Intimacy Chapter three
By: phaedraphelan
3,337 words
Summary:
Disclaimer: This "Elementary" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Elementary," the actors, their agents, the producers, the CBS Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.
This story is really quite self-explanatory in view of where we are seeing the relationship between Sherlock and Joan developing. Feel free to comment. I appreciate the reviews.
Chapter three
Gregson and Bell were waiting anxiously for Sherlock and Joan at the precinct to outline the circumstances of the most recent case to cross his desk.
"There you are Holmes. Missed you yesterday. Everything all right?"
"Oh, yes, of course. What's going on down here?"
"We're going out to the crime scene now. It's uptown near the south side of Central Park. A body was found near the Wollman ice skating rink."
When they got to the crime scene, the CSI people were there already looking for physical evidence. It was a man in worn clothing, lying near the rink. Sherlock immediately focused on the details of the crime scene. It was quickly apparent that the man had been killed elsewhere and brought to the spot. It was also clear that he was by no means as indigent as he appeared to be. His clothes, while well-worn all bore labels that stated "Made to Order in the Men's Specialty Shop at Bloomingdale's."
"I think that these articles of clothing somehow can lead us to the identity of the victim. These items are numbered to link them with the purchaser in the event he wishes to order additional numbers of the same item."
"Gregson, we're off to Bloomingdale's to determine the person who purchased these clothing items. That may help us identify our victim."
Sherlock and Joan took off for 59th and Lexington Avenue on the train and soon were in the lush environs of Bloomingdale's. On reaching the Men's Specialty Shop they quickly found a supervisor and explained to the insufferably stuffy fellow their objective.
"Oh, I thought perhaps you, Mr. Holmes, were searching for some garments of quality for yourself, perhaps a refurbishing of your own wardrobe." He was apparently unimpressed with Sherlock's haberdashery.
"Actually we were trying to determine who might have been the original purchaser of items bearing this numbered label."
Sherlock showed the supervisor a photo of the clothing label in his phone.
"Of course you know that these matters are confidential. Our clientele value that above all."
"Yes, but this concerns a murder, clothing that was on the body of a dead man. Do we have to obtain a subpoena for this?"
"Well, no. Let me see. I will be with you in a moment."
Joan smiled as the supervisor went off to look for the desired information.
"I find this day quite boring, luv. I wonder why," Sherlock said staring at Joan in an unmistakable fashion that stripped her bare and made her tingle.
"I think that we should concentrate on the matters at hand," Joan said, crossing her legs and uncrossing them.
"You are advertising your arousal, darling," Sherlock teased. "You're not helping me. In point of fact, you are exciting me beyond endurance. "
Finally the supervisor returned with the information they had requested and they took off to follow up. The purchaser lived no far away on Park Avenue. It was a doorman building and the doorman directed them up to an apartment that took up the entire twentieth floor.
"Did you notice that doorman, Sherlock? He seemed somewhat nervous when we asked for the McIntyre family."
When they arrived at the McIntyre floor, they were met by a housekeeper who invited them into a sitting room to wait for Madeline McIntyre. She eventually came to the sitting room, middle-aged, obviously a woman of means, well-maintained and well-preserved with the bearing of those who have always been wealthy. She was long-limbed and well-proportioned with long auburn hair.
"We are working with the NYPD on a case, Mrs. McIntyre. The victim was found wearing clothing that had been purchased by a John McIntyre at the Bloomingdale Specialty Men's Store. We are simply trying to identify the victim."
Madeline McIntyre sighed and sat back in her chair.
"Actually the garments you describe belonged to my late husband. He passed away last year after a long battle with Parkinson's. He was ill for nearly ten years. There was . . ." she paused, unable to continue.
"You took a lover," Sherlock said boldly as a statement of fact.
"How did you know?"
"You do not appear to be a woman who has been neglected sexually, Mrs. McIntyre. When your husband was incapacitated, you found someone else to attend to your needs. And?"
"And I gave him John's clothes. He was the same size and because of his work, he did not have many regular clothes. You see, Marc, Marc Albu worked as a doorman here in the building."
"Mrs. McIntyre, was it general knowledge here in the building that you and Marc had an arrangement?" Joan asked.
"We endeavored to maintain secrecy. My peers would not have understood my turning to a man like Marc. My husband's money was what you would call 'old money,' made in steel. But my late husband was twenty years my senior and a victim of a terrible disease. All required was discretion on my part. Marc was quite an intellectual actually, a PHd from the university of Romania, but all quite meaningless in this country if you don't have the certification. He was quite a man."
"You do know that Mr. Albu met with an unfortunate accident," Sherlock stated gently.
"I have not seen him since last week. Normally he comes here and stays with me part of most nights. There are eighteen rooms in this apartment. All of my staff here are most confidential. We all were afraid that somehow something terrible had happened."
Sherlock showed Madeline McIntyre a photo of the man found near the park skating link and she broke down at the sight of him.
"We are so sorry for your loss," Joan said softly.
"Can you imagine how it is to be so in love with someone that you don't care what anyone thinks, so in love that you would throw away a fortune rather than give him up?" She looked from Joan to Sherlock and in that moment she sensed the bond that existed between the two of them. "Oh, you do understand, don't you? Of course you do."
Joan blushed and dropped her head as Sherlock reached for her hand.
"Is there . . . is there someone . . . anyone who would have been concerned at your liaison with someone viewed as a 'common man'? Do you have children?" Sherlock was flustered for a moment.
"Marc and I had a son together, who was perceived to be my husband's. He is sixteen, away at boarding school in Massachusetts. As you see, my life is quite complicated. Here are the keys to Marc's place and the address. I will help in whatever way that I can."
Sherlock and Joan left and went to check out Marc Albu's place. It was a studio apartment on the west side of the park. When they went in they were immediately impressed with the shelves and shelves of books.
"Well, Marc Albu was certainly quite an interesting bloke. It's obvious why Madeline McIntyre was drawn to him."
"I'll wager he just crossed the path of the wrong fellow on his way home from his nightly tryst with Madeline. He was the victim of a street thug. I somehow feel that this is a crime of convenience, not one planned with a specific motive. Let's go home and figure this one out, see if we're missing anything. If you don't mind, I will stop by the precinct and report to Gregson and meet you at home. You can go along, pick up some dinner, and I will meet you there."
Sherlock bit his lip as he fought the urge to kiss her there in the street.
"I would love to kiss you right now, Joan. I find you altogether irresistible."
He bent and quickly kissed her cheek before turning on heel to leave her there on the busy New York street.
Before going back downtown, Sherlock made another visit to Bloomingdales. This time he stopped in the women's lingerie department. This was something he wanted to do.
"May I help you, sir," the impeccable dressed red-haired woman attending the counter asked. "My name is Claire."
She was an extremely attractive red head and Sherlock enjoyed a bit of flirting.
"I am purchasing some lingerie for a very special woman, Claire. I have exactly in mind what I would like . . . nothing cheap looking, none of that Victoria's Secret stuff. I would like something in a French lace, completely sheer. The knickers . . . er panties should be size five and the brassiere . . . I know she is size thirty-two."
"What cup size, Mr?"
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock flushed in temporary embarrassment and held out his cupped hands with a bit of spacing between his fingers.
"I think that it would be about like this."
"That looks about like a B cup."
The woman caught his hands with hers and squeezed and stroked them pointedly.
"You are quite charming and lovely, but these hands already belong to the very one of whom we speak, thank you."
The saleswoman smiled. "Your . . . companion should be quite proud of you, sir. Now let me show you what we have."
She laid out an array of lush lace panty and bra sets. There were different styles of panties and bras."
"I want no underwire, just the lace. No thong panties, just the briefest bikini style and perhaps a couple of camisoles."
"And what colors would interest you?"
"I would like the jade green, the red, the dark blue, two sets of the black of course, and that purple is nice."
The saleswoman smiled as she sorted and wrapped each of Sherlock's choices in tissue paper.
"Any thing else we can help you with?"
"Do you have something in an animal print—leopard or cheetah? I want one set for her like that, for certain special times."
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."
The woman smiled, wondering about the woman who was to be the receiver of all of Mr. Holmes gifts. She envied her.
"When you purchase this merchandise, we put you on our preferred customers list. We will notify you of special sales and other special offerings. Would you like your lady friend's name on our list? Also I will gift wrap these for you."
Sherlock gave the saleswoman the information and walked out of the store with nearly a thousand dollars worth of French lingerie for Joan in a big brown Bloomingdales bag.
Joan arrived at home first and proceeded to set things up for dinner and their evening together. It was different, the feeling of anticipation, knowing that she and Sherlock were going to spend the night together. She showered and slipped on a red silk tunic as a cover up.
Sherlock stopped by the precinct and reported his findings. Gregson was satisfied and they decided to pursue the possibility that Marc Albu had been a victim of street violence from one of the groups of thugs roving the streets, knocking people out at random, now that the mystery of his identity had been solved. There were a few loose ends that Sherlock and Joan would follow through on, but the case was on its way to being closed.
"So you did some shopping while you were at Bloomingdales, eh?"
"Yes, I picked up few things for the brownstone, a couple of high priced tee shirts, a few things Joan needed." Sherlock felt compelled to tell at least part of the truth.
"You and Joan, you appear to be in a very good place these days. If you ever want to talk, Sherlock, I'm here."
Sherlock was unable to keep from flushing like an adolescent boy.
"Whoa! Is there more you need to tell me?"
"I think you and I will have a long talk one of these days."
"I do know some things from practical experience, Sherlock. If someone were to ask me, I would say that Joan Watson adores you, and has for a long time. I know, I know, what people say about people who work together and all that. Bottom line! Chemistry and common interests! She was in such pain when you went through that Moriarty business. It was written all over her. To see her stick by you and try to resolve things for your happiness was amazing. Most women would have walked out the door in that situation. And you, Sherlock, I see your eyes when you look at her. You two have been a topic of conversation around here for a while."
"We are?"
"Some say you two have it going on, others say 'no.' I just want you to know that the two of you do not go unnoticed around here."
"Things have moved along, Gregson. I must admit to a preoccupation with thoughts of . . . of Joan. Very recently things rather 'opened up' between us and I must admit that I have been at odds with myself. I fear that I have fallen in love with her and I just want to be worthy of her. I am a difficult man to live with, so accustomed to having my own way, disregarding anything that I do not view as important. Then there is the matter of the aftereffects of addiction. I was left wondering if I would ever again be the man I was before. The least I wanted offer her would be a whole man sexually, not a man who would be unable to meet all her needs. She has been quite 'deprived' and I wanted to bring her no frustration in that area."
"So, everything is working fine again? You are taking care of her in that department?"
"I would say so, Gregson. I would definitely say so. I may say that she brings out the best in me. I feel like a twenty-year old again. I've never experienced anything like what I am experiencing with her." Sherlock rocked in place in his characteristic manner.
Gregson smiled and shook his head. "I knew it. I knew you two were sleeping together. I haven't been a detective all these years for nothing. Just don't mess it up. You see the problems that Cheryl and I are trying to work out. Your relationship with your woman is more important than anything that we are doing down here."
Bell popped into Gregson's office.
"So Sherlock and Joan figured that case out from this morning?"
"Yes, and I think they've figured out a couple other important things as well."
Bell looked from Gregson to Sherlock and smiled.
"So Holmes, you and Joan are kickin' it?"
"In a word," Sherlock replied simply.
"Well, I was wondering when you two would get around to it. Ever since that Moriarty case you've had your nose wide open, man. I just wondered when you'd wake up and smell the coffee. Congratulations! You old dog, you!" Bell said, slapping him on his back before leaving Gregson's office.
"Gregson, for Joan's sake, we're trying to keep this somewhat under wraps. I know you understand our situation."
Gregson smiled as he watched Sherlock leave the precinct for home. He was happy for Sherlock and Joan. He had seen this coming from the first time Sherlock brought Joan along with him.
When Sherlock arrived home, he was delighted to see that Joan had already set up a special dinner for the two of them. There were two rib eye steaks ready to grill and potatoes ready to pop into the microwave.
"We are celebrating, aren't we, luv?" Sherlock said as he caught her up in his arms to kiss her in no uncertain fashion.
"Yes, we are," Joan answered as she tried to get away from him and finish off the dinner preparations. Sherlock, on the other hand, was still kissing her neck and cheeks playfully and squeezing and pinching her shapely hips.
She put the potatoes in the microwave and turned to Sherlock and sat on his lap and gave him her full attention.
"So you went back to Bloomingdale's?" Joan said, eyeing the big brown bag.
"I picked up something for you. I'm not good at wrapping up presents so I asked them to gift wrap them for me."
Joan was like a little girl immediately searching and discovering what was in the shopping bag. She squealed in delight when she saw the lingerie.
"Oh, Sherlock! Sherlock! These are all so beautiful. I know this stuff. I can't afford it. I just look at it and keep on walking."
"Well, you will be wearing it now, luv."
"You knew my size?"
"Joan, do you really think I don't know the size knickers you wear, or the size of these lovely plump mounds?" Sherlock said.
He gently squeezed her breasts from behind her as they sat on the sofa together as she opened her surprise.
"And this leopard printed set? When am I expected to wear these?"
"When you are especially keen to have your man pounce on you, luv . . .you will know the feeling, I'm sure," Sherlock said, teasing her and smacking her on her bottom with definite purpose. "I promise to drop everything and immediately take care of my responsibilities and pounce with vigor, darling."
They kissed again and it became very serious, no playing or teasing as Sherlock forgot everything but Joan in his arms.
"Thank you, Sherlock. I will have to model these for you . . . later. In the meantime, I'm going to put the steaks on, if you will release me from this hug."
Sherlock smiled and planted another kiss on her lips before releasing her to finish the dinner. Sherlock set the plates and flatware while Joan watched the steaks and finished the salad. They were both almost giddy as they tried to concentrate on the matter at hand while their thoughts were focused only on each other.
They finally sat down to eat and gave themselves to the task of nourishment, feeding each other, from each others plate, sneaking kisses in between bites and then ending dinner sharing a pot of Earl Grey tea. They had moved over to the sofa to have their tea. Joan brought the tea over and sat it on the coffee table. There was no need to rush. The moment was so intimate between them. Sherlock stared at Joan and drew her over onto his lap where they sat wound up together on their sofa, letting their feelings wash over them, whispering to each other, kissing over and over.
"Gregson knows, Joan. He saw how we were together today and he asked me directly about 'us.' He noticed how we've been of late and surmised that we were now a couple. I couldn't deny what he said. After all, he is a detective. It's his job to 'know things' and so he does. He hasn't been a detective thirty years for nothing. He read me like a book."
"And Marcus?" Joan asked. "Does he know?"
"He came into Gregson's office while we were talking and it all came out. They said that they are glad that we have finally come to our senses. Gregson said he knew from the first day I brought you into the precinct with me."
"I adored you from that first day," Joan said softly.
"That's what he said. He said that it was written all over us."
"I do love you, Sherlock."
"I can't stop telling you all the things I want to say. Good Lord, I have never felt quite like this. That woman today, Madeline McIntyre, she knew that we were in love. I guess it's pretty obvious."
"Even Moriarty saw it. She assumed that we were sleeping together, was surprised when I said that we weren't."
"We should have been. I have wanted you-from the day you walked into this house."
Sherlock drew Joan closer and kissed her again, sliding his hands under the silk tunic she was wearing, pulling it up so that he could squeeze her shapely hips, becoming more and more excited by the moment, till he drew Joan completely on top of him.
"My dearest Joan . . . dearest Joan, my lovely honeybee!"
"Yes . . . Sherlock, yes."
End of chapter three