"While I am flattered at your estimation of the size of my male member, Watson, these boxers you purchased for me just won't do ..."
Capt. Gregson stands in the kitchen with Joan trying to pretend he didn't just hear that ...
Joan gives the captain a polite little smile and excuses herself.
She rushes up the stairs trying to cut off Sherlock before he embarrasses them all any further.
The conversation is muted but Gregson can still hear every word.
"This waistband is absurd..."
"Sherlock! Put some clothes on! The captain is here to pick up the files."
Oh... he heard my ...
Yes, he certainly did. Now hurry and (giggling) oh ... I must have grabbed the wrong package ...
Gregson lifts his hand to his brow praying that Holmes doesn't pursue Watson's "package" statement.
The conversation on the stairs gets quieter and mercifully, he cannot hear what they are saying, except for the sudden eruption of giggles. He never thought of these two as having anything except arguments. It was odd to think they might actually enjoy each others company. His marriages hadn't exactly been fun fests.
A minute or so later, Holmes gallops down the stairs and into the kitchen without a shirt but thankfully wearing pants. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Captain. The rest of the files are in here," and he leads him to a stack in the other room.
Shutting the front door behind Gregson, Joan sighs, "That was awkward. I think we are going to have to do some damage control."
Sherlock turns to look at her, "What do you mean?"
"We don't want Gregson thinking we're, you know ..." Joan raises her eyebrows, shifts her eyes upward and slightly bops her head a bit to the side.
Holmes stares at her in amusement. "But we aren't, you know ..." and he mimics her head motion, adding a mumble under his breath that Joan doesn't quite make out. They are both attempting to organize the remaining files strewn around the room.
"It's just ... It bothers me when people pry into the private lives of others."
"Well that's a fine sentiment coming from a detective," he teases her. "Besides Captain Gregson does not strike me as a gossip. You may be overreacting just a tad."
"You know what I mean ... What happens between us is solely between us. It's no one else's business."
He turns to look at her, "I agree."
Her back is to him, "Hmm, does that mean you're not listening to me? ... Sherlock?"
She turns when he doesn't answer and sees "the look" on his face - the wide-eyed childlike look he gets when he is struggling to verbalize emotions.
He looks down, turning to place the file folder in his hand on the desk. "Do you think we could still have this," motioning between them "this partnership, this collaboration, if we were to become ... further involved..."
She takes a few steps towards him and stares at him for a long while before she speaks gently, staring deep into his eyes. "Sherlock, we are involved, perhaps not the way you ..." She takes a breath. "We're together almost 24 hours a day, we live together, work together, eat together. I buy your underwear, you pick out my clothes. We share experiences that no one else will ever understand or want to understand. Do you know what most people call that?"
"Insanity?" He says deadpan and they both smile. She looks down while Sherlock continues to study every facet of her face. Watson places the last file in the box in front of them. Sherlock reaches over and gently takes her hand, placing it on his chest over his heart, holding his own hand over hers.
"wǒ ài nǐ" he murmurs, and tears well up in her eyes. "wǒ ài nǐ" she responds.
The sound of the front door being opened shatters the moment.
Watson and Holmes quickly step away from each other as Ms. Hudson steps into the room with her bags of cleaning supplies. "Oh hi. I didn't know you were home." She looks at both of them and realizes she may have interrupted something. "Why don't I start upstairs?" Sherlock's phone announces a text.
"No, no, that's alright Ms. Hudson, you can start here. We have been called to a homicide," Sherlock says excitedly. He motions to Joan to follow him upstairs, "Come on Watson..." As she nears him, he says softly, "I think today calls for that red v-neck of yours, with the yellow trim, hmm?" he bobs his head and raises his eyebrows. Watson shakes her head, suppresses a smile and leads the way upstairs.
Ms. Hudson, being the sole of discretion, busies herself with her work, knowing better than to ask questions.
Notes:
Baseball - "rounding third" means passing third plate, on the way to home plate - i.e. nearing the goal of scoring a run (but still not necessarily a sure thing).
Mandarin: wǒ ài nǐ = English: I love you (pronounced wuh I nee as far as I could tell).