The woman paced back and forth in her cluttered apartment. She was dressed in a loose, silky off-blue, almost gray, nightdress that ended halfway up her calves under a more intensely blue bathrobe which hung open. Her feet were bare, and she walked carefully though quickly from her heel to the balls of her feet, thudding along the floor without a care. Her chin length curled dark brown locks tumbled around her face in disarray, her light blue eyes were set in concentration and frustration, and her fingers were splayed open, touching at the tips.
"Holmes," groaned a female from the doorway. "It's midnight, Holmes. What the hellare you doing?"
Holmes intense eyes shifted to the other woman, narrowing as they did so. Her pacing halted. "Watson, I'm bored," the consulting detective intoned pointedly, as if it were the plainest thing in all the world.
"Of course. How could I be so ignorant?" her partner replied, her voice pitched sarcastically flat. Through mostly closed dark eyes, the blond peered through her lids and long eye lashes at her friend. Honestly, the doctor looked like hell, dressed in a baggy pair of sweat pants and a loose tee-shirt, and her long straight hair was tied back into a sloppy pony tail, her bangs haphazardly tumbling into her eyes. She grimaced at the light. "Whatever are we to do?" she continued.
"I don't know, Watson! That is why I am pacing!" the brunette declared, tossing her hands up into the air in exasperation. Rather like a prowling animal, Sheryl began to stalk around the room, as though the crevices and corners might reveal an intriguing murder.
Of course, Joan reflected, Knowing Holmes, it would not be surprising.The thought of such things always made her nervous, but she trusted Holmes not to murder anyone. Though, during that time of the month, Joan wondered if Sheryl ever had come close.
Arching an eyebrow sleepily, the veteran settled herself in the arm chair, crossing her arms and waiting for the rant about how mundane life was to begin. It was the same little dance every time, and soon Holmes would be over it and would go back to... well, whatever it was that Holmes did at night. At least most nights it was quiet, but tonight it seemed that Holmes was determined to stomp the whole building awake.
However the rant did not start. Rather, there was an intense quiet in the room. Joan strained to hear something - anything, really, as long as she ascertained that Sheryl was still there. Nothing reached her ears, no matter how much she stretched her senses.
If she had been any other woman, she would have opened her eyes timidly, fearing the worst. It was generally best to know exactlywhat Holmes was doing at all times, though even when Joan kept an eye on her the consulting detective still managed to baffle her. Joan was not just any woman, though. She was a veteran of war, and had seen worse than anything that Sheryl could produce in the silence.
Without the slightest hesitation, her dark eyes opened. She expected them to be hurt by the light in the room, though that all seemed to be blocked out by Holmes' long, sharp face, which was jammed into Joan's own.
She was startled to find her partner gazing at her with such fervor, like a cat which had found something interesting that they would play with for a little while. She'd often seen Sheryl's eyes like that while at a crime scene... and that was more than a little unnerving to her, particularly so close.
However it was also breathtaking. The way those sharp and wildly intelligent eyes seemed to pierce through Joan to everything that was inside her. No secret could be kept, no little detail would be missed. Her throat seemed to close, and she felt like a dumb fish floundering on land.
Finally, the blond shook herself, a warm flush creeping into her cheeks - from annoyance, she told herself - and she mustered the breath to speak at last. "Holmes! What in the name of-?" Joan exclaimed, trying to pull away from the woman, who had trapped her by gripping both of the chair's arms in her delicate, slender hands.
With a pleased smirk set upon her face, the brunette leaned even closer, so close that their breaths intermingled, warming the air uncomfortably. At least, Joan was uncomfortable, and her face slowly became warmer the longer Holmes stared at her. "Holmes... I-" Joan squeaked out, but Sheryl placed one pale finger on her broad lips.
"Shhh. Watson. You can be so very dull sometimes," the woman murmured, clearly pleased with herself. Slowly, the female detective straddled the very distraught Watson, who was struggling with the fact that she was not bothered enough by the predicament she was in. Again, her breath couldn't seem to function right and her muscles weren't struggling like her brain was telling them to.
"Wait..." Joan managed on the breath of an exhalation. She was shocked by how breathless she sounded. Sheryl stopped, her eyebrow quirking upward in interest. She seemed almost alight with curiosity, but there was also something in the way she looked at Joan, like she was trying to guess at what the blond would do. "Why are you doing this?"
Sheryl looked nonplussed. "I think it should be fairly obvious, Joan." Those big blue eyes stared at her in condescending wonderment. "I do wonder what it is like in your brain. It must be so brilliantly unexciting."
That tone of voice always annoyed Joan, just a little. She understood Sheryl better than anyone ever would, was the closest thing that this exasperating woman had to a friend, and stillshe was never up to Holmes' standard. Never. She was a doctor, dammit. She had passed through higher levels of education and had been chosen to be a member of the British Army. In normal social circles, she was no one to be sneezed at.
And yet, here Sheryl was, scoffing at her as one would an ignorant child.
"No, Holmes, it is not obvious," the blond declared, her voice brittle. She pushed Sheryl out of her lap, and forcing herself to her feet. "I know it seems painfully so to you, but dammit I don't think like you. So yes, you're going to have to hold my hand and explain it to me. Please do, because I'm so very lost."
The brunette sat on the floor watching Joan, speechless for once in her life. She kept her face a mask of icy calm as she accessed the situation with information that she seemed to pluck from thin air. "You're angry, aren't you?" The woman stated at last, bluntly baffled.
Joan gaped at her. Any buffoon could pick up on that, couldn't they? "Yes," the woman stated firmly, though she had been caught off guard and her voice wavered a bit.
"Damn," the brunette cursed softly, her stare turning to the floor. "What did I do wrong?" she hissed to herself, running her hands through her wild curls. Her lips began to move as though she were speaking, but no sound came out. Those eyes seemed to bore into the ground as if she were looking at a plan that only she could see.
Joan stood there, unsure of how to proceed. What was going on? And what in the name of hell was Sheryl up to? Biting her lip thoughtfully, the woman chided herself. You have walked into war zones, woman. I think you can handle one crazed consulting detective. Though even as she thought the words, she was not so sure.
Slowly, the blond approached her friend, partner and roommate. It seemed to be ages before she at last reached Sheryl and knelt by her side. However, Joan didn't touch her. Instead she watched in fascination as Holmes seemed to examine her own world, trapped in a reverie. While Sheryl often openly pondered about Joan's thought process, Joan rarely openly showed her personal fascination with how the other woman thought.
It must be maddening inside her head, the doctor thought, not for the first time. She could hardly even begin to imagine what it was like to live in a world with fact and observation as its prime principles. How can she keep that all in one head?But then, of course, she hadn't. Joan had been privy to those thoughts and observations, and Sheryl expressed them to her in the only way she could.
And that was when Joan reached out, because she knew that she couldn't let Holmes live in that world by herself. In fact, she'd be damned if she'd let her. Yes, the woman was aggravating and superior... but Joan loved her anyway. They'd been through hell and back again, and would always be together, always sharing space and always keeping each other sane.
Sheryl started, jumping minutely when Joan touched her shoulder. They just sat there for a few moments, eyes locked. It seemed as though the world crackled about them, heating the air. And then it all seemed to snap, and there were Sheryl's lips upon Joan's, crushing, demanding, needing to share some intimacy.
Joan tangled her hands in Sheryl's hair as they tumbled to the floor, just needing to maintain contact. They needed each other. Needed to stay close, and their breath and heartbeats seemed to beat in time as they got closer and closer...
"Sheryl, dear, you really must keep it... OH!" The elderly female voice cried out, and Joan broke away from the frenzied kisses, blushing like mad. There, in the doorway, was Ms. Hudson, her back turned from the display on the floor.
"Yes, dear Ms. Hudson," Sheryl said nonchalantly, pulling Joan close again so that she could nibble on her jaw. "Just staving away boredom, as always." Joan scowled at that, but did not say anything as Ms. Hudson's head was bobbing up and down in a slow, uncertain manner.
"Yes... yes... well... just keep it quiet. And I'll just... close this door for you..." Turning carefully around with her eyes closed and a prim little smile on her face, the landlady fumbled for the doorknob, found it and gently closed it shut with a neat little click.
Moving again for Joan's lips, Sheryl smiled in a pleased manner. But instead of the kiss she expected, she was met by a hard scowl. "I will not just be tonight's entertainment," Joan declared, attempting to disentangle herself. She'd not just stave off boredom for this woman, whether she loved her or not. It would simply hurt too much to become some fling in between cases... would hurt even more than her damaged leg had ever pained her.
Joan's attempt at escape, though, were futile. Sheryl pulled her close, and straddled her yet again, trapping Joan's arms in her hands. Despite the fact that Joan had a slightly bulkier build than the brunette, Sheryl was still much taller and was not the easiest to topple unless caught off guard.
With a childish grin upon her face, Sheryl whispered into Joan's ear, "Oh, I wasn't planning on it just being tonight." This did not placate the other woman.
"Oh, so I'll just become your friend with benefits," Joan stated sharply. Sheryl pulled away and scowled down at her.
"Lord, no, woman!" she cried in exasperation. Sighing deeply and grimacing, the brunette closed her eyes as if to collect her thoughts. After a few moments, she opened them again, and stared levelly at the woman before her, who meant so much but had never known it. "Joan Watson... I wantyou. I want you here, with me, every night for the rest of my life. I understand if you want to leave because you can't stand me... I'm not an easy person to live with. But I want you to know that no matter what... there will always be a place for you here. With me."
The words were spoken like a solemn vow, and Joan was blown away. There were no words. Nothing to say back to that.
So instead she grinned mischievously, and rolled so that she was now on top and Sheryl was pinned beneath her. "I think I might stick around," the blond said playfully before kissing the woman she loved with all the passion she could muster.