Kinda a short one today. I didn't want to overdue this scene and I knew I wanted it to also be it's own chapter. On top of that I'm in the smack dab middle of midterm season. Hopefully by next week (my spring break) I'll have more time to sit down and focus on something other than Anatomy.

After carefully determining that they weren't followed Sherlock guides her to a cafe that is quite infamous for having no service. Preventing service would prevent the potential assassin from catching a ping off of Watson's phone. If it were up to him he'd simply chuck the phone out the window of a cab but according to Marcus that's destruction of property and he could be sued for that. Not that he cares about such discretions but he and the captain alike had taken far too many risks for him and Kitty. They'd turned their heads one too many times and the newest detective that he is supposed to be trailing isn't quite so fond of such practices.

Watson greets the bartender with familiarity, almost friendly. "I'm a regular." She doesn't offer further explanation but from the way her eyes dart to her computer he assumes she means this is where she comes to work when not in her office. "You're a consultant." He nods in confirmation. "Aren't you supposed to have someone with you."

"Detective Cortez got lost in traffic." He says nonchalantly. It's not an entire mistruth. She's lost in traffic on her way to the same location where Marcus and Kitty currently are. "Besides, you're not a threat."

"I'm not?" Watson hums amused. He studies her face catching the mirth in her gaze. She's teasing him.

"Not to me." Satisfied with the answer she smiles into her tea. "Richard Otis was killed at the club he frequented. It was an all males club, quite a rudimentary place. If you did kill your ex-finacee, someone would've noticed you surely." Her eyes narrow at him trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. Redness spreads across her chest; it likely wouldn't be discernable by any other, especially in contrast to her red dress.

Sherlock squints surveying the fellow patrons at the restaurant. Thus far none of them had struck particular familiarity to him and Watson seemed content in her food. She rather calmly picks at the piece of strawberry cheesecake for someone who had almost fell down an elevator shaft and got shot at in one day.

"You're going to drive whoever it is away." She notes sipping on her tea. His own drink lays forgotten, cooling in front of them.

"You say that like its an issue." He raises an eyebrow at her and she simply shrugs.

"I thought you were supposed to catch the bad guys not let them know you're onto them."

His eyes catch a man's face in the crowd of people passing the small cafe. There it is, the flash of familiarity he's been looking for. He's almost certain he saw the same man exiting the building to Watson's office as he entered. He doesn't announce his finding on the rare case that it may be a coincidence that this man is watching Watson with a steel gaze. Perhaps a worker scorned, but that makes him all the more suspicious in Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock waits and barely five minutes later the same man crosses the window once again. She'd noted she was a regular here. It was foolish to think that the man wouldn't check here for their whereabouts. He's about to announce his discovery when a smooth manicured hand pulls his face back forwards. The small noise of protest is quickly muffled by her mouth on his.

Her lips are incredibly soft but insistent. She commands his attention in every single way but rather than admonishment he feels sparks dancing across their connection lighting a fire in his stomach. His fingers over barely brushing the fabric of her jacket, indecisive for the first time in so long. He teeters on the ledge of the cool certainty of logic and the heat that she's using to ignite his veins. Her own fingers remain clutched to his jaw holding him in place, holding him to her. Briefly he feels the tug of of her other hand on his jacket calling him into action as he kisses her back. Her tongue sweeps teasingly across his lower lip tempting his to join inside her mouth. He can taste the strawberries on her lips with the slightest hint of the green tea. His mind betrays him as it whispers wonderings if he could get a better taste.

Before he can try she releases her hold on him, breath fanning against his face. "There. Now you look less like my bodyguard and more like a possessive boyfriend." Her words are quiet, only for his ears. She gives his cheek a light pat before turning her attention back to her dessert. The bartender winks at her, a job well done, and she flashes him a wolfish grin in return.

He stands abruptly with a potential suspect in mind and all his previous perceptions of Joan Watson shattered beyond repair. He stammers before grabbing her arm and raising her from the seat. To anyone else it likely would've looked like a couple overcome by passion. Rather, he needs to get her to safety as quickly as possible. The man opened fire on an office building he sincerely doubts that he'd be objected to doing the same in a diner.

He tosses cash onto the counter which is more than enough for both of their orders but he's too focused on the back door. She simply follows pushed by the guidance of his hand on her lower back. He pulls the whistle from his side pocket coming to a harsh stop by the side of the road. Blowing the whistle to signal a cab seems to be effective this time as they pretty much get swept up right away.

"Warning would've been nice." Watson deadpans as she climbs in. He's not sure if she means the hasty exit or the whistle but he can't help but echo the sentiment when he remembers the feeling of her lips on his. Dread pools in his stomach as he realizes that he wouldn't entirely mind feeling them again.