Sherlock looked up as Joan entered the kitchen one morning, hanging up her phone with a sigh. "Something the matter?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "Oren has taken it upon himself to set me up on some blind date. I tried to tell him, you know, I'm fine, I don't need anyone in my life. But he insisted."
"Are you going to go?" Sherlock asked, turning his attention back to the bomb he was attempting to defuse.
Joan seemed as though she hadn't actually considered whether or not she would go. "If we close this case beforehand, yes. It's tonight, so we need to get to work." She gestured toward the bomb, "Hurry with that so we can continue."
Sherlock glanced up at her again, the countdown ticking closer and closer to zero. "Maybe you should go even if we don't solve it. We both need to take our mind off the case – I have bombs. You have a date."
Joan narrowed her eyes at him. "Bombs? Plural?"
Sherlock merely glanced up at her, then back down to his device.
"Well," Joan said, casting around for an excuse not to go. "It is getting kind of late. If I'm going to go, I need to start getting ready now..." It was as if she were waiting for Sherlock to tell her not to go.
He never said a word, so she turned and left the room. As she made her way up the stairs, he called "Don't bring them back here!"
Joan must have spent about ten minutes lazily flicking through her closet, trying to find something to wear. She didn't want to be too presumptuous and dress too flirty, but she also didn't want to appear too frumpy or stuck-up.
In the end, she settled on what she considered her favourite Little Black Dress. It had a V-neck, with a strip of fabric over the collarbone. The skirt fanned out slightly and just reached her knees, with the middle of the dress hugging her torso. The back of the dress was quite open too, which meant forgoing a bra. ( /zm63k3j)
She laid it out on her bed, and after a shower with all the works, started getting dressed up.
Oren had told her literally nothing about her date, so Joan may as well have put on a blindfold as well.
Sherlock had a different bomb in front of him this time, the other discarded to the side, obsolete.
He glanced up at her, and did a double take. "You look wonderful. Your date will be very lucky," he smiled up at her, then went back to his bomb.
For most, this may not sound out of the ordinary from one room mate to another – but for Sherlock, that was a huge compliment.
So much so that Joan wasn't entirely sure how to respond. She picked up her phone from the sofa, checked it, and slipped it into her clutch purse.
"I'll see you later then," she told him, taking her shawl from the coat rack, seeing as it was a warm summer's evening.
"Depends on whose house you go back to."
"Sherlock!"
"Have fun!" He called as she left. In all honesty, he thought a date was exactly what Joan needed at the moment. There had been a lot going on in their lives the past few months, and he believed she needed to take some time to herself, to enjoy herself a little bit.
Joan arrived at the restaurant ten minutes later, having taken a cab to get there.
She made her way inside and up to the hostess. "Reservation under Watson?" she asked. The woman nodded, picked up a menu and gestured for Joan to follow.
They weaved their way over to an empty table. "I'm sure your dining partner will be with you soon, in the mean time is there anything I can get you?"
"Just a pink moscato, please." Oren had promised to foot the bill, so Joan followed her order up by asking for the best one they had. If she hated this date, she wanted Oren to feel the burn.
Oren had told her that the time of her blind date was eight o'clock sharp. So when it turned 8:01, Joan began to look around.
It was 8:15pm before anyone looked like they were headed for her table, and Joan was actually kind of surprised.
The woman who sat down opposite her seemed flustered, and when she spoke it was with an English accent.
"I'm so sorry I'm late – there was a car crash on my way here, my taxi got held up."
With four years under her belt as a consulting detective, Joan could tell easily that this was a genuine excuse.
"It's not a problem at all – at least you showed up, right?" Both women laughed.
Her date ordered a white zinfandel, and smiled gently across at Joan.
"I'm Leanne. Oren has told me a lot about you. You're a consulting detective, you work with Sherlock Holmes. I remember hearing something about him back when I was in London a few years ago."
Joan nodded – truth be told, she was a little taken aback that her blind date was a woman. Oren knew that his sister was bisexual, but it had never occurred to her that he might have set her up with anyone other than a man.
"I've been working with Sherlock for four years now, ever since he moved to New York. Oren hasn't actually told me anything about you – not even your name. What do you do?"
Leanne took a sip of the wine that had just been delivered to her, and then folded her arms on the table in front of her. "Well, what is there to tell? My full name would be Doctor Leanne Mary Baumann, but my friends and family call me Lee. My doctorate is in computer sciences and engineering." She adjusted her glasses.
"Baumann, that's a German name, right?" Joan enquired. "Neighbour, fellow citizen."
Leanne smiled, and nodded. "You really do know your stuff."
Joan took a few seconds to inspect Leanne, her outfit, her looks. She was downright beautiful. She was wearing a loosely fitting, teal blouse. The top few buttons were undone, and Joan spotted a small golden necklace featuring the Star of David.
Joan gestured to it. "Presumably not from the nobility at the time?"
Leanne smirked a little. "That's where you're wrong. My great-grandfather was a member of such a family, and he fell in love with the young Jewish woman who worked in the household. His family disowned him for it, asked him to change his name if he was going to pursue that lifestyle. He refused. He thought it was very fitting to keep it, to spite them."
Joan nodded sadly.
"Their children died in Auchwitz." Leanne said - quite bluntly, Joan thought. "But not before their daughter had my mother. She was smuggled out by a few heroic gentlemen as a baby. They were re-arrested after they had managed to leave mum at an allied orphanage."
She fiddled with the Star. "This was all she had with her at the time, it's how they knew what kind of family to put her in when she was shipped to England, to make sure she had an appropriate upbringing."
There was a slight lull in the conversation, but Leanne didn't seem at all fazed by the turn of conversation. "What about you? What about your family?"
Joan laughed a little. "What could you possibly not know? You're friends with Oren, he's probably told you all there is."
Leanne nodded. "I suppose you're right. Tell me about you, then. What you like, things you enjoy."
It was at this time that a waitress came over and took their orders. After she had left, their conversation continued.
"I used to be a surgeon, now I'm a detective. I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it – I mean, the NYPD haven't fired me yet, right?" she joked, and Leanne rested her chin on her hand as she listened intently to Joan.
"I love mafia movies, mob movies, and the occasional rom-com. I go running every day, usually in the afternoons. I do love my bed a lot, so I like to sleep in and then wake myself up with a long run. Sometimes, if we're on a particularly difficult case I might run twice a day, it keeps my thoughts in line and helps me focus."
"I've never much been one for exercise," Leanne chuckled. "I had an awful bout of asthma when I was at primary school, so I used to be able to do whatever I pleased for an hour. I'd go down to the engineering classrooms. The boys never liked it when I was there, because I was far more successful than they were at following the teacher's instructions."
"Now, here's the important question," Leanne said, after they had both started their meals.
Joan made a show of readying herself, jokingly, as if she feared the question.
"Why, why on earth would such a startlingly beautiful woman require her brother to get her a date?"
Warmth flushed Joan's cheeks – if she were a paler woman, it would have been an obvious blush – and she laughed slightly. "I work too much," she shrugged simply. "It's hard to have a relationship when you're surrounded by brutal murders."
"Hmm, for some reason I don't consider that a fair excuse. How many handsome or beautiful detectives must you meet through work?"
"Just the two, actually. One of them is a very close friend and colleague, the other thinks that Sherlock and I are somehow 'stealing her glory' because we're not 'real police'."
"And what about the suspects?"
Joan laughed again. "There was one. She ran a worldwide organisation. She's incarcerated for life at the moment."
"Moriarty?"
"The very same," Joan admitted. "But at first, we knew her as Irene. She was acting, of course, but she had seemed so fragile and broken. She had seemed in such a gentle state, and obviously I thought this to be true at the time. She kissed me, as Irene," Joan admitted.
"Pretending for a moment that she was who she was... She was fragile. I let her do as she pleased, I figured that she would behave how she needed to behave in order to get through what had happened. And then... she wasn't who she was. She was Moriarty.
"I felt used. And then, two years ago, we found out that a young girl had been kidnapped by Moriarty's people. She was adamant to take part and help in the investigation to bring her home. There was a moment, at the abduction site, where she kissed me again. It felt a lot more genuine." Joan used her fork to toy with her food, making eye contact with Leanne, who was engrossed in Joan's words.
"Not to mention the seven foot tall painting she did of me in her cell."
"You're joking?" Leanne scoffed. Joan shook her head.
"It got sent to me a few months ago, I keep it at the brownstone. It's not on show, obviously, but I appreciate the art. It's kind of weird, staring at a seven-by-four portrait of myself, but her work really is quite marvellous."
There was another lull in conversation, that Joan picked up. "Sometimes I wonder if I had feelings for her. If I think about who she was – a mother, an artist, a very intelligent and beautiful woman – then I can't help but wonder who she could have been if she hadn't turned to crime. It makes me question why she turned to it in the first place. She had so much going for her, why become a villainous mastermind?"
Leanne regarded Joan for a moment. "There are some feelings that can never be truly explained or reckoned with. Annoyingly, we just have to live with them. Sometimes, managing to explain those feelings can be worse than just ignoring them."
Joan smiled slyly at her date. "You have a great therapist."
"How did you know?" Leanne laughed.
"Mine tells me the same stuff all the time. Almost word for word."
They had a silence for a minute or two while they ate, but it wasn't an awkward silence at all. It was more of a comfortable silence.
"Why don't we turn the conversation to something more light-hearted, this time?"
Joan chuckled to herself. "Why don't we talk about how absurdly hot you are?"
Honestly, she didn't even know where that had come from. She'd never been one for such outright, suave flirting. She must have looked as shocked as she felt about it, because Leanne laughed in response.
"Where did that come from?" Joan chuckled. "I don't think I've ever said anything like that in my life."
"I liked it, if that makes you feel better about saying it," Leanne admitted, fairly quietly and letting a blush cover her cheeks.
"Well, I'll keep it in mind that you like the direct approach," Joan smily slyly.
"Keep it in mind? So you intend for us to see each other again?"
Joan could have sworn she had blushed as well, but she had a confident look about her. "Why wouldn't I? You're a stunning, intelligent woman, I'd be a fool not to see you again."
"I'd be the fool tonight, if I didn't take you home with me."
This came much more naturally from Leanne than any one-liner had from Joan, and the latter found that her breath hitched at the thought.
She wasn't totally sure how they'd gone from talking about work, to talking about Auchwitz, to talking about Moriarty, and then openly flirting so strongly – but she was definitely not about to complain.
She had to face it, trying to sate her urges alone wasn't really getting her anywhere, and she only had the opportunity when Sherlock was out of the brownstone, as otherwise she felt uneasy with him being two floors away.
Even if it was all this date culminated in, spending the night in someone else's bed couldn't be considered an unsuccessful evening.
"Perhaps we should have dessert elsewhere?" Leanne suggested, moving her left hand to rest on top of Joan's right.
Joan leant in a little, and smirked. "Have you never had the Tiramisu from here?"
As their waitress passed by, Leanne pulled away from Joan and called for the girl's attention. "Excuse me, dear? Could we have the bill, and two servings of Tiramisu to go?"
The waitress nodded. "Of course, I can get you your dessert, but the gentleman who booked your table gave us his details and said that he would pay. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No thank you, sweetie," Leanne smiled kindly. "Make sure you take a thirty percent tip, won't you?"
The pair spent a few more moments sharing terrible and yet simultaneously successful one-liners. When their dessert was delivered in a paper bag, Leanne took it with a grateful smile. She got up before Joan did, and made it around the table to pull her chair out for her.
"How chivalrous."
"Well, I'd hate to miss a chance to watch you walk ahead of me, with a behind like yours."
Once they were outside the still-crowded restaurant, Leanne slipped her arm around Joan's waist and pulled her closer. It might have been a summer evening, but the air was becoming chilly.
It was here that Joan noticed she and Leanne were relatively the same height. They were both wearing heels that had similar levels of lift, although Leanne's were slightly taller, pushing her a mere inch over Joan's head.
"There's a taxi rank around the corner here." Leanne began to lead the way, all the while keeping her arm around Joan and keeping her close. It was quite a firm grip, but Joan didn't mind.
Just a few weeks prior, there had been a sex attack a block or so from their restaurant. Joan knew that, if anything happened, she could handle herself, but it was still nice for someone to have such a protective hold on her.
Leanne's outfit was completed by her smartly pressed black trousers, and a black suit jacket. It was this she draped around Joan's shoulder as they turned a corner, where there was a cold breeze.
Joan was the one to initiate their first kiss, as they were sat closely together in their cab on the way to Leanne's apartment block.
Joan had turned her head to the side and, catching Leanne off guard, pressed her lips to her date's. They shared light kisses and lighter touches throughout the journey. The cabbie was in his own world, he didn't notice a thing that was happening in the back of his car.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of silky sheets, hands tangled in hair, entwined fingers and kisses that battled for dominance.
During a few minutes of downtime, when they shared another glass or two of wine, Joan even managed a quick text to Sherlock.
She didn't want Leanne to think her attention was elsewhere during this incredible night they were having, so it was while her back was turned that Joan shot off a 'bbim' text – 'be back in morning'.
She knew he'd understand it, as he had sent her similar texts many a time. It wasn't that she worried about him, exactly, they just liked to know each other were where they consented to be. It was a small little tradition they'd picked up after Joan's kidnapping two years earlier.
When she tossed her phone aside, back onto her crumpled dress on the floor, she turned to see Leanne stood stark naked, also checking her phone, and sipping on her wine at the same time.
Seeing as their activities so far this evening had been relatively frantic, Joan took this moment to admire Lee's physique.
Leanne glanced to the side and caught Joan looking. She set down her glass and her phone and sauntered her way back over to the bed. "Another round, darling?" She got onto the bed on all fours, crawling her way towards Joan and pressing their lips together once again.
"Are you just completely insatiable?" Joan laughed against the kiss, sitting up so that both women were kneeling on the bed, pressed against each other.
"Oh, sweetie, you have no idea."