Together we're better

PART ONE

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Joan.

Sherlock let out a load moan as he sunk down on the sofa. The case was closed, he caught the murderer, but somehow he didn't feel the usual happiness and pride. he couldn't focus on anything, except his aching body. Yes, he had pulled another all-nighter for this case and hadn't slept for God knows how long. He was tired, absolutely drained. Slouching over files did nothing for his back. All his muscles hurt and he had a massive headache.

"How are you doing?" Joan asked entering the room holding a cup of tea. He took it, trying not to move too much. If he were feeling better he would smile - his Watson always knew how to help him.

"Coping." he groaned. Turning to sarcasm, he squinted his eyes and tilted his head as if listening to something "Would you mind anwsering the door?" he asked and she turned her head, confused "Ah, sorry it's just the knocking in my head" he said and Joan rolled her eyes. The joke was lame, but she knew he would be okay if he was telling one. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with some pills.

"Here, it's ibuprofen" she said and handed them to Sherlock.

"Painkillers, really?" he made a face and she glared at him as he grabbed the pills and popped them into his mouth, washinh them down with tea.

"They will help with your head. You need anything else?" she asked quite sincerely. She knew there was no way she could persuade Sherlock to go sleep during important cases, but as a friend she get the best she could do was help him when the tiredness caught up with him. God knows he would do the same if he was in her situation.

"Not unless you have..." his voice trailed off and she knew that he had an idea. Sherlock with an idea was a dangerous thing. For a second or so he was lost in thought before he whirled around to face her with pleading eyes. She looked at him warily.

"What is it you want?"

"How good are you at massages?" he asked bluntly as she stared.

"I'm not going to give you a massage!" she exclaimed without much thought.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Look Watson," he interrupted "I understand I'm proposing an activity that would probably be socially unacceptable because of our employer/employee relationship and the fact that you were my sober companion. However I'm asking as a friend, not an employer or client or ex drug addict. I'm asking you if you could do this for me. If you aren't comfortable with it, then I won't pressure you. If you want, we can make a deal - next time you feel a bit down I will give you a massage. I would be extremely grateful if I could recieve one myself. I do believe I am dying" he ended dramatically.

"Well..."

"Come on, please? I do great massages you know. " seeing she was close to agreeing, but still thinkig about it, he decided to try a different tactic. He relaxed his face muscles and opened his eyes wider, trying to look absolutely miserable. She gave in.

"Fine. But it's just because you're dying and people might suspect I murdered you" he smiled at that.

"I knew I could count on you, Watson." And he did. He did count on her to be there for him, massage or not. And he would be there for her.

"Shut up and sit down here." she said gesturing at the floor. He got up slowly, trying to make his moves as unpainful as he could. Finally he managed to sit on the floorboards with his legs crossed. Joan perched behind him as he tugged his shirt over his head. Joan placed her hands on his back and gently started tracing his tatoos with her fingers. They were fascinating. They stood for different parts of his life, different eras and symbolised who he had been, who he was and who he wanted to be. They spoke multitudes, but many were unreadable and undeducible for her. Her hands stilled. Right, time for the massage.

Sherlock sighed as he felt her soft hands press on his bare shoulders once more. She shifted a bit to get comfortable and started moving her fingers, kneading the muscles. As she was working, trying to loosen up all the tight spots he closed his eyes and let his mid drift off. The world could have been ending and he wouldn't mind. He had suspected Joan would be good at massages - she used to be a surgeon and had delicate and precise hands. But oh, how she used them! He knew this would feel amazing but it exceeded all his expectations. It was divine.

He felt himself falling asleep and found that he didn't have the strength to try and stay awake, so he tried to memorised the feeling of her hands on him as he let his subconscious take over. This woman would be the end of him.

Joan had been aware he was dozing off, but when he slumped against her, she decided that it was enough for the night. She gently shook him awake and smiled slightly as he blinked at her, only partly awake.

"Sorry Sherlock, but I need you to help me get you to bed." She took his hands and helped him up. Almost instantly he started swaying and would have toppled to the ground if she had not been ready for it and instantly steadied him. She put her arm under his arms, not minding that he was bare-chested and helped him up the stairs and to his bedroom. When she finally managed to get him there, he immediately lay down sprawled on the bed.

"Oh no you don't!" she said and sat down next to him. "Sherlock" she said shaking him gently. He opened his eyes slightly. "Stay awake for a moment longer."

She opened his drawers and took out a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt. She turned around and found him asleep again.

"Hey." he muttered something and she smiled softly. He would deny ever being so vulnerable and cute. "Sherlock, please." he groaned and she handed him the clothes "Change into these and you can go to sleep."

He sloppily changed pants, but neglected the shirt. Joan rolled her eyes as she saw how he was hanging off the bed with one leg on the floor. She rolled him off the covers and tucked him in. He snuggled onto his side and she smiled. He was too cute.

"Goodnight Sherlock." she said quietly and walked way.

Joan turned the lights off, closed the door and exited his room, ready to go to sleep herself. She didn't see how the sleeping Sherlock slightly trailed his hand after her as she moved away from him.

This is going to be one-shot in two parts, maybe a series of one-shots. That depends on you. Please review, feedback is always extremely helpful. This is my first Sherlock fix so I'm kind of excited. I hope I managed to portray both Joan and Sherlock okay.

This one-shot can be Joan/Sherlock friendship or romance. That depends on you own individual interpretation. Let me know what you think and if I should continue. See you!

PS Would you like the second part a bit longer?