A/N: yay! another one. Thank you for your support, you are all fantastic and amazing and I love you so much.

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Spoilers: if you haven't watched episode 1x13

Fran

He walked into his parlor, looking around, as Joan picked an empty boll and a plate from his desk. There was something very odd about the entire situation.

"This looks incredible clean. It's disturbing."

"Don't worry; I didn't touch your wall of crazy."

"What time is it?" He asked, frowning.

"9:30. Wednesday, you slept for two days straight."

"That's why I'm so hungry," he wondered, "you didn't miss me while I was gone, I suppose."

"Sherlock, I lay next to you on your bed while you slept. You didn't feel me?"

"Oh, so you were the warm thing."

"Thing?" She frowned, turned around to leave when he pulled her towards him, giving her a soft peck on the lips.

"I'm kidding, of course I felt you. Why did you think I slept so much?"

"Because you grew tired of staring at your wall of crazy?"

"No, because you were there."

"Yeah, you better say that"

He kissed her, trailing soft kisses down her face and into the empty skin on her neck

"I've missed you," he whispered into her shoulder. Her hands wrapping around his neck, her body moving impossibly closer to his. "Have you missed me this last two days?"

"Yes," she moaned when he sucked at her neck, "yes I have…"

"Well, I've been thinking we should do something about it."

"Really? Like what?" She spoke softly. Sherlock lift her off the floor, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist, lead her towards his now empty desk and dropped her softly.

He slowly lifted her shirt, caressing the empty skin of her lower back leisurely. Her own hands found the aim of his sweater, moving underneath to feel his warm firm chest.

"I love you," he told her, "I just think I should say that more often now, don't you think?"

"Yes. Yes you should," she moaned, his hands doing wonderful things on her body, "now please would you shut up and kiss me?"

He did as he was told.

Among other things.

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"I didn't know you liked tortoises," she asked him, watching as he picked Clyde from its box.

"I love them," he responded, "they make an excellent soup."

"Jesus Sherlock," she protested, punching him softly on the arm.

"What?"

"Respect the dead man's pet," she told him, though she frowned confused at her own words.

"You mean our pet," he told her, taking Clyde with him as he stepped away.

"Are you seriously taking him for none eating purposes?"

He didn't respond, just walked out with Joan tagging along.

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"Sherlock feels terribly about what happened," Joan told Gregson as they walk along the station, "He'd tell you himself but you know how he is. What would it take for him to come back? Is it a matter of sitting it out or do you want a formal apology?"

"You make it sound like he took my favorite shirt without asking," Gregson responded, "Holmes planned to torture and murder somebody."

"Sherlock thought that Moran murdered the woman he loved," Joan explained, "I know it doesn't justify what he did, but he lost control. He though he was actually bringing justice into this."

"Which makes it natural to think about paying him back," Gregson told her, "do you want to know what your boyfriend can do? Nothing."

"He was trying to protect me," Joan spoke. Gregson sighed as she spoke, still visibly upset. "I know it doesn't make it all better, but he thought by doing this he would keep me safe. Unlike how he couldn't with Irene."

Her phone beeped, Joan looked at the screen and sighed.

"Texting to say he is sorry?" Gregson asked; Joan smiled apologetically.

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"I really don't think you should use Clyde as paperweight," Joan told him; taking the tortoise from its current position on top of the pile of books on the floor where his little legs were moving desperately.

"I don't think he minds," Sherlock told her, without lifting his gaze from the report he was currently reading.

"I don't think you're a very good pet keeper."

"Well my apologies, my dear. I have never had a pet before, I don't believe my father cared about me enough to buy something of that sort."

"Sorry sweetie."

His head lifted abruptly at hearing her speak, not quite used to hearing her calling him names. He blushed slightly and she smiled at his reaction.

"Get used to it, okay?" She told him he merely grinned.

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She walked into their kitchen late at night. Sherlock was sitting at the table with a plate of soup in front of him. There was something completely odd about him but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She dropped a soft kiss on top of his head as she passed by him, as she usually did, getting the same response; his eyes closed briefly.

"I didn't hear you come in," she spoke, moving towards the sink to clean the last remain of dirty dishes. "How did it go?"

"Well, I've been reinstated."

"You don't sound to happy," she told him. He didn't respond, he merely took a sip from his soup and she couldn't help but eye him strangely. "Are you eating soup?"

"I was hungry," he responded "I couldn't wait for you to cook something for me."

"Please tell me you didn't eat Clyde," she pleaded, walking quickly towards him, sighing with relief as he took Clyde from his lap. "Oh thank God."

"The soup is split pea" he told her "you didn't actually think I would eat him, did you?"

"It's hard to tell what you're gonna do. You figure after being together for so long I would know you, but you surprise me every day Sherlock."

"I really hope that's a good thing," he asked her, looking up to where she was standing by his side.

He pulled her into his lap, she allowed him to guide her with no hesitation, immediately wrapping her arms around his shoulder.

"Sometimes it is," she told him, smiling sweetly, "Now you want to tell me what happened with Gregson?"

"No really, no."

"Okay, I won't push you, but if you want to talk you know I'm here right?"

"I know." He spoke, kissing her cheek.

THE END

this is NOT my best one shot. I promise next one will be longer and better.