A/N: Ouch.
"I would like to perform cunnilingus on you," Sherlock said before nibbling on the piece of toast with butter and jam Joan had placed in front of her earlier and taking a sip of her tea.
Joan, caught off guard, choked on her own tea and sputtered, "Sorry?"
Sherlock fixed her with one of her surely you aren't that thick looks and said, "Cunnilingus? The act-"
"No, you moron, I know what it means," Joan cut her off. "I just – that was such a Sherlock-y way for you to ask if you could go down on me."
Sherlock bristled. "If you do not wish for me to perform the act on that's acceptable."
Joan shook her head quickly. "It was just adorable. It was so you."
Huffing, Sherlock asked, "Would you like me to perform the act or not?"
"Yes please," Joan said in her most charming voice.
"Splendid," Sherlock exclaimed, hopping up from her perch on her chair and forcefully dragging Joan out of hers.
"Oi, slow down you moron, we aren't having some sort of race," Joan protested as Sherlock attempted to rip her arm out of her socket.
"But Joooooooooan, I've never done this before," Sherlock whined, pouting her lips in a way that made Joan want to simultaneously scream in frustration and snog her until Sherlock's knees went out from under her. "Think of how many different combinations of different stimulations I could employ over time to guarantee your most satisfying orgasm? We're wasting time just talking about this!"
"I'm going to overlook the fact that you think this is an experiment and focus on the part where you want to give me the best orgasm imaginable," Joan grinned.
Sherlock stopped. "We agreed. No experiments in bed. This is not an experiment, Joan. This is so much more than that. This is our sex life that I'm referring to, which I assume will be a fairly substantial part of our romantic attachment. It is important to me that you find it as pleasurable as I can possibly make it for you."
"That's uncharacteristically sweet of you, Sherlock," Joan replied, somewhat stunned.
"I would never experiment on something so important without first obtaining your consent to do so."
"Back to normal, I see. Baskerville?" Joan mentioned, a glint in her eye.
"I was using you for the greater good," Sherlock said, attempting to justify her actions there.
"Will you shut up and take me to bed? I believe you used a Latin work for a somewhat filthy sex act in reference to what you wanted to do to me?"
"Who's eager now?" Sherlock sighed, as if she was the only one allowed to be impatient at present.
Joan popped up onto the balls of her feet and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "Come on."
Once they were in the bedroom, Sherlock insisted on positioning Joan on the bed in a particular way in a particular spot. Joan had no idea what she was doing, but she allowed her limbs to become loose and pliant in order to allow Sherlock to do what she needed to do. In the end, Joan ended up flat on her back and slightly to the left of center of the bed, waiting for Sherlock to make her first mood.
Of course, Sherlock, being the infuriating little minx she was, decided that after all that moving and shifting the first thing she was going to make Joan do was sit up so she could pull her sweater off. Joan sighed, as if Sherlock had placed all of the world's burdens upon her shoulders by doing this. Sherlock haughtily removed the think white shirt Joan wore underneath the sweater as well so Joan would grumble less, even though she knew the grumbling was done in good faith.
Joan always wore simple undergarments, Sherlock noted. She was a practical woman, and Sherlock had rarely seen her in anything other than a bar close to the color of her flesh and a pair of cotton underwear in the matching color. For someone who wore hideous sweaters on a day to day basis, Joan was meticulous about making sure her bra matched her underwear. When Joan was going on a date where she expected to sleep with a man at the end of the night, she wore a lace black bra with similar underwear. Sherlock could always tell when she wore that one because Joan would always itch around her ribcage where the lace met her skin. When Joan was going on a date where she expected to sleep with a woman at the end of the night, she wore a bra in a soft pink tone, again with the cotton underwear to match. When Sherlock had asked about the distinction, Joan had shrugged and said, "Men are more intrigued by the lace. Besides, when I'm sleeping with a woman for the first time, I don't want her to think that I'm trying to upstage her with the lingerie I picked out. I've found that wearing sexy knickers when sleeping with another woman usually happens when things have progressed a bit more." Sherlock had taken this information in, not knowing why she did, and for some reason ended up dreaming of Joan in the pink undergarments and nothing else.
On this particular day, Joan was wearing one of her bras that matched her skin. Sherlock was almost disappointed by the fact that whenever she saw the bra Joan was wearing, she would always know which underwear went along with it, and vice versa. Nevertheless, she smiled and buried her head in between Joan's breasts, which were surprisingly large for a woman of her stature. She inhaled deeply and kissed the spot on her sternum just above where the center gore of the bra cut off. Sherlock then worked her way down Joan's stomach, licking and kissing and nipping lightly all the way down until she reached the top of Joan's denim. Sherlock turned her eyes up, asking permission to go down more (Joan smiled inwardly at her subconscious' choice of words), and Joan nodded while running a hand through Sherlock's long curls. Sherlock unbuttoned the pants and Joan lifted her hips so Sherlock could slide them off for her, taking her socks at the same time.
Sure enough, there were matching underwear, and through the cotton Sherlock could see a small wet spot around Joan's crotch. She licked her lips. Oh yes.
"You need to be more naked," Joan demanded. Sherlock, who had practically forgotten she was wearing clothes at all, quickly shed everything except her undergarments.
"There," Joan sighed, pulling Sherlock down so they were practically nose to nose and petting her hair, moving some errant curls behind her ear. "Now we match."
"Boring," Sherlock retorted and kissed Joan softly, their lips moving but without any intrusion of tongues. She slid a hand under Joan's body and fiddled with her bra clasp for a moment before it popped free and Sherlock pulled back, helping Joan maneuver herself out of the bra. "That is much better." Without another word, Sherlock dipped down to bury her face in Joan's cleavage and sighed, nuzzling the soft mounds of mammary glands and breast tissue and the dusky brown peaks of Joan's nipples. Quickly, she ducked over to the right one and took it in her mouth, sucking.
Joan let out a moan and pressed Sherlock's head down onto her breast. She absolutely loved when her partner's played with her nipples, and Sherlock, bless her, had gone straight for the kill.
"God, Sherlock, that's divine," Joan sighed. She reluctantly untangled a hand from Sherlock's curls to lightly pinch the neglected nipple that had been standing at attention ever since Sherlock had offered to go down on her.
Getting the hint, Sherlock asked, "Do you want me to do that?"
"Yes, in a moment," Joan panted. "Just – just nibble. Barely a scrape of teeth, and then you can move on to the next one."
Sherlock obliged, and Joan gasped and arched up against her. Pleased, Sherlock moved onto the other nipple and moved Joan's free hand to play with the one she had had in her mouth just a moment earlier. Sherlock slid a hand down in between them and began to run her finger up and down Joan's slit, which caused Joan's hips to buck up and her breath to stutter. Sherlock quickly gave the other nipple that small nip that Joan had been looking for, and with a final kiss to each raised bit of flesh she slid her way down to the warm, throbbing space between Joan's legs once again by placing wet, open mouthed kisses to her abdomen.
Eventually, she was on her stomach in between Joan's thighs and was staring directly at the wet outer part of Joan's vagina. She pulled back the labia majora and was pleased to find that Joan had been producing what she believed was a fairly substantial about of lubrication.
"Joan–" Sherlock sighed.
"Take your time," Joan sighed from her higher point on the bed. "If you aren't comfortable going down on me, that's alright."
Sherlock shook her head. "It's not that. I just- I've never seen anything this wonderful on the human body before. You're remarkable."
Joan's vision clouded, knowing that for Sherlock that was like an admission of love. She pet at her hair and said, "You're amazing."
Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, she placed her nose close to Joan and sniffed just as she had seen – or perhaps felt – Joan do the other morning in the shower. After letting out a hum of satisfaction, Sherlock flattened her tongue and licked up from her perineum to her clitoris. Joan let out a moan that could only be classified as filthy and her hips bucked up once again, but this time into Sherlock's face.
"Shit, sorry," she panted hastily.
"Do shut up, Joan," Sherlock sighed, stiffening her tongue and working it up and down Joan's labia and occasionally dipping into her vagina.
"Sherlock," Joan panted after a few minutes of that. "Sherlock, I need you a little higher, love. Please, oh my God, please."
Sherlock looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow. Joan knew that she had either condemned herself to more teasing or to an attack on her clit that she would be completely unprepared for.
It turned out to be the latter. Sherlock's lips attached to Joan's clit and she began to suck at it and swirl her tongue around. It was glorious and Joan was going to come fast if Sherlock didn't stop treating her clit like she treated her-
"Bloody fucking hell!" Joan screamed. Sherlock pulled away, her face shocked.
Joan had sat up and was now bent double, her fists jammed onto her pubic bone and her breaths coming raggedly. She felt tears coming and was powerless to hold them back because she was in so much damn pain.
"Joan," Sherlock croaked. "Joan, I don't understand, what happened?"
"You bloody bit me, that's what happened," Joan shouted. Sherlock curled in on herself, and Joan knew that she would regret this later when she had to coax Sherlock out of her shell, but she was in too much fucking pain right then to care.
"I don't understand, you liked it when I did it to your nipples," Sherlock stuttered, gripping her curls and pushing on the sides of her head like she did when she couldn't solve something or she couldn't figure out just what she had done wrong.
"Sherlock, a nipple and a clitoris are two very different things," Joan gritted out. "A nipple has a lot of nerves, but a clitoris has a bloody fucking fuckton of nerves," Joan swore.
"Joan. Joan, I'm so sorry. What am I supposed to do?" Sherlock asked, clearly worried.
"Check if I'm bleeding," Joan gulped. Sherlock ducked down and shook her head emphatically. "Good. I need you to go to the freezer and get me a bag of frozen peas right now. Bring that back, and then I want you to bring me the strongest painkiller that we have in the medicine cabinet, I want you to double –hell, triple the recommended dosage, and I want you to bring it here with a glass of water."
Sherlock hopped off the bed and brought Joan the peas at an astonishing pace for someone so inherently lazy. After she had dashed out of the room again, Joan placed the cold bag onto her vagina and moaned in a completely different way than she had been moaning a few minutes earlier. God, she wanted to fucking kill Sherlock, but the woman had had three sexual encounters in her entire life before this one and Joan had been telling her to lightly bite on her nipples. By the time Sherlock had returned with the painkillers and the water, Joan had managed to convince herself that both of them were equally at fault in this situation. Sherlock, however, was convinced otherwise, and tried to run away as soon as Joan had taken all of the pills from her.
"Get back in here, you!" Joan called out.
Sherlock walked back in slowly, as if she were walking to her death. Joan had managed to scoot back so her back was against the headboard, and she patted the space right next to her. Sherlock looked at it very reluctantly.
"Sit down right next to me, Sherlock Holmes," Joan commanded. Resigned to the fact that this was probably not going to be a fun talk, Sherlock slouched into bed and sat right next to Joan as she had asked, but curled into a ball rather than spread out like Joan was.
"Sherlock." Joan paused, because she had no experience in this area of sexual mishaps. "Sherlock, please don't worry about this. We're fine. You made a connection between my nipples and my clit and it wasn't what you planned. I know you didn't mean for it to be malicious or to hurt me."
Sherlock didn't move to look at Joan, but Joan was horrified to hear how thick Sherlock's voice was. "I hurt you. I have fantasies about finding whoever shot you and killing them with my bare hands. I want to meet everyone who has ever made you feel pain in your life and I want to hurt them. I'm no better than they are, Joan. I fantasize about hurting them, and now I'm just like them."
Joan rubbed her hand up and down Sherlock's back. "I'm going to let you in on a secret, Sherlock. You're much better than they are. Do you know why? The man who shot me, the bullies when I was younger, my own bloody brother for Christ's sake, they all have done those things on purpose. They did things to hurt me. You didn't. So please, come here and give me a hug, because these painkillers haven't quite kicked in yet and I need some comfort."
Sherlock slowly unfolded herself and buried her face in Joan's neck, inhaling deeply. Joan turned her head awkwardly and gave Sherlock a kiss on the crown of her head. They remained like that for a few moments until Joan said, "These peas are melting. Be a lamb and put them back in the freezer before the bed gets wet, then get right back in here." Sherlock obeyed, and arrived back in the room just as Joan had repositioned herself so she was laying down on the bed. "Come here." Sherlock obeyed yet again and wrapped herself around Joan tightly, though avoiding Joan's sore area.
As the painkillers kicked in and Joan began to feel loopy and sleepy, she whispered, "I think you're a star, Sherlock Holmes," and then fell asleep.
A/N: Figured I'd put this chapter out there as well before the day is done to keep on schedule and to make up for forgetting a day. If you haven't read chapter three, be sure to read it.
Important little note: don't take a triple dose of pain meds, kids. Joan is a doctor. She knows what she's doing. I, on the other hand, won't start medical school for another year and am not. So just don't do it.