his hair tousled and his slight beard making him look incredibly rugged and manly. His robe came only to just above his knees and his lean hairy legs only completed the picture.

When he saw Joan, he smiled affectionately at her and sat back and seemed to absorb her beauty and Joan flushed in response, her face reflecting all the satisfaction she had received from her sexual contact with Sherlock as surely as if he had put his stamp upon her. She was wearing a soft jade green cashmere robe tied with a sash.

"You look lovely, Joan. I don't think I've seen you wear that robe."

"I had been saving it for something special," she said softly, almost shyly.

"Was it special for you, dear Joanie?"

"Yes, it was . . . so special, Sherlock."

"As it was for me. If I am to be your consort, your lover, you must tell me if I do not satisfy you sexually. Are you telling me the truth? Are you, luv?" he teased her gently, remembering how Joan cried out in ecstasy in his arms.

Joan came and sat on his lap kissing him tenderly, trembling as she renewed the physical connection that so excited her as Sherlock stroked her flank with his sensitive fingertips.

"I love every moment of being with you. When you hold me, Sherlock, you satisfy me as completely physically and emotionally as you satisfy me intellectually."

Sherlock smiled and hugged her and kissed her throat where her pulse throbbed and behind her ear, his face in her hair as he held her tight.

"I loved being with you. Seeing you . . . the way you were when it happened for you, crying out, fluttering like a lovely butterfly in my arms, your lovely brown eyes rolling out of about in your head the way they do when it happens for you. I had feared that I would not have the staying power to satisfy you . . . since the addiction, but you excited me as I had thought it was impossible to excite me ever again."

"I had held back my feelings for so long, trying to deny what I was wanting from you. When we kissed, Sherlock, I lost all control, Sherlock. I have never experienced anything like what we experienced . . . never, with anyone."

"I humbly agree with you, dear Joan. No woman has ever made me feel so loved . . . and that includes 'her.' I feel loathe to mention her name when I hold you in my arms, but it is true. What she and I had was blind passion, pure and simple. But now I question her responses. Were they genuine or just another aspect of the deception she perpetrated? I do not have the words to describe what I feel for you, luv."

"Well, you, dear Sherlock, were quite the sight yourself, like a wild stallion, snorting and gasping . . . and then you . . . you sobbed when it happened for you. And you, Sherlock the self-proclaimed atheist, called on the Lord. It wasn't just about the release, was it?"

"No, it was not. I have never cried during coitus, Joan. And I don't remember ever calling on a deity either. I usually have declared something somewhat profane."

Sherlock flushed deeply at Joan's description of him in the throes of ecstasy and he kissed her again, his hands stroking her hair and squeezing her all over as his excitement began to escalate again. He tried vainly to calm himself, but it was hopeless with her on his lap.

"You . . . you should have some tea . . . some of mine. It's just right now . . . like you, Joanie, like us, the perfect key in the perfect lock."

They broke the kiss for a moment and Sherlock handed his cup of tea to Joan to share with him. But when their eyes met, they were undone. Joan put her hands against his chest, rubbing and scratching him gently and somehow Sherlock's hands loosened the sash of her soft robe so that it fell open as he kissed her again and again, murmuring her name.

"Oh, Sherlock, my sweet baby . . . Sherlock . . ." she sighed as their eyes met and they found satisfaction in each others arms with the bright morning sunshine streaming through the window on them as they came together on their chair at their kitchen table.

"You're are so lovely, Joanie . . . Joanie . . . so beautiful! How can you possible love me as I love you?"

Sherlock stared into Joan's eyes with such intensity that she could feel it swallowing her completely as she surrendered to him.

"My . . . dear . . . sweet Sherlock! Sherlock!"

"Yes . . . Joanie, yes! Close . . . your . . . eyes, Joanie, and, and let it happen."

Joan's eyes fluttered closed as the fireworks started in her brain. She clutched Sherlock desperately and Sherlock buried his head between her breasts as he felt a peculiar kind of ecstasy surging in his belly that he had felt only with Joan and he cried out her name as Joan wailed and then finally went to pieces in his arms.

It was a long time before they could move from the chair and then Sherlock just kissed Joan tenderly all over her face and then picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to his bed. They lay down together, whispering to each other as they touched each other gently all over each others body.

"I couldn't get you out of my head, Joan. I began to think about you all the time. And then that first time my flesh twitched when you came into the kitchen in the morning . . . You were so beautiful . . . I couldn't stop my body from reacting to you. I wanted you. My . . . heart, my heart wanted you, luv. Sweetness, my heart still wants you. My heart will never get enough of you, Joan. Help my heart, Joanie. Please stay with me and help my heart. My heart was so empty and now it is so full and yet still. . . still aching for you . . . all the time. Haven't you noticed? I cannot bear to be away from you? Since that terrible week when Moriarty came on the scene, I have to sleep near you. I thought I was losing my mind, Joan. She made me want to die when I found her out. I have to be near you, Joan. Have you felt that same need to be near to me?"

"Yes, Sherlock, and I'm here for you . . . for your heart, for your beautiful mind, for the pleasure of your body when you hold me like this."

"Yes . . . yes . . . pleasure . . . such glorious rapture, such indescribable pleasure, Joan. I thought I would never know such pleasure again. Since the heroin, my only pleasure has come from pain . . . till now, till I met you, but what I feel surging through my flesh when I am with you is pure pleasure. Oh, Joanie, the pleasure is so intense, so exhilarating when I hold you, or when I am . . . here. Joanie . . . Joanie."

Sherlock began to vibrate in Joan's arms, his whole body quivering as his need captured him, his languid blue eyes signaling his passion, his nostrils flaring wide open.

"Sherlock . . . Sherlock . . . enjoy . . . enjoy the pleasure, enjoy . . . the . . . rapture, my beautiful, Sherlock!"

"Kiss me . . . my hands, the way that you do, please."

Joan took his hand and kissed his fingers, each one of them, sucking each one of them gently and then kissing the rough palm of his hands that smelled of violin rosin mixed with beeswax, inhaling the scent of him as he shook in her arms, crying out her name. Finally she caught the pad of his thumb between her teeth and sucked and gently bit it as he called her name.

"This is reality, Sherlock. You don't ever have to be alone again."

"Joan . . . Joanie . . . I do love you . . . my lovely honeybee!"

Joan was overwhelmed at hearing him call her that and began to weep on Sherlock's chest. His whole body was vibrating and shaking passionately and Joan simply got onto him, lying on his quivering flesh, taking him completely inside her as Sherlock gasped, gripping her to hold her tightly onto him.

It was late in the afternoon when they awakened again. Sherlock wakened first . . . wide awake, his mind fully ready to be engaged in whatever task was at hand, even as he lay next to Joan, touching her, his fingers running up and down her arms, his mind full of the images of Joan and him as lovers. He had never been with a woman of Asian background before Joan and so he had not experienced a woman lying on her back with her arms and legs open in an attitude of complete submission as Joan had welcomed him that morning. It overwhelmed him in a most peculiar way. Her willingness to bring him pleasure with no coquetry or pretense of resistance filled his heart with the most intense feelings for her and was something entirely new for him. There was a simple purity about it that was completely different from anything he had ever experienced in his sexual life.

Joan had been taught the Asian ways but this was the first man that had drawn that response from her. In fact she had scrupulously avoided that response in previous relationships, viewing it as something totally old-fashioned in the setting of modern life. She knew herself to be a modern woman, but being with Sherlock was a different story. Something inside her made her want to submit to him completely, to open her body as completely as her heart to him. When she saw his reaction to her offering herself to him in this manner and she understood how this affected him, she knew that she wanted to present herself to him this way. And Sherlock showed only the deepest gratitude to her in these moments, no inclination to take advantage of her in any way that she would not desire. He was powerful, taking control, but with unbelievable consideration for her as a woman, softly whispering her name over and over, continuously proclaiming his love for her as he claimed her with the greatest tenderness, till suddenly his passions surged so powerfully that he was like a wild horse on her, snorting and gasping her name.

Joan drew out of him emotions that were so deep that he had never expressed them to anyone. And Sherlock as a lover drew so completely upon all of her emotions that she would still be in some stage of the afterglow several hours later.

"Dear Joan, I am so . . . grateful, so thankful . . . are you all right, luv?" Sherlock asked softly.

"I think so. I am just so tired . . . you aren't tired?"

"There is an unaccustomed calmness in my flesh, Joan. You . . . you gave that to me. I have found in you the love of my life. I have known it for a long time. I kept telling myself that Irene was the only woman I had ever loved, but now I realize that what she and I had was a true deception, that it was the flesh, passion. We contended when we made love . . . every single time. She never submitted to me easily. She did not need me as I felt I needed her. I never thought that what I feel for you was possible, a reality, that my . . . my heart," Sherlock's voice broke as he spoke to her "could be bound up so completely with another person as has happened with you. I tried to keep from falling love with you, my darling Joan, but I couldn't help myself. Did you try to keep from falling in love with me?"

"Yes . . . I did . . . but I couldn't help myself either, Sherlock."

"I thought that I had met the woman who was the epitome of her gender, but I had not even ventured into that territory. You are that woman, Joan . . . brilliant, beautiful, sensual, so very intuitive, strong."

Sherlock leaned over and gently kissed Joan's lips. His lips were lips that she knew so well now, soft and yet firm and determined in their search for hers, taking control of the kiss and yet yielding to it at the same time.

Sherlock traced the outline of Joan's jaw and then let his finger continue down her neck, following it with soft kisses till he came to her shoulders. He kissed her there and his slender fingers wandered farther, touching her with just the tips of his fingers, knowing her.

"I am overwhelmed with your beauty. I have desired to touch you for so long and now I am touching you . . . everywhere. Did you sense that I wanted to touch you?"

"Yes, I did," Joan whispered.

Sherlock bent to her chest and Joan caught her hand into his hair and sighed as his lips wandered over her neck and then he found the sensitive spot that he had discovered between her collarbones. The combination of his kisses and the roughness of his stubbled cheeks against her skin overwhelmed her and she moaned as she held him to her bosom.

"My sweet baby . . . my Sherlock"

Sherlock raised his eyes to hers and let his hand wander over her, down to her flanks and back up again to her breasts.

"Umm . . . Sherlock, what are we going to do with ourselves?"

"I think we should get married and have at least one baby. I have this urge to procreate, Joan, since the tortoises and the bees are doing it. I feel an obligation to replicate when I am with you. I have never had that urge before. Would you be willing to consider having a child with me?"

Joan's eyes filled with tears.

"I had given up on the idea of marriage and motherhood."

"I had never contemplated becoming a father. In fact I have been scrupulously careful to avoid that happening. But I had not met you, Joan Watson. I think that seeing your belly swollen like a lovely queen bee and knowing myself to be responsible would be altogether a beautiful thing. You will look adorable pregnant, luv." Sherlock chuckled, drawing her even closer with his hand around her waist. "And your mother will be happy. She likes me for you. I could tell."

"You would like for me to stop taking the pill?"

"Yes, but only if that is what you want to do. Do you trust my intentions, luv? I told you that our partnership is for all our life time and on all levels. You will have to marry me eventually whether or not you get pregnant."

"I will marry you, Sherlock, eventually. I know that I will. Yes, I will. I have never been pregnant. No abortions, no miscarriages. I have been very careful. But my only anxiety centers around Moriarty/Jamie. I fear our taking that step while she is not completely resolved out of our lives."

Sherlock stared into her dark eyes, showing all of his feelings for her now in his glistening blue eyes, with nothing held back, no shadows, no secrets. And then he kissed her and hugged her tightly for a long time.

"Then we will wait till you feel comfortable with the resolution of the Moriarty situation. Then we will marry . . . as soon as possible. Would that please you?"

"Yes . . . yes, Sherlock! That would please me."

They both hugged each other as tightly as they could.

"Do you feel up to going out to dinner with me this evening? I want to celebrate what we have found together."

"I feel like a truck ran over me, Sherlock. Maybe a hot soak in the tub first will help. Or perhaps we can just send out for something that we like and go out to dinner tomorrow night."

"Forgive me, Joan. My passions got the best of me, I fear."

"It was wonderful. I am just no longer twenty, and I have to get my body used to this kind of activity again. It takes me quite a while to rebound from what you have done to me. I doubt that I'll be good for anything the rest of this day."

"I'll draw a warm bath for you. Would you let me get in with you if I promise to behave myself?"

"Yes, I would love to share a bath with you, Sherlock. And you don't have to behave yourself either."

Sherlock winked and kissed her tenderly on her lips and then upon her forehead before getting out of bed and going to run a warm bath for her. When he came back for her, she had fallen sound asleep and he just stared at her . . . barely covered by the sheet, her face still flushed from lovemaking, her lips swollen, her silky hair strewn over the pillows. Sherlock kissed her awake and when she began to whisper his name, he simply took her into his arms and hugged her and cherished her in his arms.

Sherlock was amazed at the intensity of Joan's feelings for him. He had never experienced anything like what he felt when they gave themselves to each other. They had both cried in the most intense moments, unable to hold back from sobbing when declaring their deepest emotions.

"Your bath is ready, my beautiful little one," he whispered, as he helped her from bed and wrapped her robe around her to shield her from the chill in the house.

They went into their bathroom and the two of them settled themselves in the hot water in the huge oversize tub.

"Yes, this is perfect," Joan sighed as she lay back against Sherlock's chest with the water lapping at her breasts and his arms embracing her.

"It is, isn't it, luv? It truly is," Sherlock said.