A/N: No plot whatsoever. Just a short scribble so feel free to point out any mistakes. Maybe slightly OOC. Comments are highly appreciated. Enjoy...
Joan and Sherlock were sitting in the living room, rifling through stacks of old bank statements from a cold case they were working on, both bored out of their minds.
Suddenly Joan sighed and put her reading glasses on her lap.
"What is it?" she asked, slightly frustrated, looking at Sherlock.
"What is what?" he asked nonplussed.
"You're staring at me. And you've been doing that for over four minutes now."
Sherlock pursed his lips and averted his gaze back to the files.
Joan rolled her eyes and put the glasses back on.
"It's just that you're not a woman, Watson," he said suddenly, still looking at the paper in his hands.
"What?" Joan asked, a little louder than she had intended to.
"In this context you're not a woman. To me, you're just a being, a stronghold, if you may," he explained.
Joan frowned and pursed her lips. "And you expect me to be flattered, even though you just insulted my very existence."
"Yes, that was my point," Sherlock said and immersed himself in the paper in his hand.
Joan bit her lip thoughtfully, not quite getting what he was trying to say.
"I gotta ask though, what do you mean by me not being a woman?"
"I should be attracted to you, Watson. Sexually," Sherlock said, now looking at her. "You have every feature of a beautiful and alluring woman, if you don't count your tad small breasts. But I should be literally drooling over you by now, but no. Why? Because you're not a woman. At least not to me."
Joan pursed her lips. Normally she would brush off Sherlock's rude comments, but now he had insulted the whole foundation of her identity. To Joan Sherlock was a man, and he made it clear to her. And she was a woman, capable of proving her femininity to him. If someone said Joan is not a woman, there would be hell to pay. But this was Sherlock, so she had to come up with a plan, but without the beating him to the floor part. Joan scoffed slightly and shook her head.
"I'm not a woman," Joan said and got up from her seat.
"That's quite right," Sherlock said, tapping his fingers to his thigh.
"Hmm..." she hummed, and put her glasses and the papers down on the table. Then she turned around to face him.
"Watson?" he asked warily, staring at her slightly mischievous look on her face, when she walked slowly towards him.
Joan stepped closer to him and sat down on his lap, straddling him.
"Watson, what are you–"
"Shh..." she hushed and looked at him in the eye, their noses now a couple of inches apart.
Slowly she opened the buttons of his vest and shirt, staring at him in the eye for the whole time.
"Watson..." he mumbled as she pushed his shirt over her shoulders. Joan smiled and put her finger on his lips to shut him up.
She bit her lower lip and touched his abdominal muscles with her fingertips, her hands eventually roaming around his bare upper body.
Sherlock tried to control his breathing, but try as he might, his breath hitched in his throat.
Joan inched forward and buried her face in his neck, slowly kissing his shoulders and chest.
After a few minutes she laid her hands on the back of his head, threading her fingers through his hair.
She turned to look at him and finally found his lips, kissing him slowly at first, but then deepened the kiss, so a soft moan escaped from his lips.
Suddenly Joan pulled her head back, opening her eyes. She bit her lip and smiled contentedly.
Sherlock swallowed hard and exhaled deeply.
"I think you've proven your point," he said finally, slightly out of breath.
"I thought so," Joan whispered and got up from Sherlock's lap. Then she walked into the foyer.
"Watson?" he called and rushed after her.
She stopped and turned around.
"Is that it?" he asked, holding his shirt in his hands.
Joan smirked and turned around to the stairs. "Your call."
Sherlock threw his shirt on the couch and ran after her.