Will that be all, madam?, an elementary fanfic

"You're bed is turned down, madam. Will there be anything else?"

"Thank you, Sherlock. That will be all."

"Very well, madam." He turned to leave. "I will be in my room should madam need further assistance."

Master and servant. Mistress and valet. They exchanged thinly veiled amused looks as they parted.

She changed into the night gown and robe he had set out for her.

Dimming the lights, she walked across the suite and gently knocked on Sherlock's door. He answered the door bare chested and in sweats.

"Yes, madam?" a simulation of innocence as to what she wanted set upon his face.

-/-/-/-

Three days ago, the NYPD presented them with a request to go undercover at one of the highest of the high end hotels in New York. Initially both had been hesitant. It was not their specialty. Jewelry thieves were not their cup of tea. But when the peculiarities of the case were pointed out to them, they were sufficiently intrigued.

"Mrs. Allison Smythe," a clean shaven and black suited Sherlock officiously announced to the young man at the reception desk. Joan stood a few feet behind him impeccably dressed in a black Chanel suit, hair up and under a round wide brimmed hat. Her pearls, large dark sunglasses, gloves and bored demeanor completed the look and declared her to be aristocracy.

Sherlock adjusted the thin black tie as he completed and signed the guest registry. NYPD had reserved for them the hotel's largest suite. "No," he answered the clerk's question, "Sir Smythe passed away recently. Madam is traveling alone. I am madam's personal valet."

Behind him, Joan turned her head to hide her amusement. Their job was to blend with the wealthy and become a target for the thief. A tea meeting had been arranged for this afternoon with Floridene Van Rusing, the grand dame of the social set, to announce her arrival.

"This way, madam," Sherlock picked up her small traveling case and gestured. Joan took off her sunglasses and gave him a cool disinterested look, languidly walking by him towards the elevators. A glint of pleasure quickly appeared and disappeared in Sherlock's eyes.

Her suite was magnificent, minimalist yet elegant, much to her tastes. His adjoining room was obviously the servants quarters and a bit more humble.

They settled in and waited for their appointment. Mrs. Van Rusing showed up punctually at three. Sherlock opened the door and was immediately overwhelmed by the pungency of her scent. The woman practically oozed a nasty mixture of tea rose and musk - her own specially mixed signature fragrance she would later inform Joan. He swallowed down his revulsion at her smell and her appearance and announced Mrs. Van Rusing's presence to his mistress.

Joan greeted the woman cordially. Mrs. Van Rusing was in her late seventies. Her dyed black hair was lacquered into place and served only to accentuate her pasty white and thickly wrinkled face. Her makeup, while carefully applied, enhanced nothing but her vanity and her desperate desire for youth. Black eyeliner, pink rouge and deep scarlet lips fought for attention with the shine emanating from the many folds of her diamond encrusted neck.

For the next half hour she and Joan exchanged pleasantries. Sherlock hovered serving tea, clearing plates and standing protectively behind his mistress. Mrs. Van Rusing seemed quite smitten with him. Joan noticed the attraction to her valet, and made sure to sing Sherlock's praises as her loyal and very skilled servant.

"On top of all his other great talents, Sherlock is quite a gifted masseuse. His hands are amazing, regenerative." Joan gushed as Sherlock tried to figure out what she was up to.

"Really?" Mrs. Van Rusing's eyes widened and her interest in him doubled. "You don't suppose I could borrow him later today. I've had such shoulder pain..."

"Of course!" Joan replied readily. "Just tell him when and where." Sherlock graciously nodded, grimaced a smile in their direction and swore to himself he'd get even with Watson for this.

Having managed to avoid Mrs. Van Rusing's grabs at his posterior, he shut the door behind the old woman and turned a steely eye in the direction of his partner.

"What were you..." he started but was immediately cut off.

"Sherlock, quiet" Joan's voice was loud and commanding stopping him immediately. Joan was taking this whole master/servant thing a bit too much to heart, he thought. She beckoned him towards her; he could see her trying to communicate something nonverbally. "You may approach me." She stood and waited.

Sherlock's face betrayed his absolute confusion. He stared at her trying to coax meaning from her words.

Watson looked at him and pleaded with her eyes while she commanded him with her words, "Now, Sherlock." He jumped in surprise at her tone. A little rush of excitement ran through him as he did what he was told.

She was mouthing words at him. Sherlock read lips, one of his many skills, but he couldn't believe he was reading hers correctly. "Kiss my neck" that had to be wrong. He squinted, his lips curled into a question. An exasperated Joan rolled her eyes, brought her hand up to his face and forcibly brought him towards her.

Sherlock stopped questioning and tentatively moved towards her neck, expecting a glancing blow or at least a verbal rebuff for his actions. Instead Joan moved closer. He took a stiff and awkward peck or two at her neck. She leaned into his advances and brought her lips to his ear. At her response to his actions, he allowed his kisses to become sincere, caressing her neck and making her forget for a split second this was just a means to an end. She pulled herself back from the sensation of pleasure.

"She planted a bug, video, at least one, maybe more." Her hot breath met his ear.

Sherlock pulled back, gave her an adoring look and lightly kissed her lips, just for the sake of the charade, mind you, before moving back to her neck.

He whispered in her ear, "Good work, Watson." He let his hands wander across her back. Must make it convincing. "So you volunteered me to massage that sharpei in drag for a reason, not just out of spite." He brought his mouth across her jawline to her chin, gently biting and then bestowing a deep warm kiss that left them both breathless. She found his ear again, "You've slept with suspects before, surely you can massage this one's dowager hump." Watson took advantage of their game as well, biting his earlobe, then dragging her lips across his clean shaven neck up to his face. She could feel his heart race.

She suddenly pulled back and removed Sherlock's hands from where they rested on her hips, "That will be all, Sherlock." This needed to stop now. They were supposed to be professionals. The look they exchanged had nothing to do with the case.

He stepped back, "Yes, madam. If madam should need anything further ..." he voice was breathy with the desire to continue. He bowed, turned and left the room, leaving Watson to try and catch her breath.

Later that afternoon -

While Sherlock was out, Joan had taken the opportunity to visit the hotel's spa and now stood on the balcony, sipping her tea, watching the sun dip behind the skyline. She turned to watch Sherlock enter the suite returning from his appointment with Mrs. Van Rusing. He looked tired and slightly disheveled.

Sherlock shot Watson a murderous glance as he stepped onto the balcony. "Mrs. Van Rusing is a very determined woman. I could have used my baton," he whispered under his breath then shook his head and put palms to eyes to blot out the memory. "If madam does not require my services, I will be showering, repeatedly ... With scalding hot water and a scrub brush ..." He looked at her and motioned with his eyes for her to join him. She looked at him suppressing a giggle and lightly, ever so lightly, shook her head yes.

Joan gave him some time to shower before going to his bathroom. She heard the sound of water running full blast as she warily opened the door; knowing Sherlock, he could very easily be standing there naked waiting for her. He was not and she was a little disappointed. He stood at the sink shaving, with only a towel around his waist. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes and minutely shook his head, "Madame wishes something?" letting her know he thought this room was also compromised. The water swirling into the sink should help mask the conversation a bit she thought.

Sherlock's face was half covered in shaving foam. Joan caught his gaze and held it while she gently took the razor out of his hand. Slowly and with great care, she took over shaving his face. His hands once more found her hips, to steady her of course. She leaned in to wipe a bit of foam from his ear. He took the opportunity to whisper. "From what I just observed, she may be it."

Joan registered the comment and put down the razor. "I'd like you to take me to dinner tonight Sherlock," she said in conversational tone.

"Where would madam prefer to dine?"

"Surprise me." With one hand pressed to his chest, she passed the other hand over his baby smooth cheek, pressed her face to his and whispered "pick somewhere we can talk unnoticed." Joan slowly brushed her cheek against his and lingered for a second before she stepped away. His eyes were closed as she walked out. This could get out of hand very quickly he thought.

Sherlock procured a town car for his mistress and they set off to the theatre district. He picked out a raucous pub and requested a booth in the back. Joan asked him several times if the alcohol service would bother him. He scoffed at her for even asking the question. Food was ordered and they commenced sharing what they had learned. The sharpei was nearly bankrupt. She had spent everything her husband left her.

"The woman has a voracious appetite for luxury from what I saw and for younger men. She's too old to be classified as a cougar. More like a sabertoothed tiger. Apparently, I qualified as part of her dietary plan."

"You didn't ..."

"God no! But she tried..." An involuntary shudder went through him. Joan smiled.

"How is she opening the safes though?"

"I think her granddaughter is aiding and abetting. She heads security for a number of the city's best hotels. The rooms are bugged while the occupants are away. The sharpei is a bit of a voyeur. I think those cameras are not just for surveillance. She places them in uh, rather personal spaces." Sherlock looked at Joan unsure how this part of his plan would be accepted. "She waits for the room's occupants to be engaged in uhm, ... intimacy and then strikes. I think the woman gets a thrill out of it as well as the jewelry." He paused for a second. "I think we might be able to lure her in tonight."

Joan let his words sink in for a second, "Okay, lets do it." They were back to being Sherlock and Watson for the duration of the evening as they set up the details to trap the thief.

Back at the hotel they resumed the role play. She waited for him to help her off with her coat. He did as she bade without question.

He went into her bedroom and turned down her bed, chose a nightgown and robe for her to his liking and set them out for her. Turning to Watson who had been watching him, while removing her jewelry, "Will madam require anything else?" Joan dismissively handed him her jewelry and sat on the bed as he placed the ring and necklace in the safe. She stared at his shaven face. That scruffy beard really did give him a tougher image, without it she just wanted to ...

"Madam?" Sherlock waited for her response trying to discern why she was staring in such an odd manner. "Madam..."

She snapped out of the reverie. "That will be all," she said dismissively.

-:-:-:-:-

The lights were low in the living room as she crossed and reached her valet's door. She knocked lightly and a shirtless Sherlock open the door. "Yes madam?" He said the soul of innocence. They were going to present Mrs. Van Rusing with a world class romance novel scene. Gregson and Bell had been called and were positioned, waiting for the woman to take the bait.

Standing in front of Sherlock, Joan played her part, "I want you. Now." Her tone was demanding. He stared at her and suddenly grabbed her face with one hand and kissed her with an intensity that surprised both of them. Sherlock stopped and looked at her almost apologetically before he took her in his arms, swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed. The room was pitch black. They had choreographed and rehearsed their movements and sounds to give Mrs. Van Rusing an imaginary yet vivid picture of what was transpiring between them.

Within minutes the door to the hotel room was opened, and soon enough the old woman was in custody being led out in handcuffs by Detective Bell. Sherlock and Joan stood to the side and watched as the NYPD finished their investigation of the scene. As things wound down, a still shirtless Sherlock pulled over Captain Gregson and had a private word with him. Gregson nodded and agreed to whatever had been said, leaving Joan wondering.

Sherlock walked over to Joan and leaned in, but didn't directly look at her and said quietly, "They should be finished shortly. We can stay and spend the rest of the night, if madam would like." His eyes darted quickly to her face to catch her reaction. Surprise, uncertainty, the blush of understanding crossed her face quickly. Joan looked at him, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. He looked away assuming he had gone too far, been too bold.

Her voice, dripping with haughtiness caught him off guard, "My bed will need to be re-made, and you need to pick out another nightgown. This one certainly won't do."

Sherlock never looked at her. "Yes, madam."