Joan and Sherlock, Chapter two
Word count 6,690
By phaedraphelan
Summary: It seems that everyone wants to write a pregnancy piece so here is a version. In this piece there is a conscious decision on the part of our characters to let this happen. We are dealing with two adults who have successfully avoided this consequence in their lives up until this point. Now they want something different. Feel free to comment on this. We will see what really happens in October.
Disclaimer: Elementary is the artistic property of CBS and no infringement is intended.
Sherlock lay in bed in his cheap hotel room in Bogota and found himself in the depths of loneliness. He realized as soon as he left New York that it was a mistake on his part to do so. He knew that he cared for Joan more than any other person, but he had not anticipated the pain of physical separation after being with her sexually for just a short time. He was in physical agony for her as he had never experienced for any woman. He wanted to smell her, to taste her.
At first he had simply been hurt, saddened at the fact of her lying down with Mycroft, but now he realized that the trauma she experienced had made her irresponsible for her actions. He would not hold her accountable for Mycroft. It was Mycroft himself who had taken advantage of her in her moment of irrational fear, misled her about his reasons for collaborating with Le Milieu to make himself seem genuinely interested in protecting Sherlock, and then walked out of her life after satisfying himself that there was nothing that Sherlock had that he could not take if he wished to take it from him. But now Sherlock writhed on his bed as his need overwhelmed him and he groaned helplessly as memories of being with Joan took over and possessed him. The pleasure had been so all-consuming between them, and each time they had come together it was more intense than the time before.
"Oh, God, I need my Joan," he cried out into the darkness. "Please, God help me!"
As he suffered the absence of Joan, the man who had never professed to believe found himself calling on the higher power whose existence he had never acknowledged. And this was nothing a tryst with a prostitute would help. He needed to see Joan, to touch her, to hear her voice, to inhale the scent of her, to watch her keen mind sort and understand him as no one else could. He had found his mate, his peer. He finally realized that fact. The need he felt for Joan in his life was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. And it was more than a simple lust that could be satisfied by a single session of passionate lovemaking. The physical need was there, but it was layered onto what was more than just fleshly need. Theirs was a spiritual connection, an intellectual bond, an interdependence that allowed him to expose the nakedness of his personality to Joan with no fear, no sense that she would ridicule him for his weaknesses, his frailties. Now he felt what was a literal ache in the pit of his belly, in his gonads, a craving that could only be assuaged by touching and seeing Joan. He was in such a constant state of arousal that he was in agony. He wrapped himself in Joan's scarf so that he could smell her and remember being close to her as he groaned her name over and over in the loneliness of his bed.
After he had suffered every night for nearly two weeks, he went to his laptop and sent an esoteric message to Watson.
"Euglassia Watsonia, I need you and I miss you desperately. I love you so much."
At home in New York Joan Watson had just sat down at her computer in the brownstone. She was still somewhat shaken from her experiences-her kidnapping, her brief fruitless liaison with Mycroft and the chain of events that had resulted in Mycroft's elaborate staging of his own death and Sherlock taking on work for MI 6. She knew that the message was from Sherlock.
More than anything else she finally realized that Mycroft had taken advantage of her, that he had mainly wanted her only because she was the one closest to Sherlock and she was left feeling incredibly used and cheapened by the whole experience. For the first time in her adult life she realized that having intercourse was not something that she could view as casually as she had in the past.
Now Joan deeply regretted ever opening her legs to Mycroft. He deliberately came after her because he knew that Sherlock was in love with her. The challenge had printed itself and Mycroft had been unable to resist it. She realized that both she and Sherlock had been denying for too long what existed between them, that there was no one else who could calm that ache inside them. Having sex with Mycroft did not calm Joan's ache, her need. It was as powerful as ever after that act and was not calmed till she and Sherlock came together.
She realized that she had never really known Mycroft. Even having intercourse with him did not reveal his inmost self to her, but had simply seemed to be an opportunity for physical release for him, a opportunity to demonstrate his considerable sexual prowess. She remembered his words to her when she was in his bed.
"You must know that I find you incredibly beautiful, Joan. I know that you are fond of Sherlock, but may I ask you a question? Do you love him?"
"Do I love him?"
"As a man . . . do you love him?"
"I have not allowed myself to explore my feelings for him in that direction."
"Do you find him attractive?"
"Yes . . . he is attractive. But I fight to keep my objective point of view."
"Do you feel that he maintains his objectivity where you are concerned?"
"Why are you asking this now, Mycroft?"
"Because I think you want him actually and that I am a substitute of sorts. But I don't mind taking his place." Mycroft chuckled wickedly as he drew Joan into his embrace.
Joan sat shaking her head as she reflected on the way Mycroft had injected himself into her life and Sherlock's life and literally taken her from him. Despite his sexual technique he was no comparison to Sherlock. When Sherlock made love to her, he became at times like a wild stallion completely caught up in his passions, but then at other times he was incredibly tender, touching her in places she had never been touched by anyone, titillating her so skillfully that she was brought to the heights of sexual fulfillment nonstop again and again till she was sobbing for joy. And Joan had experienced something in his arms that she could never have imagined. When Sherlock brought her to the heights of ecstasy again and again, he had awakened in her something that she had never experienced with anyone as she lost every inhibition and cried out in complete surrender his arms. There was nothing hidden, nothing held back when Sherlock gave himself to her, when he sobbed as those blue and white lights exploded in his brain and their flesh and spirit united as one. Now Joan finally lay trembling, tears slipping down her face as the reality of what she had nearly lost came fully home to her. She was miserable without Sherlock. She lay in his bed wrapped in his sheets inhaling the scent of him and wept.
The next week an e-mail came into her mailbox, an advertisement for a hotel in Bogota. There was no message but Joan knew. She made a reservation for Bogota for the next day and then called Alfredo and asked him to watch the brownstone for a few days.
"I have to go to Bogota, Alfredo. I have to."
"Where you goin, Joan? Goin to see your man?" He smiled.
"Alfredo . . . Please. Don't say anything to anyone."
"You know your secret's safe with me."
"And how . . . how did you know?"
"Girl, the two of you-that's a story just waitin' to be told. He's always been in love with you. He was so tore up when he thought he'd lost you to his brother."
"He spoke with you . . . about . . . it?"
"He said that his brother always tried to take anything that belonged to him. He said that was why Mycroft was . . . after your. . . your, excuse the expression, behind. Sherlock is in love with you. You know that, don't you?"
Joan flushed and tears flooded her eyes as Alfredo recounted his conversation with Sherlock.
"Alfredo, I tried to keep from falling in love with him, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be with him in the worst way. Why couldn't I just be his friend?"
"Listen, girl, this platonic stuff don't mean 'jack' when you got the kind of chemistry you and Sherlock have. Know what I mean? He was tore up. He cried like a baby, Joan, when he thought he had lost you."
The next morning Joan was on a plane to Bogota and that evening found her getting out of a taxi in front of the hotel from the brochure she had seen in her e-mail.
Joan registered at the desk and then turned to survey the modest lobby area and chatted up the receptionist who spoke excellent English.
"I'm supposed to meet a friend here while I'm in town. He's a Brit, tall, ruddy complexion, may be wearing a beard."
"Oh, you're lookin' the guy in Room 559 on the top floor. Want me to call him for you?"
"No, I want to surprise him. We're old friends. Muchas gracias!"
Joan went along to her room and showered and changed clothes, putting on a tank top and a simple skirt that she knew showed off her legs to advantage. She was extremely nervous as she anticipated seeing Sherlock again. She picked up the room-to-room phone and dialed Room 559.
"Yes," Sherlock answered tersely, thinking it was perhaps his handler contacting him.
"It's me. I'm here, Sherlock, Room 559," she said and hung up.
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Joan's voice. He put the phone down and stood looking at himself in the mirror for a long moment before going into the bathroom. He stripped and stepped into the shower and quickly cleaned up. He was hot and sweaty from the tropical heat and did not want to offend her sensibilities in any way. He put on fresh clothes and left his room to meet Joan.
Joan heard the soft knock on her door and ran to open it to Sherlock. At the sight of Joan, he quickly drew her inside and shut the door behind them and locked it. They stood staring at each other for a long moment and then Sherlock caught Joan up in his arms. Sherlock hugged Joan and then he kissed her, at first tentatively, then tenderly, his hands clasping both her cheeks. He stared at Joan, searching all the features of her face as if he could hardly believe that she had come to him. But then Sherlock pushed Joan up against the door that he had just closed as his passions ran rampant and he hungrily kissed her again and again.
"Oh, dear God, I missed you, Joan. I missed you so much."
Sherlock continued to kiss Joan all over her face and Joan was crying and his own eyes spilled over as his hands caressed her and held her. Sherlock picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, laid her down on it and crouched over her. He gratefully breathed the scent of her into his nostrils, as he gently pulled up her top so that he could get to softness of her breasts and bury his face in the fullness there.
"I had to come to you, Sherlock. I want to be in your orbit. I need to breathe you in on every single day of my life. I was so foolish to fall for Mycroft, not realizing that the reason he wanted me was mainly because I was with you. I am here now to . . . to be with you, Sherlock. I belong to you. There is absolutely no question in my mind. Alfredo said I was coming to be with my man. Was he right? You said that you are my man. Are you, Sherlock?"
"Dear God, yes! Yes! I cried for you, Joan. When I thought that I had lost you, I cried like a baby, luv!"
They caressed each other, murmuring endearments to each other as they pulled off each others clothes so that they could touch each other, moaning softly as they responded to each touch, each point of physical contact.
"I have missed the scent of you so, Sherlock," Joan murmured as she put her face into the thickness of his underarm hair and inhaled his the scent of his sweat that she had missed so much. "I have missed living in your orbit. . . seeing you and smelling you, being with you."
They lay staring at each other taking in all of each other, their faces flushed with arousal and need.
Sherlock lay back as Joan rubbed his hard muscled belly and began to stroke him. The pleasure she gave Sherlock at that moment of touching him was so intense that he cried out and clenched his teeth in agony, trembling all over. Then he growled and pushed Joan onto her back and began to kiss her all over her body with increasing intensity till he snorted loudly gasping her name, as he buried his face between her breasts. He was trembling helplessly, groaning his need.
"Please, Joan! Oh, please, woman! I need you to take me and hold me inside you again. I need you so! I've been in agony down here without you."
"Yes, Sherlock, yes!" Joan wailed to him, moaning his name in ecstasy.
Sherlock caressed her thighs, kissing them and lightly nipping the tender skin there as he at the same time tried in vain to hold back the hunger for her that he had held in restraint for so long.
Sherlock continued to gasp and groan as he buried his face there, inhaling her rich heady scent, continuing to kiss her inner thighs as he approached her most intimate place till Joan caught his hands in hers and stopped him before he could go farther. Joan drew him up to look into his eyes. She had to speak to him.
"Sherlock, I had my period last week."
"I remembered that you were due. I hope that you didn't suffer too much, luv."
"I would have appreciated your massaging my feet and making my special tea. You are the only man who knows me this well. But Sherlock, I did not resume taking the pill. I don't know where that puts me in my cycle now, but, for the first time in my life, it is of no consequence to me. If you want to use a condom, that is your decision to make."
"Joan, I am no dry tree like my brother. No vasectomy, no chemo after-effects, just a man with testicles that feel like they will burst and the most powerful urges toward you. I must use a condom to protect you."
"I want you to spill inside of me. I want all of you. If you make me pregnant, I will gladly carry for you, Sherlock. I want to be pregnant for you."
"My darling Joan, I am yours to do with as you wish . . . my flesh . . . all that I am or ever will be."
Sherlock caught Joan up to his chest and kissed her passionately, mounting her to take her. Joan welcomed him and at the moment they joined, they both gasped and cried out loud. He came into her as if he were coming home, as he had dreamed about so many of the nights of separation, feeling and finding the full depth of her. They easily found their pace and it was perfect between them as they clung together rocking in the timeless rhythm of coitus, perfectly matched, moving in synchrony with each other, crying out to each other as they climbed to the crest together. Joan fluttered like a butterfly in Sherlock's arms, moaning and gasping his name, as Sherlock took her. Sherlock's stamina knew no bounds, finally giving Joan what she had been in such dire need of for so long. When Sherlock saw her going over the top for the third time, he could hold back no longer and he snorted passionately, grunting as his parts seemed to explode, his pelvis jerking in spasms spurting his semen as Joan capitulated, melting in his arms. They were both seeing stars bursting in their brains as the climax surged over them and then left them gasping and panting in its wake.
"Joan! Joan! Each spasm . . . like one of the . . . the double stops in the Bach Chaconne! Oh, dear God!"
"Yes . . . Sherlock . . . baby . . . yes . . . Sherlock, I love you."
They kissed tenderly as the afterglow settled down on them. They were dripping with perspiration, sweating together in the tropical heat, feeling the wonder of the perfect joining they had experienced. Sherlock talked to her all the while through their mating, telling Joan his feelings for her, his longing, his consuming need, becoming a true poet in her arms. When Sherlock finally sobbed, overcome completely by his emotions, Joan sighed his name and melted in his embrace, hardly able to hold on to him, her arms weak from the intensity of the climax. As Joan cradled him tenderly, his head upon her breasts, Sherlock's body still continued to vibrate as he cuddled against hers.
"Sherlock . . . please . . . again. Please, Sherlock," Joan whispered as she held him in her arms.
"You don't have to ask, luv. Just touch me and kiss me the way you are doing."
They made love again and again till exhaustion eventually overcame them both.
It was dark when they wakened in each other's arms.
"Joan, luv . . . Thank you for coming to me. I hope I did not exhaust you."
"Umm, Sherlock, I love you . . . love you so."
"Let's get into the shower together and cool off. The heat here is wicked."
As they stood under the tepid water together, their passions became heated again and Sherlock took Joan again right there and then carried her back to bed. They could not stop making love for more than an hour or so before they were at it again till their bodies were finally so sore and they were so hungry that they had to leave the hotel and find a restaurant where they filled themselves up on some of the best local cuisine. Then they went back to the hotel and lay down together again, unable get enough of each other.
"I don't want you to leave, Joan. I need you to be with me, but it is too dangerous here for you here. Please, don't let me be selfish, luv. I shall have to send you home."
"Then we will have to do this all night, baby, and all day tomorrow before I go back to New York."
Joan had never been with a man like Sherlock. He was completely different from Mycroft. His technique as a lover was amazing; his knowledge of lovemaking was like all of his knowledge without compare. But with Joan it was not just technique. He had never been with a woman that he loved so deeply, so completely. He was so impassioned, and then there were his words, talking to her constantly, telling her all the things in his heart and the sounds he made when making love, the snorting and growling when he was lost in his passions. There was no end to his sensual energy and stamina and he proved it, making love to her again and again before it was time for Joan to leave Bogota.
Two days later Joan flew back to New York, calm and satisfied in her heart and in her flesh. She was met at the airport by Alfredo and he smiled when he saw her so flushed and so obviously happy.
"What?" Joan asked him when he smiled at her in such a knowing way.
"You just look like a little ole settin' hen, girl. I think Sherlock's done fixed you up."
"I hope he did. I love him, Alfredo. I'm going to move completely back into the brownstone and wait till he comes home to me."
Joan gave up the month-to-month lease on her apartment and moved completely back into Sherlock's brownstone. She was content, and when she missed her second period, she knew that she was pregnant. She sent Sherlock a coded e-mail that contained a negative of an ultrasound of an tiny infant in utero.
In Bogota, Sherlock saw the negative and he knew that Joan was pregnant and that he had sired the child in her womb. He contacted MI 6 and told his handlers that he could no longer be in South America because of family concerns. Then he got on the next flight to New York. It had been eight weeks since he and Joan had been together. He had been faithful to her even though he had suffered countless sleepless nights, tossing and turning in the tropical heat, in such dire need of Joan that he was in agony. He had cried out for Joan every night as he lay in his bed alone, suffering with the need in his flesh, but he never sought relief with any of the local prostitutes. He knew that that part of his life was now over. He belonged to Joan.
A week later as Joan lay in her bed in the brownstone in the early morning she heard familiar footsteps on the stairs. The door opened, and Sherlock came into her bedroom, bent over her bed, caught her up into his arms and kissed her passionately. Just the familiar woodsy scent of him caused her heart to leap in response.
"I took the red eye from Bogota. I could not stay away from you. It was a mistake to ever leave you here alone. I need to be here with you, Joan."
"Oh, Sherlock . . . Sherlock," Joan gasped as he kissed her again, slipping out of his trousers and then lying down in bed with her, pulling her white chenille bedspread back and then lifting up the nightshirt she was wearing so that he could touch her once again.
"I missed you, Joan. I missed you in my bed. I love you . . . so much. Look at you, luv! Look at your breasts, luv! They're so swollen and beautiful."
"I guess this is what early pregnancy looks like."
"How are you feeling, luv?"
"Some morning sickness, but not too much now. I think you may have missed the worst part of it, but it isn't completely done."
"I missed you so much after you left Bogota. I . . . I couldn't sleep. And when I realized that you were pregnant with our child! I am truly thrilled, Joan. I am so overwhelmed at the prospect. Our weekend in Bogota bore fruit, didn't it, luv? Our fruit."
Sherlock caressed Joan's belly and breasts and then fell upon her with such ardor, such fervent expressions of passion that he began to sob upon her. He plumbed the depths of her mouth, possessing it completely and then they came together again as he gave himself to Joan with abandon till she dissolved in his arms, her brain bombarded with brilliant blue and white flashes of light.
"God! Joan! Joan," he cried out, his whole body seizing in spasms, as he shook and trembled on top of her. "I'm home, luv. I'm home!"
Joan moaned softly as her passions slowly ebbed and she felt warmth and contentment permeate her flesh as she held him in her arms.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, baby, I did miss you so much."
"I knew the moment that you left Bogota that I would be even more miserable than before. After we came together again, there was no dialing back my desire for you. I need you, Joan. I ached so for you." Sherlock drew her hand to where he craved her touch. "Will you take care of this ache for me for the rest of my life, Joan? This belongs to you now and to no one else."
"Yes, I will take care of you. I promise you, Sherlock."
Sherlock and Joan lay together whispering all the love words that they had saved up in their hearts for each other. Sherlock cradled her, gently suckling her swollen breasts, as Joan fondled and caressed him.
"Your breasts are so full, luv. Seeing you pregnant, knowing that you are carrying our little one."
He rubbed her belly and then kissed it as Joan ran her hands through his hair and scratched his scalp the way she loved to do.
"Have you forgiven me for being with Mycroft?"
"Do you want him, Joan?"
"I cannot think of any other man but you, Sherlock."
"Then we will not ever speak of my brother anymore in the context of you and me. Please believe me when I say that I am only thinking of us."
After her brief liaison with Mycroft, the contrast was obvious between the two brothers, and while Joan believed that Mycroft's inability to carry her where she needed to be was less a result of his chemo treatments and more simply an evidence that Mycroft's sexual temperament was completely different from Sherlock's, it was clear to Joan that her love for Sherlock was not misplaced. Furthermore, Mycroft had seemed to be totally enervated by their coupling, only lasting for what to Joan seemed like all too brief a time with Joan left still needing more attention whereas Sherlock's sensual stamina seemed limitless.
Sherlock turned his attention to loving Joan again, holding and showering her with kiss after kiss, till they were both carried away again, helpless to release themselves from the powerful emotions that held them in their grip.
"Dear God! Dear God! Joan . . . Joan, help me!" Sherlock's teeth clattered as the climax rattled over and through him, till they finally lay exhausted and sated, moaning softly in each other's arms as they floated together in the afterglow.
The next morning as they ate breakfast in bed together, Sherlock stated it as a matter of fact.
"I'm not going back to Bogota. I'm going to see Sir Walter to tell MI 6 that I am done. I'm staying here. I can't be away from you, Joan. I need to be in your orbit, luv. I cannot endure it when I am away from you." He smiled tenderly at her and bent to kiss her still flat belly where their little one was growing.
When he met with Sir Walter later that day, he was ready to take whatever consequences would result from refusing to leave New York.
"I have to be here. My life is here now. And, for the record, Sir Walter, I have reviewed my activities involved with Sedoma Hann and will stand by what was done. There was no breach of loyalty, sir, on my part."
Sir Walter adjusted himself in his chair somewhat uneasily.
"Holmes, I hope you have not concluded that MI6 felt there was any disloyalty on your part. We wanted to have your brother as an asset again and Sharrington decided to use misinformation about your work with Sedoma Hann as leverage to force him back to us. If there were any question as to your loyalty, I would never have asked you to work with us at this point in time."
"Was my brother apprised of the fact of my loyalty?"
"He was not given that information initially. As for later, I cannot say. Were you given to believe that he continued under that misapprehension?"
"I would say so. Or his disloyalty to me as his brother becomes an even more bitter pill."
"Unfortunately Sharrington is no longer here, and if he were still alive, it would be the word of a proved traitor. Sedoma Hann is in deep cover and would be endangered by any efforts to contact him. I am sure you understand."
"Absolutely," Sherlock answered. "Case closed."
"So you will not be continuing your work with us, Holmes?"
"I find it necessary to be here in New York. I have a commitment here that I must honor. If there are matters that can be handled here, I will accept such."
"This commitment . . . does it involve your erstwhile partner?"
"Yes, Sir Walter, it does," Sherlock answered simply. "We have a history, Sir Walter. I cannot say more."
"I understand and wish you well."
Sherlock and Joan went into seclusion together at the brownstone for the next two weeks, unable to be apart for even a few hours as they affirmed and confirmed their love for each other. Only Alfredo even knew that Sherlock was back and he wasn't talking to anyone about it.
Finally they settled into life again as partners and as so much more. They resumed taking cases with NYPD but made the conscious decision to keep Joan out of the more dangerous situations. At first they did not announce the pregnancy to their friends. Alfredo had sensed it right away and Gregson in his wisdom soon put two and two together and informed Sherlock that he was aware of what was happening. Joan's blooming right in front of them and Sherlock's constant attentiveness to her was all the evidence anyone who knew them really needed. At first they tried to act as if things were as usual, but they couldn't keep their hands off each other and soon everyone realized that something powerful was going on between Sherlock and Joan.
Sherlock was happier than he had ever been in his life as a man. Adding the sexual component to all that they already shared only enhanced what they already were. Sherlock was sharper, more possessed of mental clarity than ever. As he lay in bed with Joan each night, he loved to kiss her belly as it began to show its slightest roundness, delighting in every single aspect of her pregnancy.
When Joan was in the middle of her third month, they were quite surprised to reach home and find a sleek black limousine parked in front. A tall very spare older version of Sherlock stepped from the car.
"Father, what a surprise," Sherlock stated somewhat wryly.
"Mr. Holmes, it is a pleasure to finally meet you," Joan said with a slight bow of her head, instantly recognizing this man as the patriarch of Sherlock's family.
"A pleasure to me as well."
Sherlock led the way into the house and Joan quickly set about making tea.
"I must say that I am very pleased that your life has evened out so well. With the recent loss of Mycroft I am thankful that I still have you, Sherlock."
"Thank you, father. The loss of my brother was . . . unfortunate." Sherlock did not comment further.
"I find myself with a chain of high end restaurants to run as a consequence. Do you have an interest in them?"
"None whatsoever, father."
"I felt that would be your response. I will just have to place them under one of my corporations."
Joan approached and served tea, bowing and presenting the cup with both hands to Sherlock's father and then serving Sherlock in the same manner.
"Miss Watson, I must say that I have wanted to express my appreciation for your work with Sherlock. I wanted to give you this monetary expression."
The older Holmes drew a check from his breast pocket and handed it to Joan.
"Sir, this is not necessary," Joan said as she saw that the check was for ten thousand dollars.
"Yes, it is. With the recent tragic situation in regard to Mycroft I felt that it would be good to reconnect with my youngest son, and it is you who have made that possible, Miss Watson."
"Actually Watson . . . Joan and I have a personal relationship now. I love her deeply. We actually plan to be married two weeks hence."
Sherlock's father carefully looked Joan up and down, analyzing her and taking all of her in with his clear blue eyes. Then he smiled with the wisdom of an old man who had not forgotten what it was like to feel the passions of a younger man.
"That pleases me immeasurably, Sherlock. Miss Watson. . . Joan is quite lovely and obviously quite brilliant. She also appears to be capable of producing issue. That would be a grand thing. I will certainly plan to be there."
Sherlock simply smiled at Joan and took her hand in his.
"This place could use some renovations, Sherlock . . . an extra bathroom, some other updates. Make a few sketches and I will have my man come by and pick them up. We will get it done."
While Sherlock and Joan stood gobsmacked by the whole event, the older Holmes got up and took his leave of them both.
"That is my father, Joan, in the flesh. You absolutely charmed him, especially when you served him tea in that way that you do."
"Are you sure. I felt like livestock being appraised. And you didn't tell him that I am pregnant for you. I realized that I am carrying his grandchild in my belly and I felt that I had to show my respect for him."
"He will find out about the pregnancy in due time, luv. In the meantime let him be charmed by you as I have been."
Sherlock drew Joan into his embrace, kissed her over and over and then when their kisses became the kisses of passionate need between them, he picked Joan up in his arms and carried her off to bed.
When Joan was just past four months along, they got married by a judge who was a friend of Sherlock in a Saturday morning ceremony in the Japanese pavilion in Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Joan's parents and brother Oren were there. Sherlock's father was there as well. Joan's friends Emily and Fran were there. Joan was lovely in a creamy silk and lace empire style wedding dress that completely disguised her pregnancy and Sherlock was resplendent in his formal black morning coat. Gregson stood up with Sherlock as his best man.
Everyone was touched at the sound of Sherlock's voice breaking as he stated his vows, the sight of his eyes brimming as he held Joan's hand in his. And there was no doubt of Joan's love as she looked at him with her dark eyes full of her adoration for him.
All went to a small restaurant reception afterwards. As they danced together, Sherlock's face flushed as he held Joan close to his heart. When Joan felt his flesh rising in excitement against her as they danced slowly close together, she flushed as well.
"Oh dear Sherlock, what are we to do with ourselves?"
"Please, luv, I need you so. I'm about to be undone here. Please just let's slip away to our honeymoon cottage in the woods up at Lake Placid and take care of each other. No one will miss us here. Alfredo has a car outside with our bags inside. He will drive us up and come back for us in a week."
As they danced slowly together, Sherlock bent his head to kiss Joan tenderly once, twice, and then a third time.
"I just must take leave of my mother and you must take leave of your father and then we can slip out."
Joan caught her mother's eyes. She had been watching them closely all during the events of the day.
"Darling Joan, you and your Sherlock have all my best wishes." Then she leaned into whisper her next words to her daughter. "You are carrying so beautifully for Sherlock."
Joan was taken aback, not realizing that her pregnant state was that obvious.
"No, it was not your belly that gave it away, but your radiantly beautiful face. Only pregnancy gives a woman that glow."
"Please keep our secret for a few more weeks. Sherlock's father does not know as yet."
"Your secret is safe, my dear."
The two women hugged warmly and kissed each other before Joan and Sherlock quietly took their leave and let Alfredo take them briefly to the brownstone.
As they changed into comfortable traveling clothes it was with great difficulty because they were in such a state of desire for one another. Sherlock became excited for her at just the sight of her in her lacy lingerie with her swollen breasts and just the suggestion of a rounding baby bump.
"Joan . . . wife . . . woman, I need you so. Look at you . . . look at what we have done together."
Sherlock embraced her and kissed her all over her face and dropped to his knees so that he could embrace her around her belly. He was so flushed, so aroused by Joan that he could hardly speak as Joan ran her fingers through his hair.
"It's all right, baby. We will be all right. Alfredo is waiting for us," Joan said as she tried to calm him.
"Just hold me, luv. I can't face that trip to Lake Placid without this," Sherlock begged, unzipping his trousers.
Sherlock pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties aside and his member found its place inside her despite the fact that they we're fully dressed.
"Ooh! Ooh! Sherlock!" Joan flesh quivered in response to his.
"Oh, God! Yes, Joan!" Sherlock cried softly as his body quickly went rigid in orgasm.
"Just please tell me that you will always love me as I love you this day," Sherlock said! holding her close as they tried to gain control of the situation.
"I promise you . . . promise you, promise you, my darling Sherlock."
