The Pull of His Gravity

By phaedraphelan

Word count 9,629

Summary: Sherlock and Joan are close to becoming housemates again. Will it happen and if it does, will it be is as it was before or completely different? How will it be when Kitty has left? And what of Andrew?

Disclaimer: Elementary is the artistic property of CBS and no infringement is intention is intended.

It was two in the morning and the solving of the final questions of the guilt of Adelbert Gruner had so stimulated them both that sleep would have been impossible. They left the hospital where Gruner was being held and went out into the chill of the New York street to a Pizza Place near the precinct to celebrate the end of this difficult case with Gregson and Bell. Sherlock finally caught Joan's hand in his and held it tightly as things wound down.

Gregson took note of Sherlock's closeness to Watson and finally felt it a good moment to speak on it.

"You two seem to be pretty close these days?

Sherlock and Joan looked at each other and flushed helplessly, unable to hide their response to each other.

"We have a certain 'understanding,' as you would say here in America, Captain. We are finding our way . . . together, I would say, wouldn't you, Joan?"

"Yes, I would say so," Joan said flushing even more deeply now and dropping her head.

"Captain, with that in mind I think that Joan and I need to decompress from this case. It has been particularly unsettling. Please excuse us. We will talk in a day or two."

Sherlock and Joan found that they had to leave their friends and colleagues in the face of their feelings. So when Sherlock's whistle procured a taxi for them, they hurriedly got in and relaxed against the smooth brown leather seats.

"Watson . . . Please. I am so wired tonight. More than anything I wish that I could sleep. Kitty should be landing in London in a couple of hours. I think that we are back where we started somehow, and yet we have come to face with what we really are to each other, haven't we?"

"Yes, we have and we are, Sherlock. How do you propose we relax?"

"Perhaps you would help me, my dear Watson," Sherlock said, catching her hand in his again and drawing her close to him in the dark confines of the taxi. "When we get back to the brownstone, will you stay with me tonight."

A powerful masculine growl sounded deep in his throat as he let his hand slip along Joan's soft inner thigh and drew her over onto him so that she was straddled across his lap, opening her up completely to be examined by his probing fingertips.

"I want nothing more than to go to sleep with you in my bed, Joan. It will take the rest of the night for us to finish this. Lord, your arse feels like you need attention tonight."

Joan giggled softly at Sherlock's assessment of the state of her flesh as he murmured something about "inflated genitalia," but as his fingers continued their own intimate exploration, her body quivered in response to his touch.

"We seem to be doing this sort of thing often these days, Sherlock," Joan gasped, as her own passionate response to Sherlock's touch overwhelmed her. "Oh, Sherlock . . ."

It was not the first time of late that Sherlock had assessed her sexual need and proffered a solution of his making, and Joan had begun to find herself often in Sherlock's bed and Joan knew that she would spend this night with Sherlock. Since becoming so close again, each time they found themselves in bed together it had seemed so right, that now her body began to waken and tingle with anticipation as soon as Sherlock's hand touched her thigh and began to rub it with the roughness of his thumb in that subtle and sensual way of his. And she always wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Then when he buried his face in her breasts, inhaling the scent of her perfume, Joan wrapped her arms around Sherlock, and she began to tremble as she felt her whole body melt in response to his.

"Joan . . . Joan, I desire you tonight," he murmured. "Please tell me that you need to be with me tonight as much as I." (Sherlock, ever the gentleman, never presumed upon her in sexual matters, but always asked permission to seek pleasure with Joan.)

"Yes! Yes! You know already what I need. I want you just as much."

As the taxi rolled up to the brownstone now, they disengaged themselves from each other with difficulty, Sherlock paid for the cab and they quickly ran up the steps to the house.

When they got inside, Sherlock hurriedly helped Joan with her coat and then he caught her up in his arms, pushed her up against the hallway wall and kissed her so hard that it took her breath away.

"Oh, Joan . . . Joan, I want you so," he groaned as he slipped his hand under her sweater, so he could loosen her bra and caress her breasts. "Please, Joan! Allow me to touch you and touch me."

"Yes . . . yes, you may touch me . . . and I will touch you."

Joan was helping Sherlock with his clothes. He was so overwhelmed that he had difficulty undressing himself because his hands began to shake.

"Please . . . Please . . . Sherlock, let me help you," Joan said as she loosened his belt, unfastened his trousers and without hesitation gripped his already swollen parts. "We need to go find your bed right now, baby."

"Oh, God! Joan, hold me like that! Yes! Yes! Thank you! Oh, God!"

Sherlock and Joan ran into his bedroom and lay down together in his huge mahogany sleigh bed, and he cried out her name as he mounted her and took her there without further ado.

"Joan! Joan! Yes, woman!"

"Sherlock, I love you to fill me the way you do . . . I want you! Please, Sherlock! Ooh! Yes, Sherlock!"

Then the rhythm of coitus captured them both as they found perfection of intercourse, groaning from the depths of their souls, the pleasure taking complete hold of them as they rocked together. Knowing that they were completely alone in the old house now with no possibility of interruption only released even more of the passions pent up in them as Sherlock and Joan gave attention to their desperate need.

"Oh, God, Joan, you are so beautiful and I. . . I need this so from you. I have never needed anyone but I need you, woman. I need the comfort of your flesh and spirit. Joan . . . Joan, thank you for loving me this way. Oh, Joan . . . Joan . . . love!"

Sherlock was talking to her, telling her about her body, telling her in his own inimitable way how she made him feel when she gave herself so generously to him and his words opened her heart so completely that Joan began to tremble in ecstasy, her eyes rolling about in her head as she experienced a powerful response deep inside her in spasm after spasm, becoming nearly completely incoherent in a series of soft snorting and snuffling sounds that Sherlock had never heard come from the lips of any woman.

"God help us! Joan!" Sherlock cried out as he felt the powerful spasms rippling throughout her body. "Hold on, luv! I will take you all the way! Let me take you there!"

"Yes . . . Yes!" Joan gasped helplessly. "Ooh, help me, Sherlock!"

"Yes, luv, yes. You have me! I'm here!"

Joan's flesh contracted powerfully around his again and again and this time Sherlock cried out and lost it completely, growling and grunting upon her like a wild man as he possessed her.

"Sherlock . . . Ooh, Ooh!"

Joan cried out and swooned, rocked to her very foundations in a profound orgasm that surged throughout her body and then went on and on until Sherlock's own pelvis began to jerk in concert with hers and they both saw the glorious brilliance of the climax together.

At that Joan began to sob uncontrollably, her whole body going completely weak in his arms, her very soul surrendering to Sherlock as he snorted and grunted lustily, his body continuing in spasm after spasm upon hers, as he delivered his life force into the depths of her with a power that rendered him momentarily blind and took Joan's breath away.

"Lord help us! Aargh! Aargh! Oh, God!"

"Sherlock! Ooh. . . ooh, yes!"

"Dear Joan, my lovely Joan . . . Joan," Sherlock was instantly repentant for his powerful use of her and wept also as he held Joan close to his throbbing heart, kissing her mouth tenderly over and over. "Is it all right, luv? Are you all right?"

"It's all right, Sherlock. It's perfect. . . just . . . that what you gave me . . . went so deep . . . so far beyond anything I have ever experienced. I thought that you had taken me as far as I could go, but it was . . . more, even more this time."

"You were quite carried away, luv," Sherlock murmured.

"What is it? I. . . I think it's because I trust you so implicitly. I trust you with my body and with my soul. Ooh, Sherlock!"

Joan trembled in his arms as frissons of pleasure continued to envelop her as she held him upon her breasts as he suckled there, and Joan continued running her hands through his hair, enjoying the sensation of the rough stubble of his beard upon her breasts as the warmth of the afterglow began to settle down upon them.

Sherlock felt tears spring to his eyes anew as they lay together in the postlude to their intense lovemaking. He was overwhelmed.

"You are crying, baby," Joan whispered.

"Your beauty in your expression in that intimate moment, luv . . . that supreme moment when you came and surrendered. . . the sounds you made, the lovely snorting and snuffling sounds of your pleasure, and then you called my name the way you did."

"When I was with you in that moment, I was lost completely. I have to tell you that I . . . I love you so."

The declaration of love slipped from Joan's lips so easily and Sherlock was stunned, his heart welling up with emotion as he responded to her.

"Joan, don't you know that I worship you? I adore you!"

"Sherlock . . . baby . . . yes, I love you so much. I have wanted to tell you this so many times."

"God, Joan, I love you more than anyone in the world!"

They kissed now so passionately, so deeply, so hungrily, clinging to each other desperately, weeping with the declaration that had sprung so easily from their lips for the first time.

"Oh, Sherlock, I love you . . . love you so."

Suddenly their excitement increased to the point that Sherlock groaned as his ardor peaked again and he drew Joan onto him and they joined in an intercourse that was different in that it was so tender and profound that it was unlike any joining they had previously experienced. His profound thrusts so completely possessed her that they both wept as they stared into each other's eyes and rocked to climax together and blue-white stars burst in their brains at that moment when their bodies went rigid in spasms of exquisite pleasure.

"Woman . . . woman, I love you . . . adore you."

"Yes . . . yes . . . Sherlock . . . baby, just hold me."

Sherlock kissed her tenderly over and over until they gradually fell asleep in each other's arms. They slept hard, exhausted emotionally from the whole experience of the Gruner case and then this night by the intensity of their coming together, something that had been unlike anything either of them had ever experienced or even imagined.

When Joan awakened just after dawn, Sherlock was sleeping with his arms wound around her. She felt the comforting throb of his heartbeat against her back and remembered the passionate episode between them a few hours earlier. She still felt warm inside her body from Sherlock's ministrations. He was a consummate lover who always sensed her needs and seemed to know endless ways to bring her pleasure. With his powerful libido he was always ready to attend to her and Joan continued to find herself more and more uninhibited in their sexual interaction. There was no need to try to hold back anything from Sherlock. She recalled to mind the last time previously they had been together intimately when they were in the middle of the Del Gruner case.

Joan had come back to the brownstone after attending the charity function for the Hearth and Home Foundation. She had dressed elegantly for the affair so as to blend in with the classy crowd there, but she also these days found herself dressing for Sherlock. She loved it when he looked at her simply as a man looks at his woman. He would simply stop in his tracks and she would feel his eyes upon her, a wide-eyed passionate stare that he was helpless to control.

This evening the gown she wore was very modest in the front, but dipped nearly to the waist in back, revealing an expanse of flawless citrine skin decorated with a delicate sprinkling of freckles below her shoulder blades. When she turned to walk away from Sherlock, and dropped her velvet cloak, she heard Sherlock catch his breath at the sight of her bare back. She stood still and waited for him, waited for her man to come to her, knowing that he would come to her, wanting him to come to her in the worst way.

The sight of Joan's bare back had hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks in the pit of his belly. Since they had been so busy on the case, they had not really taken any time for themselves. That had always been the way they worked. They had generally tried to ignore the sexual tension that rose up between them at times. But things had changed since the first time they came together sexually. Now the sensation in his gonads that came on him in this moment was impossible to ignore as all thoughts of anything but Joan as a woman flew from his mind.

That night Sherlock strode across the room in seconds, coming behind Joan, kissing her on the back of her neck and then again and again upon her lovely back, as his hands released the gown's fastenings so that it dropped to the floor in a silken heap, leaving Joan wearing just the briefest of red silk panties which Sherlock gently pushed down off her hips so that they ended up on the floor alongside her elegant gown.

"Oh, God, Joan, we do need a few moments, don't we?"

"Yes! Oh, yes! I think so, Sherlock."

"These freckles on your back . . . I've never seen them. They are lovely."

Sherlock continued to kiss her neck and shoulders and to inhale the scent of her and of her Mitsouko perfume, his nostrils flaring wide open as he groaned his need to her.

"Your beauty brings me to my knees, luv. I need you like I need to breathe. Do you need me in the same way?"

"Yes! Oh, yes, Sherlock."

"I dare say we must take . . . a . . . a break for a little while, darling."

"Yes, Sherlock," Joan said softly.

Sherlock turned Joan to face him and pulled out the long jeweled pins that held her elegantly coiffed hair in place and Joan shook her hair out, letting her ebony locks fall down on her shoulders.

"Forgive me for loosening your hair. It is altogether lovely, but I need to see it on your shoulders."

"Do what you want, Sherlock. You can do whatever you want with me."

"All the blood in my body seems to be surging in just one direction, luv. No additional processes requiring thought of a higher nature will take place tonight. May I allow my passions to lead me?"

"Yes, you may do whatever you wish, Sherlock."

"I will never hurt you, Joan," he whispered. "Were I ever to bruise you, it would be in a moment of passion so intense that I would have lost my mind and I beg your forgiveness in advance for any such transgression on my part."

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, loosened his trousers and stepped out of them and sat down on the nearby sofa and gently drew Joan across his lap so that she was straddling him and took her into his arms and groaned softly in agony as he stared at the bruises on her arm that Gruner had inflicted. He tenderly kissed her each of the bruises on her arm with his lips and then he resumed kissing her all over her bare breasts and shoulders at the same time inhaling the scent of her, till finally he kissed her on her open mouth again as he eased Joan down onto his needy flesh and they connected as man and woman.

Now as Joan lay in his arms in the predawn hours, she remembered her lover's touch, remembered how he had completely unhinged her earlier as she was being totally satisfied in her flesh and she knew that she had found the love of her life. No man had ever brought her a vaginal orgasm as complete as Sherlock had from the very first time they came together. And each time they came together she found that she gave more and it was more intense than the time before.

"Sherlock," Joan whispered softly. "I have to tell you. I do love being with you."

"I love you . . . more than anyone, more that anyone in the whole world, Joan," Sherlock murmured sleepily as they lay spooning. "I finally realize that a true union of souls is not diminished, but is in reality enhanced by a powerful sexual component. When I am with you what I experience has no relationship to the previous sexual liaisons based upon need and availability. Would you agree with that premise, luv? Please tell me that you agree, that this is no common thing for you, just as it is no common thing for me."

"Oh, no, Sherlock . . . Sherlock, I have never experienced this with anyone. Please, Sherlock, just hold me tight for another moment, baby. I'm still quivering every time I remember. I can't stop quivering inside now. Please help me, baby!"

And that is what he did.

Finally Sherlock and Joan managed to get out of bed and start the day. Sherlock made coffee and Joan made buttered toast and got down the boysenberry jam and they sat down to share it together at the table.

"Sherlock, I want to ask you something. Did you approve of what Kitty did to Del Gruner?"

"You refer to her disfiguring him?"

"Yes. The way she took matters into her own hands troubled me. I know she was carrying a great deal of hatred because of what he did to her."

"I'm surprised that she did not kill him, Joan. I am trying to refrain from judging her in this. I very nearly killed that man last year when I realized that he was connected with your kidnapping. I am not proud of that, Joan, and when I saw how that animal Gruner had bruised your arm two nights ago, I could barely restrain myself from finding him right then and thrashing him to within an inch of his life with my single stick."

Joan cast her eyes downward as she tried to absorb the import of Sherlock's words.

"I am flattered that you want to protect me, Sherlock, but I don't want you to kill someone for any reason outside of self defense."

"Do you realize that if anything were to happen to you, Joan, I would be completely broken, lost forever? Being an ocean away from you nearly ended my sobriety. I dare say that you do not realize the depths of my love for you, woman?"

Sherlock stared at Joan, his eyes full of his desire, his need for her and he finally got up from his chair opposite her and came around the table and drew Joan up tight against his muscular frame and gripped her hips so tightly that Joan could feel his body throbbing in excitement against hers. Joan's nostrils flared wide as she simply surrendered to him as he kissed her mouth with all the hunger and passion that was in him as his flesh pushed against hers.

"Oh, Sherlock . . . Sherlock," Joan moaned. "You need to let me take care of you."

Sherlock picked Joan up in his arms and took her back to his bedroom where they shed their robes without a word and then Sherlock stretched out with her upon his bed staring at her, taking all of her in. Joan opened her arms and legs for him in the position of submission that her culture taught their women, but that she had never demonstrated with any other man in her life. She wanted to submit to him, her need for him completely overwhelming her as she saw his passion cause his features flush a deep ruddy hue that covered his chest and belly couple with a magnificent display of his male nature as he positioned himself over her, ready to take her as his mate.

"Sherlock, my Sherlock, I give you the Jade Gate. It will always be yours only."

"This act now only has meaning with you, Joan. I need you so desperately all the time. When I close my eyes, I see your face when you are in the throes of ecstasy, your beautiful pudenda, the way your lovely Jade Gate swells with excitement when you pull your knees up and open them to show all of your parts to me, and I want you so in that moment. All my sensual thoughts culminate in you, luv, no one else," Sherlock murmured into her ear.

"Sherlock, I know what you mean. Yes . . . Yes!"

As Sherlock began to kiss Joan and caress her, she welcomed him, sighing his name over and over.

"Darling . . . my darling Joan, I accept your gift of yourself, your transcendent beauty of mind and body. Please know that I do not take this as something common, luv."

"Sherlock . . . I give it all to you. I cannot withstand the power of what I feel for you."

Sherlock groaned and as his kisses became hungry upon her mouth and she began to tremble in his arms, moaning and gasping and uttering passionate inarticulate sounds as Sherlock mounted her to take her, causing her to lose all inhibitions as bit by bit he conquered her completely again.

"Yes, Sherlock! Yes! Please don't stop. Don't stop for anything!" Joan wailed, wrapping her legs around Sherlock as the rhythm of coitus caught them up and carried them to climax.

They lay finally sated, but still joined together, murmuring the love words that had come to mean so much between them.

Sherlock's kisses that had been so penetrating and consuming then became tender and gentle as he kissed her cheeks and lips again and again, deeply inhaling the scent of her, as he smoothed her hair and allowed his hands to roam all over her.

Joan drew their sheet up over them and in just a few minutes they had fallen asleep again and it was nearly noon when they wakened.

Sherlock was up and dressed in comfortable jeans and an old wrinkled tee shirt, puttering about the kitchen, making tea. Joan could hear the sound of his preparations from the bedroom. She got up, showered and put on a grey silk sweater knit top over her bare breasts along with black slacks. She was aware that this was a favorite look of hers from Sherlock's point of view and she enjoyed it when he allowed himself to stare at her that way of his that seemed to strip her bare from head to foot. She was also aware that her lips were puffy and swollen from his kisses, and she smiled, remembering.

When she made her way to the kitchen, she found Sherlock with his tea. When he looked up and smiled a bit wistfully, she saw that his lips were swollen as well and she blushed. Sherlock's nostrils flared wide when he stared at the outline of her nipples that was so evident under her sweater, and he winked his approval in that almost shy manner that Joan found so endearing.

"I especially love the way you look today, Joan. There is just one thing I ask. Will you please let your hair down for me?"

Joan loosened her long hair and shook it out so that it fell down on her shoulders.

"So, does that please you?" she asked, flirting gently with him with every gesture and movement of her body.

"Absolutely, luv," Sherlock replied.

"Will you please take your tee shirt off? I want to look at you, too."

"Yes, if you will remove your sweater as well."

Joan smiled and pulled off her sweater, tossed it aside and sat back in her chair. Sherlock simply stared at her bare breasts absorbing every beautiful detail of them, the gentle flaring of his nostrils and the dilated state of the pupils of his eyes the only indication of the powerful effect the sight of her breasts had upon him. Joan's breasts were surprisingly large for a woman of such petite stature and the sight of their creamy and drooping fullness hit Sherlock right in the pit of his belly.

"Your breasts are quite beautiful, Joan, indescribably so," Sherlock said simply, unable to say more at the sight of her naked breasts.

"Why, thank you, Sherlock," Joan said, flushing slightly.

"Now please let's eat breakfast, luv, or we will not eat today."

Sherlock and Joan enjoyed morning tea topless together, quietly comfortable with each other.

"Joan, do you miss Kitty?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Yes, I do. She kind of grew on me. It was kind of like having a teenage daughter, wasn't it?"

"I agree. She told me that she loved me before she left. I didn't know what to say, Joan. Did I love her? Perhaps. I don't claim to understand paternal or filial love, but I must accept that it exists. I am just beginning to understand man/woman love."

"I think you have that part just about figured out, Sherlock," Joan said softly.

"There is so much mystery, so much to learn about us, Joan. I fear I will never learn it all. But the way you and I together felt about Kitty . . . It was special, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

Joan got up to pour herself another cup of tea and sat down on Sherlock's lap this time and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug before beginning to drink her tea. Sherlock rested his head upon her bare breasts as they sat in front of the fire reflecting on the exodus of Kitty from their lives.

"She was a successful endeavor, Sherlock."

"In more ways than you know, Joan. I was in such a bad way in London because of missing you, that I was at the point of losing my sobriety when I decided to work with her. I was unable to see my way clear to go on and then she decided to let me mentor her. She doesn't know it but she made it possible for me to make my way back to you. Otherwise I believe that I would have overdosed and died in London."

Joan held his head to her breasts as he buried his face there, running her hand through his hair.

"I hope one day I will be able to thank her for that, Sherlock."

"I do as well, luv," Sherlock said as he traced his fingers along her flank and gently squeezed her thigh.

"I am beginning to understand what it would be like to father children, Joan," Sherlock said simply. "But when I think of procreation, I only think of you. Do you think of procreating? Have you ever wanted a child of your own, a wee one to suckle these lovely udders?" he said as his fingertips grazed her nipples.

"I try not to not think about that too much. Do you really think about it?"

Sherlock stared at Joan now and his blue green eyes told her all the depth of his feelings.

"I fear that I find myself quite intoxicated with you, my darling Joan. And last night that moment when I saw you so overwhelmed, all inhibitions gone when it happened for you. . ."

"It keeps getting more and more intense, Sherlock. Was my response last night very unladylike?" Joan flushed deeply in his arms, remembering the sounds she has made, how she had wailed his name again and again.

"It was the most beautiful experience of my sexual life, seeing you gasping and snorting and snuffling like that, calling my name the way you do and I . . . I was humbled, Joan."

"Sherlock, mmm, you make me crazy when you look at me like that," Joan sighed as she blushed even more before him now.

"Let's be crazy for a while then, luv," Sherlock said as he picked her up in his arms and carried her back to his bed.

Joan had decided to tell Andrew once and for all that they had no future. He would have to accept that. Nowadays as she had finally found real satisfaction in Sherlock's arms, Joan wanted to definitely end things. She had begun to evade him, find reasons to keep from being with him. It had been weeks since she had been with Andrew sexually, because once she and Sherlock began to have sexual contact she just couldn't at the same time be involved with him any longer. This had caused Andrew to simply conclude that she was either busy with work or perhaps holding out for marriage-thus the introducing of her to his father.

All of this was exacerbated by Andrew asking Joan to go to dinner with him and his father together. The moments that Joan had spent with Sherlock had forced her to face the fact that it was Sherlock was the one that she wanted, the one that she loved.

"I know what this 'meet the family' is about, Sherlock, and I don't want it. I don't want it at all," Joan had complained about the coming dinner with Andrew's father.

Sherlock had observed, somewhat circumspectly that perhaps she didn't really want Andrew at all, that she should face that fact, all the while suppressing his own urge to reveal his heart completely to her.

When Joan marched in from her dinner date, she was livid, walking up to Sherlock and punching him as hard as she could on his biceps.

"What's the matter with you?" Sherlock asked, as he rubbed his arm.

"Why did you have to be right? How do you always know what is good for me?"

She strode back and forth and back and forth, grumbling to herself till suddenly Sherlock grabbed her and pulled her up against him.

"Don't you realize that I know what you need? I know what you need, woman," Sherlock said and then he kissed her hard on her mouth in a kiss that they both wanted to go on forever and that left Joan limp and weak in his arms.

"Oh, God, Sherlock . . . Sherlock," Joan whispered softly.

Sherlock unzipped the black lace couture dress that Joan was wearing, pulled it off and tossed it aside. Then he unfastened her long hair from the clip that held it fast so that it fell to her shoulders. He loosened her bra so that her breasts sprang free as it dropped to the floor and put his fingers in the lace of her silk panties and ripped them off her, picked her up in his arms and carried her into the spare bedroom nearby and tossed her summarily on the bed. Then Sherlock removed his shirt, trousers and shorts, revealing his magnificent state of arousal.

"Tell me, Joan, do you want this? Tell me right now!"

"Yes . . . yes, Sherlock . . ."

Joan just whimpered his name and extended her hand to Sherlock and drew him down onto the bed onto her and they came together just like that. Further words were not needed as they found exquisite pleasure in the flesh of one another that night.

That was the prelude to events the evening that Andrew was killed in that coffee shop with Joan as she explained to him that they did not have a future. Sherlock got the call at about eight p.m. and immediately he was there at her side. Joan was completely traumatized by the experience and asked Then to take her home to her apartment. She could not speak when she realized that the poisoned coffee Andrew drank had been intended for her. The idea that she had become the lightning rod in this case pained her beyond measure. The fact that she had decided to break off with Andrew and was in fact in process of doing so when Andrew met his death only added to her pain at his death.

Sherlock wanted to take Joan into his arms at that moment and comfort her, but he sensed that he needed to allow Joan to grieve over Andrew. She and Andrew had in fact been lovers for a few months and friends beyond that. So Sherlock simply attended to her. He brought her food every day, made himself available to her to talk to. He also encouraged her to seek counsel from Dr. Candace Reed and she did that.

Dr. Reed was very concerned about Joan's state of mind in the wake of Andrew's death and listened carefully to the account of her own feelings after Andrew's death as a very distraught Joan sat before her in her office.

"I feel responsible for his death. If he had not known me, had not been close to me, he would be alive today."

"But you could not be responsible for the chain of events that led to his death."

"I only became involved with him for selfish reasons. I needed a man . . . to be with and that is why I became involved with him in the first place. I knew in my heart that it was Sherlock I really wanted. I feel so terrible."

"Joan, I must caution you not to link these events this way. Time and chance caused your and Andrew's lives to intersect in this most unfortunate manner. If he had not sought a physical relationship with you, it would not have happened. He knew that your work was dangerous and he continued to pursue the relationship. Now you and Sherlock owe it to yourselves and to the memory of Andrew that his life might not have been lost in vain."

"I feel like I belong to Sherlock in spite of everything. When we are together sexually, it is unlike anything I have ever experienced, Candace. I cannot hold back anything from him. I always believed that vaginal orgasm was a myth . . . till Sherlock. It is indescribable what happens to me. I am so sad over Andrew's death, but I want Sherlock. Am I a wicked heartless person to want Sherlock so fiercely in the face of all that has happened?"

"No, you should go to him and be with him, Joan. Be thankful that you have him. He is evidently yours, Joan. Claim him for yourself and let him comfort you."

Joan looked at Dr. Reed, understanding her counsel and broke down in tears.

"I do need him now more than ever, Candace. I just want him to hold me again. I feel so guilty that even in the wake of Andrew's death my body is still so alive for Sherlock."

"I am sure Sherlock will take care of that. It is obvious that you are both quite well-suited to each other. He will not let you suffer. He is your friend as well as your lover."

Joan and Sherlock deduced that the whole affair was an offshoot of the Elena March case, that Elena March's imprisonment had brought the wrath of the March criminal organization down on her, but Elena March was already in prison for life so there was little that could be done. And then Elena March was found dead in her prison cell. That ended it. But it did not end Joan's regret for even attempting to be in love with Andrew.

When nearly two weeks had passed, Joan finally came to herself and told Sherlock what was in her heart.

"I realize that I will be committed to the work for the rest of my life. I cannot try to have a 'normal' life. I am a part of this world, your world."

"You do not have to embrace this work as I do, Watson. I realize that you must have your own space, your own life. I do not expect you to commit to the work as I."

"No, I am am going to commit myself to your work. I want to come back to the brownstone."

Sherlocks heart felt as if it would burst from his chest when Joan spoke as she did.

"It is not my work Watson. It is our work."

Sherlock was thrilled to think of having Joan be a day-to-day part of his life again, but he had not wanted her to do this because of Andrew's death. He wanted this choice to come from her own wish to resume their life as before. He did not know how to express his feelings on this in a way that would not seem selfish on his part so he simply did what she asked him to do. He made arrangements to bring her home.

Sherlock had quickly become habituated to his passionate sexual events with Joan before Andrew's death, but in the wake of that event he had held himself back from the advances he wanted to make as far as she was concerned, wanting to give her time to grieve over what had happened. As a result he found himself under the increased pressure of his need for Joan, wanting to be with her again.

The night before she moved back to the brownstone he did not sleep at all. Anticipating living in the same space with the woman he loved more than anyone in the world excited him as nothing else could have. He spent the better part of the evening helping Joan pack the last items and trying to quell his passionate need for her. Finally he gave up and turned to her. She was wearing old tattered jeans and a somewhat ragged tee shirt that did not hide the fact that she was braless; her hair was pulled up into a haphazard half bun. She wore no makeup and the smell of her sweat mingled with the faint essence of her perfume because of the work she was doing caused his nostrils to vibrate as he inhaled her scent. She was as beautiful as he could ever remember and all Sherlock could think of was how much he loved her, how much he wanted her and needed her.

"Watson, I must leave you now. I have to. I find myself seeing you only as the woman that I love more than anyone on this earth and . . . I find it quite nearly impossible to contain my . . . my ardor under these circumstances."

Joan stopped and looked at him with the most woebegone look in her eyes.

"I understand, Sherlock. We don't do 'keeping our hands off each other' well any more, do we?"

"No, we don't."

Sherlock leaned toward Joan as if to kiss her but Joan dropped her head so that their mouths did not touch, and yet when their noses nearly met, they each inhaled the intoxicating personal scent of the other and they were both so nearly overwhelmed that Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin as his passions were so aroused that he hurried, practically ran to the door.

"Good night, Watson," he said as he went out of the door.

Joan sat down in tears. She needed and wanted him so.

I need and want him and I know he wanted me. Why can't I just face the facts and be with him. Why do I feel disloyal to Andrew, who was just a boyfriend, nothing more? Sherlock needed my attention this evening. He tried to hide his need from me but he couldn't hide it. I saw it in his body and I saw it in his eyes. And look at me, I'm a mess, my hair, I'm sweaty and dirty and yet just now I know he wanted me. God, please help me to get past this feeling of guilt. Please.

Sherlock went home to the brownstone and tried to tamp down his raging libido by busying himself with preparing her room for her return. He had purchased a Tempurpedic mattress for her bed and one of those fluffy white chenille bedspreads that he knew she loved as well as two sets of 600 count cotton satin sheets and pillowcases for her bed. In addition, he had had removed the dresser and nightstand that Kitty had used to the basement and found an interesting antique set in one of those furniture stores along Atlantic Avenue. There was a huge old mirror that he had found there as well. When he was finished arranging things for her, he made his own bed with fresh linen and straightened his room. Then he made himself tea and sat in nervous reflection and anticipation of her return, needing and longing for her.

Sherlock and Alfredo along with Luc, a big quiet fellow from Guadeloupe who sometimes did work for Sherlock, completed moving Joan back to the brownstone without too much commentary as Joan was still in a very melancholy mood. Actually Sherlock was concerned that Joan was acting precipitously in suddenly moving back the way that she did in the wake of Andrew's death, as much as he wanted her to be with him in the brownstone again. The few nights she had spent there with him prior to Andrew's death were not nearly enough for him.

When it was all done, Sherlock made a pot of Earl Grey tea and presented a cup to Joan who nodded and accepted the tea from his hand and sat down on the sofa with him in front of the fire. As she sat there, she finally lost the tight grip she had held on her emotions and began to cry. Silent tears just rolled down her cheeks and when she couldn't stop them, Sherlock took the cup of tea from her hand and set it aside on the coffee table. Then Joan began to sob and Sherlock took her into his arms upon his lap as her sobs became uncontrollable.

Luc had already left and Alfredo, seeing for the first time at close range the powerful emotions that were in place between Sherlock and Joan, quickly excused himself in the face of the interplay between his two friends.

"I . . . I just don't know, Sherlock. I can't believe that someone would kill someone they don't even know. What is wrong with people?"

"Some people are inherently evil, Joan. Don't expect anything but evil from evil people."

Joan climbed onto Sherlock's lap and clung to him like a little girl, still weeping.

"I am grieving but, I am so sorry. I need you, Sherlock . . . Baby, I'm aching so for you."

Joan's cry of need caused Sherlock to have to fight for self-control to keep from hungrily taking her right there at that moment, as his body responded to her on his lap, but he well knew he had to let Joan take the lead in this instance even though he gasped as his flesh came powerfully and completely to attention when he heard her cry out for him so pitifully.

"Forgive my pathetic flesh, but if you would allow me to attend to you, Joan," Sherlock whispered, "I will be most honored to give you whatever you need tonight."

"Yes, please take me to your bed, Sherlock," Joan said.

Sherlock picked Joan up in his arms and carried her into his bedroom, laid her carefully on his bed and then began to first tenderly kiss her breasts, then the especially sensitive place on her midriff that he had discovered, her belly, and finally to gently touch her all over with just his fingertips as he undressed her. Joan lay beside him on his bed running her fingers through Sherlock's auburn hair as his kisses became more and more passionate all over her body.

"I have no shame any more, Sherlock, none at all. I am in pathetic need of you," Joan said as she gave herself to Sherlock for his attention.

"Dear God . . . Joan, my sweetest Joan," Sherlock murmured as he held her and touched her tenderly as if she were a piece of fine china. "You should have asked for what you need. You know that I will gladly take care of you, luv. You are trembling so, my little one. I don't want you to suffer like this, luv."

"I know, Sherlock. I am so hot for you that I'm embarrassed. I have never wanted any man the way that I want you right this minute. All I can think of is the times we have been together and how you made me feel."

"Don't be ashamed, Joan. You are an adult woman and you need this right now. It is a fact of your humanity. Don't cry, luv. Just take what you need from me. I won't take from you tonight."

Sherlock stripped his own clothes off and lay down naked beside Joan, gently kissing her lips over and over as his hand traveled all over her breasts and down her body. But when his fingertips touched her smooth belly and then her thighs, Joan cried out in ecstasy, climbed onto Sherlock and they came together just like that.

"Joan . . . luv! I adore you!" Sherlock snorted loudly and gasped with each rocking movement, his handsome features contorted in ecstasy as he gripped Joan's hips so tightly that there would be black and blue marks later.

"Sherlock! I love you, Sherlock . . . love you! Oh, God, Sherlock!"

Sherlock finally drew Joan down onto his chest as their passions continued to escalate. They kissed mouth-to-mouth, drinking hungrily from each other's lips, clinging to each other and rocking together till suddenly Sherlock turned Joan onto her back.

"Joan! Joan!" he cried out, causing her to completely lose vision as he pushed hard into her, bringing her to a wild teeth-clattering climax.

"Sher . . . lock . . . Sher . . . !" Joan groaned between clenched teeth and then bit him hard on his clavicle in that moment.

"God! Dear God!" Sherlock cried out in an agony of pleasure in response as he squeezed Joan hard on her hips as he felt himself on the brink of his own release. "Forgive me, Joan! Please for . . . give . . . me!"

Joan was fluttering and snuffling in his arms, in such a state of ecstasy that she could hardly utter his name as, all the while Sherlock was on her, grunting and snorting over and over, his body wracked with spasm after spasm as all the stars of the universe seemed to explode in his brain.

"Sherlock . . . my Sherlock," Joan finally murmured softly as the acme suddenly relinquished its grip on her and she floated in the complete peace of surrender in his arms. "Yes, hold me, Sherlock. Please hold me tight, baby."

"Joanie . . . Joanie . . . my lovely honeybee!" Sherlock moaned as he felt her complete surrender to him. "My God, woman! Oh, my God!"

Sherlock held Joan, kissing her all over her face and caressing her tenderly as they eased down from the intense moments they had just experienced.

"I'm so sorry for biting you," Joan whispered, touching and then kissing and sucking the spot on his clavicle where she had drawn blood.

"You can bite me anytime, luv. I've needed you so," he said, choking back a sob.

Sherlock wakened the morning after Joan returned to the brownstone with Joan lying on his chest, her long hair strewn over him and he sensed that they had broken down the last barrier that had been between them. Sherlock felt his flesh shiver as he recalled the night before when Joan had laid all her feelings bare and climbed onto his lap and cried like her heart was broken.

The moments when they came together sexually were unlike those he had experienced with any other woman. Joan had wanted him and she had not held herself back from Sherlock. More than anything else she trusted Sherlock. She knew he would never act selfishly where she was concerned. The fact that he had refrained from any sexual overtures during those first two years that they had shared the brownstone gave Joan a sense of security where he was concerned, so that when she turned to him now for sexual comfort, she did so knowing that he would not pressure her or take advantage of her in any way. She knew that he would never take from her what she did not freely give him. And she wanted to give it all to him.

And then Sherlock found in Joan what he had never found with any other woman in all his vast sexual experience. When the moment of her release came, the orgasm had come from so deep inside her that she had sobbed and cried and bitten Sherlock and scratched deep welts on his back. But then following that, there was that moment when Joan surrendered herself completely to him and Sherlock felt it and in that moment he was so overwhelmed by it that he gave way to tears kissing her all over her face and her breasts, telling her how much he loved her. Silent tears began to stream down Sherlock's cheeks as he was consumed with memories of the night before causing Joan to stir in his arms.

"Sherlock . . .?" Joan murmured as she began to waken.

"Yes, luv. I'm here. I will always be here for you."

"I'm ready for you too now, Sherlock. Use me for your pleasure."

Sherlock smoothed her hair and drew her even closer. After the hiatus of several weeks without their having sexual contact, he was in dire need of more. He was excited anew as he wakened with her in his bed and he wanted her again. Joan sensed his need and stretched seductively, her initial shyness vanishing as she welcomed him once more, drawing the covers back so that she could look at him. He was flushed all over now, his pupils so dilated that they were just thin blue-green rings surrounding his darkened irises.

Sherlock drew her onto him and then he was gone, his passion for Joan overriding every other emotion as she climbed onto him as the glimmers of morning sunshine came through his window. They both cried out helplessly as their bodies joined again in the perfect sexual union that they had finally discovered.

They eventually pulled themselves from the bed and Joan went to shower while Sherlock went to make coffee for them. She dressed in soft black cotton slacks and a long-sleeved black tee shirt pulled over her bare breasts and went to find Sherlock in their kitchen.

"Morning, luv," Sherlock smiled tenderly at Joan.

Joan went to get cups and plates and arrange the table for their breakfast. She looked up at Sherlock and blushed slightly as he came close to her and kissed her on her forehead.

"It was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sherlock, it was good. It is good always with you."

"When we are together, it is different from anyone else, Joan. You give . . . you give me everything, in that moment when you surrender."

"You give me something no other man has given me, Sherlock. That moment . . . I have never experienced that kind of sensation deep inside me. It involved my whole body. I never thought such an orgasm was a reality . . . till you took me there, Sherlock. And then . . . what came after . . . that moment."

Joan looked up into Sherlock's blue-green eyes as he kissed her tenderly all over her face.

"Capitulation, luv, your capitulation . . . and I have never been with a woman who was able to completely surrender like that. Even though there is much research on this subject, I thought that it was somehow a myth as well because I had never experienced it from anyone. Irene, or Moriarity, knew nothing of the beauty of capitulation. I doubt that she ever gave in completely to any man."

"I couldn't help it when it happened, Sherlock. I have never experienced this with anyone else. Perhaps it is because I trust you so completely. I trust you with all that I am. You should know that I love you and when you are making love to me something different happens deep inside me. You make me lose my mind, baby."

Sherlock caught Joan up against him and hugged her tight. She was trembling against him.

"Oh God, woman! I do love you more than anyone or anything in the world. At that moment when I was in the deepest part of you, I felt such powerful spasms around my own flesh that I saw stars. I felt it the moment you began to quiver inside. It was the most beautiful sensation, luv. It was like an electric current running up and down my spine making my testicles swell till they felt as if they were going to burst."

"Oh, my darling Sherlock, my darling Sherlock," Joan murmured.

Sherlock bent to find her open mouth with his own and they kissed passionately, standing there in the kitchen, as Joan's hands found their way under his soft tee shirt to caress his back and shoulders.

Joan melted like putty in his hands as Sherlock held her in his embrace and the sensation captured him completely.

"Sherlock, I love you. I love you and I trust you and . . . and . . ."

"Let's drink our coffee before it goes cold, luv. I will be unable to restrain myself in a moment."

Sherlock led Joan to the table and they sat down side by side and drank their coffee. Sherlock had made toast and they spread the crisp slices with butter and raspberry jam and fed each other.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed Joan on her cheek and then again on her neck on the spot just below her ear that he had discovered and she literally dissolved against him.

"Ooh, Sherlock . . ." Joan murmured as Sherlock continued to feed her and to play with her, kissing her and sucking her tiny earlobe. "Sherlock, baby . . . you know I can't resist you when you do that."

Sherlock drew Joan over onto his lap so that he could continue to kiss her upon her neck and then pulling up her tee shirt, burrowed his face there to find the softness of her breasts, grateful to discover that she was wearing no bra.

"Thank you for leaving off that infernal contraption. I need to suckle this morning, babe."

"Sherlock . . . um . . . yes, baby," Joan sighed and moaned softly, reaching to loosen his jeans and claim him. He was hers and she knew it. "I want you, Sherlock. I want you so."

"Oh, God, Joan! Yes, woman!"

Joan was flushing, her whole body hot with desire, preparing to take Sherlock again as he kissed each of her soft breasts in turn while his nimble fingers loosened her slacks and pulled them down and off and tossed them aside.

"Ooh, Sherlock, help me, baby. Help me, ooh!"

Sherlock picked Joan up in his arms and started to carry her down the stairs to his bedroom, but halfway there they began to kiss so passionately that they could not go farther as Sherlock's parts found congruence with Joan's parts and they came together as they both cried out loud. Joan, wrapping her legs around his hips as the joining between them became perfect. They could not get off the stairs as they moved in rhythm and came quickly to climax together right there, grunting and gasping together, spilling the essences of their lovemaking there on the steps.

"Oh, Sherlock, we are making quite a mess here on the stairs, aren't we?"

"It's beautiful, the mess we make. I love it and I will clean it up."

Joan and Sherlock kissed again and again on the stairs, overwhelmed with their feelings.

"Sherlock, I don't want to stop now. I'm still so hot for you."

"We're going to have to spend the rest of the day in bed, luv. And I dare say that will not be nearly enough."

Sherlock picked Joan up in his arms and carried her off to bed and they spent all the rest of the day making love to each other and sleeping and then waking to make love again and then again.

"I have never felt for anyone what I feel for you, my dearest Joan. You truly are the one I love more than anyone else in the world. Do you know that?"

"Yes, baby . . . and I love you too. I always have," Joan whispered as her own tears spilled from her eyes.

"Welcome home, luv," Sherlock whispered as he tenderly kissed the tears away from her cheeks and drew the warm covers up over them as they fell asleep in each other's arms.