Watson!" His bellow rattled the windows and shook the doors.
Joan quietly responded as she descended into the kitchen, "I don't care how loud you get, you are still wrong!" Joan stood her ground.
Sherlock looked at her as if she were a specimen under the lens of his microscope. "You are being childish Watson and it does not become you." Actually it became her very much. A certain thrill of excitement ran through him when she challenged him, when she refused to play his game. He sometimes went out of his way to bait her into an argument.
"I am telling you, you are wrong. Accept it." She crossed her arms and stared him down. Joan hoped he wouldn't accept it just yet. She loved that completely flummoxed look of his when she challenged him. Setting him slightly off kilter and watching him struggle to right himself gave her a secret thrill. She loved his earnest attempts to lead her through the logic, to save her from incorrect deductions, only to have him realize that she was right and he was wrong. And the wonderful thing about Sherlock was, if he found himself to be in error, he acknowledged his mistake.
"You're argument is facetious. It is so ridiculous I almost think you are purposefully trying to start a row with me." The slightly hurt look on his face prompted the beginnings of a smile and she quickly turned to walk back upstairs.
"What was that look? ... Wait, Watson ..." He started walking after her, his data in hand. "Just look at the numbers. It makes perfect sense." He shoved the spreadsheets at her over her shoulder, then moved in front of her and stopped her midway up the stairs.
"Sherlock, enough! Let it go!" she tried to get past him. "Besides your numbers are misplaced. You're adding data that has no importance to the ultimate outcome."
"What are you even saying Watson? Look ... Look here..." He flipped through pages and again thrust the spreadsheet before her. "See here, here ... And here ..."
"No. Those numbers are unnecessary and skew your data." They were jostling for position on the stairs. He was blocking her and she attempted to walk past him.
Sherlock again moved around in front of her, walking up the steps backwards. "Come," he tried to stop her and redirect her down the stairs, "come back into the kitchen and I'll show you where you're wrong."
"No." Joan had to admit he was persistent. She again tried to get past him and in their maneuvering, Joan lost her balance. Sherlock, horrified at the sight of his partner falling, grabbed at her and rather than save her from a tumble found himself falling with her.
They ended up a few steps down from where the fall started: Sherlock on top of her, her legs akimbo, papers falling around them like confetti.
He straightened his arms to take his weight off her body and looked at her, evaluating her condition. Joan lay with her head slightly dangling from a step, hair cascading down, her hands clutched to Sherlock's biceps.
"You know, if you wanted me flat on my back, all you had to do was ask." She smiled. "Throwing me down a flight of stairs seems excessive."
Sherlock's straightened arms slowly unlocked and began to allow the descent of his body back on top of hers. He became acutely aware of the parts of him that were in extreme proximity to her; his breathing became heavy. "You alright?" he said seriously, his eyes wide. He adjusted himself over her causing Joan to involuntarily tighten her legs around him lest he move away.
"Yes ... Fine ..." She found herself short on breath. He hovered over her, his lips almost touching hers, noses just barely grazing, waiting for her permission to proceed.
Joan couldn't stand waiting any longer. She brought her lips up to meet his, moving her hand to the back of his head and moving him closer to her. The kiss started soft and evolved quickly into passion. Their position on the stairs was precarious to begin with and compiled with Sherlock's preoccupation with Joan's lips, his grip failed and they performed a controlled slip as a unit down to the bottom step, lips hardly separated. This time she landed on top of him, her legs straddling him, his head was against the wall.
She pulled away and looked as his face, his eyes half lidded with desire. "You know your numbers are off and no matter what we do here nothing will change," Joan couldn't help but tease him.
"Oh, I know they're wrong," he whispered as he ran his hands down her back, returning one back up to entangle in her hair. "We hadn't had ... an argument in a while ... and I do ... so ... enjoy our arguments." Sherlock punctuated each phrase with small kisses to her nose, lips, neck, shoulder. She wriggled gently on top of him and a groan of pleasure escaped his lips.
Joan unbuttoned his top collar button and kissed his neck. "Your being wrong has its upsides for me too," she whispered.