A/N: Hey everyone, thank you for reading the last chapter, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. As always, they have been very helpful and reassuring J I was slightly concerned that Sherlock in particular seems quite OOC at the moment, if you think he or any of the characters are please let me know and I will try to rectify it. I always find the writing so much more difficult at this stage! Also, if the plot (either the relationship or the progression of the case) seems convoluted or unrealistic, please let me know.
Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the latest instalment.
- HQ21
Joan remained frozen on the spot for a short while, her heart and mind racing with a mixture of confusion and arousal, as she tried to compose herself and recover her thoughts. After an unknown period of time which felt like mere seconds, Joan felt her heart beat return to normal and her breathing recover, as the tingling sensation upon her lips remained the last physical remnant of the deep, passionate encounter that she had just shared with Sherlock Holmes. Joan exhaled a shaky breath, placing her fingertips upon her lips, before slowly retracting them.
The kiss had been unexpected, and its evolution from gentle and chaste to passionate and semi-sexual surprised her. As she remembered the speed at which the kiss had progressed and turned into something much more, she found herself questioning how it had happened, her mind going over each piece of conversation and each physical interaction in the minutes leading up to the kiss they shared. Although it was unquestionable that the levels of their physical contact had been increasing during the week, and the barriers which had been thrown up at the beginning of their relationship had been breaking down, the kiss was seemed so soon and unpredicted. Not that it was inevitable Joan corrected herself, inhaling deeply, before wincing at the pain it caused her. Joan broke from her thoughts and glanced down at her side, placing a hand tentatively over her side as she ran her fingers lightly up her ribs, narrowing her eyes at the dull pain it caused her.
Joan lowered her hand and sighed lightly, closing her eyes for a moment before raising her head and staring back up. As she did so, she found herself facing the door, and the memories of Sherlock's hurried departure returned to her with full force, causing her body to ache with more intensity than her bruises could ever cause. She remembered his words, his hurried words of apology, and the genuine look of guilt and confusion which was etched onto his features, as looked deep into her eyes for a moment, before turning on the spot and leaving the suite. Whether it was because he regretted what had happened or because he did not, Joan did not know. And part of her questioned whether she wanted to.
Joan placed her head in her hands, exhaling deeply as she attempted to regain the control that she was losing. The day had been more physically and emotionally exhausting than she could bear. Her mind was racing and her body was tired and sore, and she experienced the odd sensation that most people face in times of overwhelming turmoil, when your whole body feels as though it is on fire. Her skin burned, as if it were alight, and she felt herself trembling. With anger, fear or as a result of a delayed reaction to the trauma she had experienced in the wine cellar, she did not know. All she knew was that she would be unable to think clearly whilst covered in blood, alcohol and broken glass, and wearing clothing that was torn, dirty and barbecued. Without another thought Joan walked confidently across the room and into her bedroom, closing the doors firmly behind her.
As soon as she entered the room Joan began shedding the damaged clothing she was wearing. Her black blazer fell to the ground first, along with several shards of broken glass and remnants of paper. She inhaled sharply as she bent down to push her skirt down her thighs, the bruising at her side aching and burning in equal measure until she stood upright once more and remained perfectly still for several moments. Joan then undid the three undamaged buttons of her blouse which seemed to have held the garment together, by some miracle. As she shrugged the blouse from her shoulders and onto the ground, she turned her head to the side slightly, and found herself remembering the feeling of Sherlock's hands upon her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she remembered his strong hands on her back, her neck, her cheek. His hands had travelled up and down her back, exploring her curiously yet in a manner which she could best describe as 'gentlemanly', before he pulled her body onto his.
Joan exhaled shakily and opened her eyes, her body trembling once more with both coldness and arousal, as she turned towards the bathroom and walked inside. She locked the door behind her before turning on the shower, closing the curtain and then standing tall before the mirror. Her eyes widened slightly at her reflection, which she had not seen since her attack. Her hair was dishevelled and smelled slightly of smoke. Her skin was pale, save for the blood which was dripping slowly down her cheek, which she brushed away. The dressing that had been professionally applied to her head wound was partially saturated with blood and was becoming loose, which Joan correctly believed was due to the passionate nature of her encounter with Sherlock. She swallowed, slowly removing the dressing from her forehead and tossing it into the bin beside the sink, before using some damp tissue to clean up the rest of the blood from around the steri-strips. Despite her careful ministrations, and the bloodied and pale person she saw staring back at her from the mirror, Joan found that it was not the blood or the bruising to her side or the unkemptness of her hair that her attention was drawn to. It was her eyes. She had expected them to look hollow or tear-stained or red, but instead, she found herself looking at the broken body of a woman she recognised, whose shining eyes and dilated pupils seemed to outshine the injuries she bore. Although her breathing had recovered and her heart rate was normal, the remnants of her passionate encounter with Sherlock were represented strongly by the brightness of her eyes, which were alight.
After staring at her reflection for several moments, Joan found it to be a relief when the condensation from the hot shower caused the glass to steam and her reflection to be hidden. She sighed, removing the rest of her clothing before heading straight into the shower, and allowing the hot water to sooth her aching body. As Joan was washing her hair she found herself wondering about the encounter with Sherlock, and focusing specifically on his departure immediately afterwards, as she attempted to understand its significance. After several minutes of thought, she found herself wondering whether it was because he wanted to pretend it had not happened. Perhaps he would return later in the day, feed Clyde some lettuce and continue reviewing the CCTV footage, and pretend that the encounter itself had never happened at all. Maybe it would be an unspoken act, something never acknowledged or alluded to, the ultimate taboo subject. Maybe they would continue with their lives as they had been before they entered the hotel, and act as though the kiss and everything that had led to it had never happened. And perhaps after a year, or two, or ten, of ignoring it, of never addressing it or admitting that it had happened, they would begin to believe it. Joan turned off the shower and stood still for a few moments as the water fell from her hair and body, before drawing the curtain aside and stepping into the cold bathroom, wrapping her aching body in a towel, refusing to check her reflection as she walked into the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later Joan had dried her hair and applied some light make-up, which she found made her feel slightly more normal. She selected a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and fitted grey three-quarter length leggings to wear, which she found easier to put on than she had anticipated. I guess the painkillers are finally kicking in she thought as she pulled her hair from the back of her shirt. At least that's something. She picked up some files from her bedside table, all based on the most recent victims who were kidnapped from New York and adjacent states, and carried them through the room. She pushed the door open and took a few steps into the suite, before looking up and stopping instantly, as she saw the familiar figure of Sherlock Holmes standing in front of the mantelpiece less than fifteen feet away from her.
As soon as she had entered the room Sherlock took a small step forward, his eyes not leaving her body as he did so. He ran his eyes over her quickly, assuring himself that her injuries were not causing her too much discomfort, before resting his gaze upon her face. She wore her usual calm and pensive expression, her eyes were wide and glistening and her lips slightly parted, as she titled her head to the side slightly and returned his gaze. Joan's eyes remained with his for several moments, holding his gaze with a mixture of mutual far and expectancy, as they each waited for the other to speak. After a few moments Joan broke from the gaze, lowering her eyes to the new objects on the table which she had only just noticed. On the table was a white paper bag from a pharmacy, and a grocery bag containing a medium-sized bag of ice. Joan felt herself relax and her features softened slightly. Although his departure was rude and inconsiderate, especially given the circumstances, the fact that he had returned so quickly and with items that he clearly hoped would alleviate her physical pain was slightly reassuring, and even comforting. But at that particular moment, Joan's physical pain and discomfort was the least of her concerns. Before she could utter a word, Sherlock began to speak.
"You were bleeding" Sherlock said simply, the sound of his voice in the otherwise silent room causing Joan to look up from the table and focus her attention on him. He seemed slightly nervous, and was speaking in a manner which seemed to suggest that he feared each word he spoke increased the chances of her throwing a heavy object directly at his head. But by the time he spoke next, he sounded calmer, his voice adopting its usual tone. "Your head, I mean. Your dressing was coming loose and I felt certain that the appalling excuses for medical kits which most hotels provide would not include the items you needed so" he continued, before putting out his arm theatrically and indicating towards the pharmacy bag on the table, "I bought you some dressings, bandaging, steri-strips and anti-septic items" he stated, nodding as he looked towards her. Joan swallowed, nodding lightly in return, which seemed to calm him further. "I also bought you some more painkillers, for when the ones you are currently using cease to be effective." Joan nodded once more as Sherlock retracted his arm, holding his arms to his sides and watching her from across the room.
"Thank you" Joan returned in a low but sincere voice, walking across the room and towards the table. She placed the files upon the table and sat herself in the armchair she favoured, before leaning forward and pulling the pharmacy bag towards her, pouring out its contents and sifting through them. Sherlock watched her for a few moments as she selected the items she needed, placing them on her lap and leaning back in the chair. As she leaned back her left side brushed against the armrest, and she inhaled sharply.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked instantly, taking a tentative step towards her.
"Fine" she returned in a low tone as she unwrapped a sanitising wipe. She sighed, realising that her tone may have seemed blunt. She looked up at Sherlock and met his gaze. "Thanks" she added kindly, earning a small nod from Sherlock in return. Joan placed the sanitising wipe upon its packet and balanced it on her knee, before picking up the packets containing the dressings and steri-strips. Sherlock watched her for a few moments, noticing how her hands appeared to tremble slightly as she opened the packaging. Whether it was due to pain or anger he could not tell, but whatever it was he felt responsible, and he wished to alleviate any distress she was experiencing instantly.
"May I assist you?" Sherlock asked gently, drumming his fingers lightly on the side of his leg as he spoke. Joan considered his request for a moment, debating whether to reject his offer and take the items to the bathroom, or attempt to dress her wound there on without a mirror, and show him that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. But his nervousness and concern for her was practically palpable, and despite the fact that he had walked out on her after their kiss less than half an hour before, she knew that he was probably battling the same confusion and internal conflict that she had been. At that moment, they were much more alike than they were different.
"Sure, thank you" she replied, her voice low and gentle as she looked up at him. Sherlock tugged on the tops of his trousers before crouching down before her, his chest less than an inch from her thighs, their lips less than six inches apart. Joan swallowed, handing him the sanitizer wipe, which he accepted immediately. Sherlock slowly leaned forward, using his left hand to brush some hair from her face and place his hand tentatively on the side of her face, which caused her to remember him doing so less than thirty minutes earlier, before placing a chaste kiss upon her forehead. But this time his soft lips did not grace her skin. Instead, she was struck by the familiar stinging sensation of the sanitizer wipe upon her forehead, which caused her a small frown to appear as she inhaled sharply. Sherlock's eyes darted from her head to her eyes, before back to her forehead, where he focused on sterilising the wound. When he was done with the wipe he placed it on the torn pharmacy bag, before turning back towards her and locating the steri-strips. His hand was still upon her face, and she felt familiar feelings of warmth and comfort flood her body, as the electrical impulses which had surged through her shortly before returned in small bursts. Sherlock seemed to sense a change in her demeanour, and as he picked the steri-strips up from her thigh, his fingers brushing across her, he felt her muscles tense then relax beneath him. But it was through pleasure, not discomfort.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently, looking into her eyes as he spoke. Joan nodded immediately in response, offering him a small and reassuring smile. He paused for a moment, watching her as if uncertain of the legitimacy of her reassurance, before he undid the packaging containing the steri-strips, and applied a few more to the wound on her forehead, which had opened slightly. "The cut appears to be deeper than I realised" Sherlock stated, his warmth breath drifting across her cheek as he dressed her wound. "Fortunately, I do not think you require stitches" he added, putting the final steri-strip in place, before placing a clean dressing over her forehead and continuing to speak as he secured it. "There may be a small scar, though" he stated, as she continued to focus on his face as he worked, her mind racing and her heart rate increasing as she considered posing several questions in rapid succession. But after a few moments, she only asked one.
"Are we going to talk about this?" she asked gently, her voice low but confident. Sherlock secured the final piece of tape and removed his hand from her forehead, and then from her cheek. She felt instantly cooler without his touch.
"About the potential for your wound to result in a scar?" Sherlock asked, his voice adopting the tone it always did when he was attempting to avoid a question he knew that he was just moments away from answering. "As a former doctor I believe you would be a better judge of that than I" he added, leaning back on his heels and pressing his hands to his thighs, as he pulled himself up into a standing position. Joan swallowed and turned her head slightly to the side, wondering whether she should pursue the conversation now, wait until later, or forget it altogether, as she felt he was attempting to do. In the end she chose the former.
"I'm serious, Sherlock" she returned, her voice gentle but firm, as she looked up at him with tired and apprehensive eyes. Something in her voice made Sherlock's eyes soften slightly as he met her gaze. But the slight softening of his analytical gaze was the only sign that he realised just how much she needed to discuss the issue that she knew was at the front of both of their minds. His posture, manner and tone were the same as they usually were, and the drumming of his fingers against his thigh provided the only physical sign of his emotional discomfort. "Can we talk about this?" she asked gently. She saw Sherlock's chest rise and fall, before he nodded quickly in her direction, and his eyes became wide and wary once more.
"Of course, Watson" he returned, his voice calm and his tone normal, as if she had just asked him if they could get Italian instead of Indian take-out. Sherlock nodded once more, before taking a step back and easing himself back onto the table, perching on the edge with his hands clasped before him, like a misbehaving school-boy waiting outside the principal's office. Joan watched as he did so, using the time he took to settle himself to gather her own thoughts. But before she could pose a question or offer some reassuring statement, he spoke. "I believe I owe you an apology" he stated earnestly, looking up from his hands and meeting her eyes for a moment, nodding once more before averting her gaze. "Not just for leaving so abruptly, but… but for the event itself" he stated, not noticing the confused and slightly pained expression which passed across Joan's features, but was gone in less than a moment. "When I found you downstairs, and realised the nature of your injuries, I-" Sherlock paused, briefly, his fingers tapping lightly on his knuckles, as he glanced back towards Joan for a few seconds, then back to his hands. "I hope you will forgive me for-"
"I don't want an apology, Sherlock" she returned gently, her voice even and kind, despite the hurt she was currently feeling from his words. "I just want us to have a conversation" she explained, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "This isn't something that just… happened, we… things have been different. Since we've been here" she continued, looking up at Sherlock, who was watching her with an unreadable but attentive expression. "I don't think this is something we can ignore anymore" she stated simply. She was trying to speak as carefully yet as candidly as she could, knowing that Sherlock would find the conversation difficult. Not that she was finding it easy, of course, far from it. But whatever the outcome of what she anticipated would be a difficult conversation, they needed to talk, before things got more complicated. Which, from the way Sherlock's breathing and eyes were changing, she could tell was a distinct possibility.
"I understand your concerns, Watson" Sherlock stated calmly, his words reminding Joan of her residency years when any concerns she rose were brushed off by other doctors. It annoyed her then, but if Sherlock did the same to her now, she didn't know if she would be able to deal with the combined frustration and hurt that it would cause her. Her initial concerned thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock's speech. "The moments we shared a short while ago were something which I did not foresee" he continued, as though he were going over a mantra he had been preparing in his mind. "And although you do not wish me to apologise, I feel that I need to, due to my caddish behaviour and reckless conduct" he stated, speaking in a low and sincere tone. Joan blinked as Sherlock looked up towards her, as his words swam in her mind. The words 'caddish' and 'reckless' appeared to stand out greatest, causing her already existent confusion and frustration to grow slightly. She breathed in slowly and maintained her composure, responding to his statement in a calm and gentle manner.
"The only thing that is reckless is to dismiss the issue entirely, or to pretend it didn't happen" she replied, her voice gentle and kind. Sherlock looked up towards her as she spoke, his eyes fixing themselves on hers as he considered the words that he had already anticipated. "And even if that was an option which, I guess, it is" she stated, her voice becoming lower and slightly more solemn as she spoke. "Is that really what you want?" Sherlock continued to watch Joan for a couple of moments, his eyes drifting to the ground briefly before returning to her face.
"This is not about what I want, Watson" he stated simply, a slight level of frustration present in his tone. "What I want is of little consequence" he added, as he pushed himself up from the table. He was clearly finding the conversation difficult, and his levels of agitation were increasing. But they needed to talk.
"We both know that's not true" Joan replied gently, tilting her head back slightly as she looked up at him.
"Watson" Sherlock began, gesturing with his hand as he spoke, as his voice betraying his nervousness and agitation. "I did not wish to put you in an uncomfortable position, and I certainly did not mean for the boundaries of our relationship to be broken in such a manner. After what you had just been through, both of emotional states were heightened, and we acted impulsively. For me to compromise our friendship, and our partnership, was inexcusable-" he stated, waving with his hand and beginning to pace as he spoke. Joan parted her lips to speak and turned her head to the side, pressing her palms on her thighs and pushing herself into a standing position before turning to face him.
"Sherlock-" she stated calmly, watching as he stopped pacing and turned towards her. "It's alright."
"Alright?" he repeated, speaking the word as though its meaning was unfamiliar to him, exhaling as he stood before her, as his arms fell to his sides. "You were almost killed by a murderous human-trafficker who I failed to identify" he stated, gesturing to himself as he spoke, "and then we came upstairs to allow you to rest, when I made advances towards you-"
"This isn't a nineteenth century novel and I'm not some naïve little rich girl out of her depth" Joan responded, placing one hand on her hip as she spoke, which she regretted instantly, due to the soreness. She was trying to remain calm and maintain her composure, but she was finding it incredibly difficult under the current circumstances. She was tired, in pain and confused over what had happened between them, and his dismissive attitude of what had happened was both frustrating and hurtful. She didn't want to be difficult or unreasonable, she just wanted them to talk like adults, figure out what happened and decide how to deal with it. And although she was trying to push the thought to one side to avoid over-analysing it, the fact that Sherlock seemed to want to dismiss the moments they shared as a mere error of judgement caused by their heightened emotions following her attack pained her deeply. "This didn't just happen today. Things have been… different throughout the week, and we have been either too busy or too naïve to address them" she stated, her voice calming as she stood before him. "And even if this was about blame, which it's not" she stated with conviction, watching as Sherlock met and held her gaze, "I kissed you back" she added gently, watching as Sherlock's chest rose as he breathed. "And regardless of how you try to rationalise what happened between us, I refuse to allow it to be simply relegated to the category of a 'mistake' or 'error of judgement', okay?" she stated, as implications of Sherlock's words struck her with an almost physical force. "What happened, however impulsive or ill-advised, deserves more than that" she stated, fighting back the hot tears which were brimming in her eyes, "And so do I, and so do you" she added, her voice cracking slightly, before she inhaled a staggered breath in an attempt to recover herself.
Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he looked over her cautiously, guilt and anguish burning inside him as he saw Joan's pained expression. He felt a desperate need to reassure her and so, without thinking, he took a single step towards her, their new closeness causing her to breathe in and turn towards him, facing him with as confident an expression as she was able to muster.
"I never said it was a mistake" he stated gently but with resolution, as their eyes became fixed on each other's. "And that is because I do not believe it was. I would not associate that term with the moments we shared, Watson" he continued, his voice calm and gentle. "But we cannot compromise our relationship, the bond that we share, that we almost lost entirely. We cannot afford to lose control" he added, attempting to speak calmly but with candour.
"That's just it, Sherlock" Joan returned gently, "I don't think that we did." A look of confusion passed across Sherlock's face for a moment, and he leaned back slightly as he considered her words, as though looking down upon her from a different angle would somehow make them seem clearer. It did not. "We've shared more physical contact in this past week than ever before. The last few days has been like an emotionally-charged tug-of-war, with one of us initiating contact and the other returning it, seeing how far it can go before the rope snaps or we both fall" she stated, pausing for a moment as Sherlock considered her analogy. "Although we've been undercover, things have been changing, Sherlock. And despite that, we've been in control for the entire week" she stated calmly, watching as Sherlock considered her with an attentive yet uncertain expression. "And after we kissed, I didn't feel this… this rope snap or break, and neither of us fell" she stated, thinking of how he walked out of the suite after their kiss, and wondering if this action would constitute the 'falling' part of her analogy. "After the events of today-"
"We both lost control" Sherlock responded in a low and calm voice. "Not completely, and not irreparably, but we did. We allowed ourselves to be overtaken by our emotions which, under the circumstances, is understandable, but-" Sherlock stopped talking as Joan inhaled deeply and turned on the spot, taking a few steps out of the small living space and closer towards the window. Sherlock lowered his hand and watched her for a few moments, walking around the table and taking a few steps towards her. Before he could continue to speak, she turned back towards him and addressed his statement.
"I don't know what this is" she admitted simply, her voice calm but her emotions battling for control. "Since coming here and working on this case… something has been happening, changing. I don't know what and I don't understand it, but what I do know is that it deserves and requires the respect and acknowledgement that you are denying it" she stated, taking a couple of steps towards him and calming herself as she spoke. "I know that you don't find this easy, and that this is confusing and taking you completely out of your comfort zone" she continued, speaking gently and with sincere compassion, "and for that I'm sorry" she stated, the word choking her, as she paused for a moment as his eyes ran over her. "But it happened, Sherlock. And we can't change that" she added gently. "What we need to do is figure out what happens next" she continued, her eyes not leaving his. "If you want to pretend it didn't happen, and for us to move forward as the partners we once were, then that's fine" she stated, the words causing her almost physical pain. "If that's what you want I understand, and I'll do everything I can to achieve that, and to rebuild what we had before" she continued, her voice becoming slightly choked as tears burned in her eyes once more. "But don't pretend that it was just a random and meaningless form of contact that shouldn't have happened" she added, looking into his eyes with her wide ones which were glistening with tears. "Because that would be more than 'caddish' and 'reckless', Sherlock" she stated, standing back slightly. "It would be cruel." As she finished her statement Joan turned from him and began walking back towards the half-open door to her bedroom. She was tired and upset and did not want to fall apart in front of him. She couldn't.
Sherlock watched as Joan walked back towards her bedroom, her dark hair swaying behind her as she moved. A combination of guilt and pain caused his chest to tighten, and he turned instantly on the spot and began to walk straight towards her, calling her name as he approached her.
"Watson" he called gently, increasing his speed as she ignored him and continued to walk. "Watson" he stated in a gentle and kindly tone, as he reached out his hand and captured hers. Sherlock continued to walk towards her and she turned around, her head low as she fixed her attention upon their hands, before looking up at him. Their bodies were mere inches apart, and his right hand was holding her left, which joined the space between them. To his surprise and gratitude, she did not walk away, or attempt to pull her hand from his. Instead she stood perfectly still, looking up at him with a patient yet weary expression. "Watson I could not bear to lose you" he stated in a low and candid tone, his voice so delicate that Joan found herself taking a moment to process his words and make sure she had heard him correctly. "Not again" he added.
"You haven't" she replied kindly, her voice as low and gentle as his had been. "You won't" she added resolutely. "Whatever this is, whatever you want to do, we'll deal with it" she stated simply.
"And what is it that you want?" he asked kindly, his eyes travelling across her face and focusing on her eyes.
"I just want you to be honest with me, Sherlock" she began gently. "But before that can happen you need to be honest with yourself" she added, before turning from him and taking a step towards her bedroom. As she did so Sherlock moved with her, their hands still clasped together, fitting like lost pieces of a favourite jig-saw puzzle, which now constructed was too painful to separate. Joan turned back towards him, their eyes meeting once more, and their bodies relaxing ever so slightly. It was clear that neither of them wished to let the other go.
"I've already discussed with you my inability to maintain certain types of relationships" Sherlock stated in a low voice. Joan did remember the conversation, and although it was difficult to hear, she knew that it was harder for him to say it. And she was grateful that he was finally beginning to open up to her, and discuss the matter at hand. "And on my ability to have meaningful connections with people" he added, punctuating his statement with a nod, as his fingertips ran lightly across the back of her hand in a reassuring and comforting manner which she was not sure if he was aware of. "At the best of times I am romantically self-destructive, and I am cruel and hurtful at my worst" he stated simply. "I do not wish for you to become entangled in the barbed-wire web that is my ability to maintain a romantic relationship with a person I care for" he added, pausing for a few minutes as Joan processed his words. "I meant what I said before" he began, causing Joan to look up at him expectantly. "I am not nice by nature. With you, I am simply extra-accommodating" he began, watching as she observed him with unblinking eyes. "And although we have discussed your unconventional nature when it comes to romance, you deserve more than to be merely accommodated" he stated, speaking the final word slowly and over-pronouncing each syllable. "You should be adored, Watson" he added, her eyes widening in surprise slightly as he spoke. "Completely and without reservation" he continued, his voice low and slightly husky. "I will not deny you that."
Joan was quiet for a few moments, her eyes meeting his as she considered his words. She considered bringing up the fact that, if he were not as 'nice' and were simply 'accommodating', he would not have considered the logic of his recent explanation, which he would never have spoken.
"What you said, just then, was more than nice, Sherlock. It was more than accommodating" Joan began, her voice calm and gentle. "It was honest. It was selfless, it was thoughtful and it was candid" she added, looking up at him as she spoke. "The only thing that has caused me any hurt or discomfort in the last few minutes is your inability to recognise that what you see as your biggest weakness or failure is actually by far your greatest strength" she stated, noticing how his brows furrowed slightly with confusion. "You're so busy focusing on the parts of you that you think are flawed or broken, that you seem to overlook the positive affect they have on you. They make you more open-minded, more mindful of others and wary of their needs. You utilise your weaknesses, not theirs" she added, still not convinced that he understood. "And that makes you strong. Stronger than most people, and stronger than you realise" she added. "And it is part of you that I have always appreciated, not feared" she added, becoming acutely aware of their current proximity and closeness. She could feel her heart pumping faster, and the rising and falling of his chest revealed that his heart-rate and breathing were increasing too. "Sherlock, what is it that you are so afraid of?" she asked gently, taking a step forward and placing her hand tentatively on his cheek as she spoke. He did not recoil or turn away, which she was grateful for. Instead, he placed his own hand over hers, holding it for a moment, before lowering their hands and stepping towards her, so that their bodies were touching.
"The only thing I fear greater than losing you, Watson, is hurting you" he stated simply, his eyes not meeting hers. "The time we spent together earlier, when we were-" he began, exhaling as he broke off, before looking up at her once more, "I felt as though I would not be able to stop", he stated, speaking slowly. "I did not want to stop" he added, his voice so low that it took her a moment to process his words. Joan tilted her head up and leaned closer to him, placing her hand back on his cheek and stroking the side of his face with her fingertips.
"Me neither" she breathed, her eyes meeting his, and noticing how wide his pupils had become once more. She could feel his heart beating against her chest as they stood close together, their clasped hands trembling with anticipation. "And at that moment, just as now" she continued, her voice become low and breathless as she leaned closer to him, the top of her nose lightly grazing his, causing him to inhale deeply, "I don't want to either" she added, her eyes closing as she leaned closer to him, her lips meeting his once more. Sherlock released a small breath against her lips, before returning her kiss immediately and tentatively, before it became passionate once more. Joan placed her hands on his neck and back, pulling him into the kiss, as he put his hand on her lower back and pulled her against him once more, causing her to groan and sigh against him, her hands exploring his hair and back. After a few minutes Sherlock and Joan opened their eyes, breathing heavily against each other's lips as their hearts beat against each other's in perfect unison. They stared into each other's eyes for several moments, their bodies hot and trembling with anticipating. A moment later Joan reached behind her, pushing the bedroom door fully open, and leading him inside.