A/N: Thank you so much for your support and your input, it really has helped me in planning these chapters. I saw that you seemed to want some more Joanlock, so this chapter is dedicated almost exclusively to that. If there are any issues please let me know, and I will attempt to make sure they do not arise in future chapters. Also, I notice that the fact I have written this story around a case has also been discussed, and I was just wondering how you feel about it? And whether the issue is the way I am writing the case, or the fact that more Joanlock is wanted? The case itself will be wrapped up in the next couple of chapters, with the killer being revealed in the next chapter. Again, thank you for your continued support, it really means a lot. Any criticism/comments are greatly appreciated, and I try to take them on board. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and please don't hesitate to let me know if there is something you aren't happy with.
Thanks, HQ21 xxx
Sherlock and Joan remained on the roof for several minutes, basking in the dim evening light, and the beautiful scenes before them. As the warm light glowed amid the harsh winter evening, Sherlock found himself tilting his head slowly towards her own, which was resting by his shoulder blade. He hesitated momentarily, before leaning towards her and placing a chaste kiss upon her forehead. Although the kiss was delicate and quite innocent, he allowed his lips to rest on the cool forehead for a couple of seconds, before turning from her. As he did so, his nose brushed the top of her forehead, and Joan shivered in anticipation. She did not speak or react immediately, and for a moment Sherlock was concerned that he had offended her, or made her feel uncomfortable in some way. His fears were soon alleviated by his companion, who turned her body towards him, placed her free hand gently upon his rising chest, and kissed the bottom of his jaw. Sherlock closed his eyes at the contact, and unconsciously tightened his grip upon Joan's hand, as turned slightly on the spot, applying slightly more pressure with her free hand, and planted another kiss upon him.
The second kiss was higher than the previous one, applied at the bottom of his cheek. Sherlock sighed contently, and Joan could feel his heart racing beneath her fingertips. Sherlock reacted immediately to her actions, removing his hand from hers, and placing it on her lower back. As he ran his hand gradually up the silky material of her shirt, Joan continued to plant small kisses upon his cheek. She sighed audibly at the contact of his soft hand up her back, as he pressed her body gently to his own. Her breath caught in her throat as she kissed him again, by the corner of his mouth, which caused his eyes to snap open in anticipation. He found himself staring down at Joan, whose eyes were wide and breath was fast, as she leaned towards him once more. Sherlock bent his head slightly, and rose his free hand to cup her cheek, as she tilted her face slightly so that they could kiss. Before their lips could meet, the partners were disturbed by the sound of the heavy door groaning open from behind. They both reacted immediately and in the same manner, disentangling themselves from each other, placing their hands by their sides, and turning on the spot to face the door, where the familiar silhouette of Detective Bell was standing, oblivious to the conversation or activities of the previous minutes.
"There you guys are" he began, tugging his coat across his shoulders as he strolled haplessly towards them. "We were wondering where you'd got to. A couple of the officers said they saw you guys head up here" he continued casually, flashing them a confused and inquisitive glance. "What are you doing up here?"
"Enjoying the view, Detective" Sherlock stated immediately, as he placed his hands in his pockets and leaned forward slightly. "It is quite beautiful up here" he stated in a low and slightly husky tone. Joan picked up on the statement, and its reference to her, and found herself blushing slightly. She wrapped her arms around her and looked towards the floor for a moment, before tilting her head up to meet the gaze of the oblivious detective standing before them.
"Has something happened?" Joan asked simply, pursing her lips together as she shifted slightly on the spot. After leaving Sherlock's embrace, she found herself acutely aware of how cold she was, and how much she longed for his touch.
"Nothing ground-breaking, unfortunately" Bell began, placing his hands in his coat pockets, and addressing Sherlock and Joan. "The Captain and I talked to Jake Thompson, who denies knowing the latest victim, despite the fact that they were in a very similar line of work."
"The field of finance is a broad and complex one, detective" Sherlock returned, speaking in his usual animated manner. "And the city itself is just the same. It is quite possible that Mr Thompson is telling the truth, and that he is not acquainted with Mrs Mathers."
"You think he's innocent?" Bell asked, incredulity present in his voice.
"I can't be sure" Sherlock stated, his tone lowering slightly. "But I do not believe that he was Mrs Mathers' lover."
"Why's that?" Bell returned, scepticism still apparent in his tone.
"He wouldn't be her type" Sherlock stated simply. "Not by a long-shot. From whatis evident about his rap sheet and his general attitude and demeanour, Mr Thompson is an obsessive. I'd imagine that he is clingy, single-minded and emotionally demanding. A woman of Mrs Mathers' disposition and position would not be able to withstand such a relationship."
"Maybe that's why she left him?" Joan offered, turning slightly towards Sherlock as she spoke.
"Mr Thompson is also, as we have already gathered, in possession of attitudes and tendencies in relation to stalking and occasional violence. A woman who had been involved with him for any period of time would soon pick up signs of these tendencies, and would therefore be unlikely to describe him as positively as Mrs Mthters described her lover from her hospital bed" Sherlock stated, removing one hand from his pocket and gesturing as he spoke. "However, we do have one possible suspected lover, who we will investigate further. And regardless of this, the fact that Jake Thompson is not Mrs Mathers' lover does not necessarily mean that he is not her attacker. Nor does it make him innocent of the three murders."
"But you said yourself that the latest attack was one more personal than the rest, and that Mrs Mathers was the intended victim" Bell began, speaking slowly and enunciating each word. "If they aren't lovers, and you do not believe that they are acquainted, then how can he possibly be the guy we are looking for? "
"Quite frankly, detective, I don't believe that he is." Bell opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again and shaking his head, and taking a few steps closer to Sherlock.
"The evidence against this guy is... I mean, he's practically gift wrapped!" Bell stated, raising one hand in exasperation, before pacing across the roof. "Could he have an accomplice?"
"No, detective. A crime of this nature, with such personal undertones, are the work of one very obsessive and very angry individual." Sherlock returned.
"You don't think he committed any of the murders?" Joan asked tentatively, wrapping her arms around her chest as she spoke.
"No." He replied sombrely, tilting his head to face her. "I believe that Mr Thompson is not only innocent, but that he is being framed."
"Framed?" Bell repeated, turning on the spot and facing Sherlock directly.
"Who would want to frame him?"
"It isn't necessarily a question of who would want to frame him, but who could frame him."
"I don't understand." Bell stated, his voice low and full of intrigue.
"The person we are looking for, detective, is highly intelligent, efficient and capable. They are also filled with a high degree of rage and anguish which, as we have already established, was directed at Mrs Mathers. Now, before getting to her, they attacked several other women. The killer treated this as both an emotional and physical outlet, as well as a series of 'practice runs', if you will. Now, although these women were selected due to their physical appearance to the true target, Mrs Mathers, they are also connected by two other things. Occupation, and Mr Thompson." Sherlock paused for a moment, taking a breath as he considered the wary faces of Joan and Detective Bell. "We have already established several links, some tenuous, between two of the three victims and Mr Thompson. If there is a link between the victims..."
"There is a link to the killer" Joan stated, turning towards Sherlock with a look of resolution on her face. "You think Jake knows the killer."
"I do" Sherlock stated with conviction. "Although I do not believe he is fully aware of it."
"If he knew, surely he'd say" Bell stated incredulously. "I mean, I'd imagine he'd be fairly happy to get off a triple murder charge."
"Oh I should think he would, detective" Sherlock returned, burying his hands in the depths of his pockets once more. "But he is, at this moment, completely oblivious as to the true identity of the killer" he stated, glancing from Bell to Joan. "As are we."
"So what do we know?" Bell asked, his head spinning and his mind racing.
"We know that the person we are looking for has some knowledge of Mr Thompson, and who is also acquainted with at least two of the victims." Sherlock began, speaking clearly and concisely. "There will be an overlap somewhere, detective. Between the lives of the killer and of Mr Thompson. In order to find that link, we must analyse his relationships with all of the victims."
"We should look into the possibility of the killer being one of his colleagues" Joan began, speaking with confidence. "I mean, I know that he's freelance, but he may have needed consultations or some form of assistance. Someone who accompanied him on various errands or jobs in the companies where the victims worked? An intern, an auditor, someone like that?"
"Possibly" Sherlock agreed. "It would certainly be a good place to start." Joan nodded slowly in assent, before raising her hand to her mouth, and closing her eyes as she stifled a yawn. "You've had quite a day, Watson. I believe we should retire."
"No, no, I'm fine" she stated, removing her hand from her mouth and leaning back slightly, allowing the cool night air to brush lightly over her face, which refreshed her slightly. "We need to look into Jake's records, and cross reference them with-"
"The only thing you are cross-referencing this evening is the time it takes to return to the brownstone with the time it takes for your favourite take-out to arrive" Sherlock stated in a gentle tone. "You are tired, Watson. We should return home, rest, possibly look over some files after eating, and then return to the precinct in the morning." Sherlock was not ready to retire for the night, as his mind was racing with possibilities, and the confusion and inconsistencies in this case, and the nature of the crimes and the person committing them, vexed him. But Joan was exhausted, and they had both had a long day, personally and professionally. He felt that it would be best for them both if they returned to the sanctity of the brownstone, and continued their conversation or their work from there. It was partly for his benefit, but mainly for hers. Almost exclusively for hers.
Joan sighed slightly, crossing her arms close to her chest as she considered his argument. In truth, she was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than a long bath and an early night. She had not felt particularly hungry, but as soon as Sherlock mentioned take-out, visions of Thai food began to float into her mind, and she found herself experiencing pangs of hunger which she had not realised that she had been suppressing.
"Alright" she stated simply, nodding slowly as she faced forward. Sherlock watched her for a moment, before turning to face forward and beginning to walk towards the door.
"Excellent" he stated, strolling across the roof. "We will get a taxi immediately, and can order the food from the car" he stated as he reached the door. He placed on hand on the handle and was about to turn it, before realising what he had said, and how authoritative his tone had been. He drummed his fingers lightly on the door handle for a moment, before turning to face Joan, who had taken a few small steps towards him. "Is that satisfactory?"
"Of course" she stated simply, offering him a small and tired smile, as she and Bell walked towards the door together. Sherlock nodded slowly, before opening the door and passing into the comparative warmth of the precinct, and holding the door open for Bell and Joan, who passed through it in that order. As he turned to close the door, Sherlock found his glance drifting over to the spot where he and Joan had just shared a tender embrace. As his eyes danced over the spot, he found himself mourning the loss of her lips upon his cheek, her hand upon his chest, and her body pressed tightly against his own. Sherlock drummed his fingers on his thigh for a moment, before turning quickly on the spot, closing the door behind him before descending the murderous steps.
Sherlock and Joan arrived home shortly after eight o'clock in the evening, and greeted the take-out delivery man on their stoop. Joan strolled casually up the stairs towards him, handing him some cash, as Sherlock dealt with the taxi. She accepted the food from him, thanking him and wishing him a pleasant evening. The smell of the food was mesmerising, and Joan found herself gravitating towards the door with her key before Sherlock had even reached the bottom step. They ate together in front of the fire, sharing the delicious food and immersing themselves in pleasurable and non-work related conversation. Sherlock was sitting in his favourite arm chair, and Joan was perched amidst a small nest of cushions and blankets on the floor near the fire, which comforted her greatly. She found that the heat emitted from the flames was actually soothing to her shoulder injury, and tilted her arm towards it as she and Sherlock spoke. After what felt like no time at all, the partners realised that almost three hours had passed. Joan yawned as she glanced at the time on her cell phone, before forcing herself out of the small nest she had built on the ground, and standing unsteadily on her feet. She glanced tiredly around the room, which was bathed solely in the dim yellow light from the fire, as she tried to focus her attention upon her companion, who was sitting just a few feet in front of her.
"You are quite tired, Watson" he stated, glancing towards her face as she surveyed the floor, and began to nudge the now empty food containers into a small pile, using just the side of her foot. "You should rest. I will tidy the brownstone, and look into the files which Captain Gregson kindly gave me. I shall see if I can discern the link between Mr Thompson and any individuals with vengeful and murderous intentions. And tomorrow, we will arrange to meet with Mr Pierce, the man you so astutely discovered to have been recently dismissed from his position in Mrs Mathers' company" he stated in a low and gentle tone, in a voice which Joan found to be both soothing and compelling. "But right now, I must insist that you rest."
Joan placed one hand on her hip and the other over her mouth, as she found herself stifling another yawn. As she felt her yawn ending, she nodding slowly towards Sherlock, before removing her hand from her face and opening her eyes. When she did so, she was surprised to find him standing just a couple of feet in front of her. He had moved quickly and silently towards her whilst she yawned, and she found herself feeling revitalised by his current proximity. For a moment, she forgot her tiredness almost completely.
"Goodnight, my dear Watson" he stated in a low and breathless manner, before placing one hand on her shoulder and planting a kiss lightly upon her forehead, in a familiar motion which Joan delighted in. She closed her eyes for a moment, as his lips left her forehead, and he took a step back. Joan opened her eyes just as his hand regretfully relinquished its gentle hold on her shoulder.
"Goodnight" she returned, in a tired and gentle voice. Despite her exhaustion, her eyes sparkled with wariness and alertness, and Sherlock found himself gazing into their depths. He nodded slowly towards her, keeping his eyes fixed upon her tired frame as she slowly walked from the room, picking up some of her belongings as she left. As soon as he had seen her reach the top of the stairs, Sherlock moved back to his armchair and picked up a small stack of files from the ground. As he opened the first file, he found himself pausing for a moment, and briefly considering the events of the day which had just passed. He closed the file for a moment, and reached for his tablet, which was beside his feet. He picked it up and began to type quickly and with precision, scrolling carefully down before finding precisely what he was looking for. He smiled to himself for a moment, before casting a small glance towards the empty doorway. He nodded in satisfaction, before clicking on the relevant link, and preparing to place his order.
The next couple of days passed by with very little progress in terms of the case. However, despite being fairly unproductive, the days had been long and relentless. Sherlock and Joan assisted the police in research, interviews, dead-ends and even a stake-out which came to nothing at all. During this time, they interviewed Riley Pierce, the man who was fired by Mrs Mathers a few months ago, and found that the reasons for his dismissal were, in all likelihood, completely understandable. He was as uncooperative and arrogant a person as Sherlock and Joan had ever had the displeasure of meeting. But, unfortunately, the Machiavellian chauvinist had an air-tight alibi for not only Mrs Mathers' attack, but for two of the three murders too. After a particularly draining three-hour interview with him, Sherlock and Joan had retreated back to the brownstone, where they continued to read files relating to other former male employees of Mrs Mathers, as well as other people who came to see her on behalf of other companies, but their search seemed to be fruitless. They were no closer to identifying her lover than they had been since first realising his existence. And so, at the end of the second day, they once again spent some time together in the living room, before the half-conscious Joan was prompted to bed by Sherlock. Due to her tiredness and the fact that her mind was alight with possibilities, both professional and personal, she willingly complied.
The next morning, Joan found herself turning comfortably onto her side, before opening her eyes and admiring the brightness of the room. From the light which was shining through the window, and from how alert and awake she felt, it was clear that she had been asleep for a significant period of time. Joan reached under her pillow and brought out her phone, unlocking it so that she could check the time. She gasped in surprise as she learned that it was currently 11.47am.
"Whoa" she mumbled to herself, before placing her phone onto her pillow and casting a wary glance across the room. Before she could consider how to begin her morning, Joan's eyes widened in surprise at the sight before her.
On the chair to the right of her window, in which Sherlock so often sat when he wished to discuss something with her at some ungodly hour, lay a gift for her. Across the back of the chair was a jersey for her favourite baseball team, the New York Mets, as well as a matching hat. Joan tossed her blankets aside and eased herself out of bed, crossing the room briskly and making her way towards the chair. She picked up the jersey and held it to her, realising that it was the perfect size. She then picked up the cap, examined it with satisfaction for a few moments, before turning it over in her hands. She then draped the jersey across her left arm and held the hat in her right, before making her way slowly from her room and down the stairs. The sound of jazz music greeted her as soon as she opened her door and stepped onto the landing, and she followed the sound of it to the front room, where she was surprised to see Sherlock standing. It was not his presence or his stance which surprised her, but his manner of dress. Although he was facing away from her, she could tell that he was wearing a larger version of the same jersey that she was carrying, and she noted that a matching hat lay upon Angus's head. It suited him.
"Sherlock, what's going on?" she asked, causing him to turn towards her immediately. She gazed approvingly at his jersey, which suited him well, before raising her hat and jersey and casting a look of confusion in his direction.
"Ah, Watson, you're awake" he stated pleasantly, in his usual animated manner. "Wonderful. Now, we have just over an hour before we need to leave. So, if you would care to use that time to ready yourself, I will call and book the taxi for about half past-"
"Hold on a sec" she stated, raising an open-palmed hand, which caused him to stop speaking immediately. "You still haven't told me what's going on."
"You've been my partner for almost two years, Watson, surely this is one of the simpler deductions that you have been introduced to by myself" he stated, leaning back on his heels before standing perfectly still in front of the fire, and watching her with curiosity. "The new baseball season is beginning, Watson" he stated simply, turning to the mantelpiece as he spoke, and picking something up from beneath Angus. "So I took the liberty of procuring some tickets to the first game. I believe one of the teams is a favourite of yours." Sherlock took a few steps towards her and offered her the items in her hand. She accepted them gratefully, and became aware of what they were within seconds.
"New York Mets versus the Cincinnati-" she paused for a moment, holding the tickets in both hands as she looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze. "You bought us tickets to a baseball match" she stated simply, to which Sherlock nodded slowly. "But Sherlock, these aren't just any tickets" she continued, smiling slightly as she re-read the information on the front. "It's a game between the same teams that we watched play each other on tv after we solved our first case."
"Yes" Sherlock said simply, his cheeks reddening slightly with embarrassment. "Well, I... I knew that you had a particular fondness for this fine city's team, and so I felt that it would be an appropriate outing."
"But you hate baseball" she stated with confusion.
"No, Watson, I do not. As we discussed before, I find it quite interesting. Not just the game, of course, but the commentaries, the fellow viewers... and the company, of course" Joan nodded slightly, allowing her glance to fall back to the tickets, which she turned over in her hands and examined closely, still unable to believe that they were real. "Besides" he continued, as he turned from her and walked towards Angus "you like baseball."
Joan lifted her gaze from the tickets, and faced Sherlock directly. She wanted to say something to him, to convey exactly how grateful and how touched she was by this gesture. But she found herself completely lost for words, and unable to do much accept look at him with gratitude and offer him a small smile. Which, unbeknownst to her, was more than enough. As she finally opened her mouth to speak, her words were once again prevented from leaving her mouth. Not by her inability to articulate them this time, but, instead, due to the sight before her. In the few seconds it had taken her to consider what it was that she wanted to say to him, Sherlock had reached for the hat on top of Angus's head, and placed it on his own, before turning around. The consulting detective was now stood facing her, wearing the jersey and the hat of her favourite Baseball team. Joan basked in the image for a moment, and found herself smiling with satisfaction at the scene. Despite his state of dress, Sherlock did not look like your average sports fan. Instead, he reminded Joan of the tourists you see with the 'I-heart-Vegas' shirts, dollar-shaped sunglasses and piles of casino chips. But still, it was a wonderful sight to behold, and not just because of its humour-value or unusualness. Instead, it was wonderful because of what it represented. It showed how well Sherlock knew Joan, and how much he was trying to show his care for her. This thought sobered her for a moment, and she found her smile fading slightly, as she looked at him with slight apprehension.
"Is something wrong?" he asked gently.
"No, I... it's just..." she began, gesturing with her hands slightly, before allowing her hands to fall by her sides. "I want to spend time with you. I do. More than anything, I just-" she broke off for a moment, considering her next words carefully before she responded. "I want to do something that you enjoy doing to."
Sherlock considered her words for a few moments, and was touched by her consideration, but slightly puzzled at the issue itself. "I enjoy your company, Watson" he began earnestly, nodding once with conviction. "Very much so. And I would like nothing more than to join you in an activity which brings you happiness. Despite our previous conversation about our places in the world, as both individuals and partners, I believe that it is beneficial for us both to partake in activities which are unrelated to crime." She nodded in understanding, uttering her thanks as she tilted her head slighting to meet her gaze. "And the stadium is just three blocks away from my brother's former restaurant. So, with any luck, a particularly strong or over-enthusiastic player may hit the ball and shatter one of his overly-expensive antique-glass windows." Sherlock added, smiling slightly as Joan gave him a small look of disapproval. "The game starts at one, Watson. I will order us a cab for twelve-thirty, if that is acceptable."
"Sure" she replied. "Thank you." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, before standing firmly planted on the spot, as they shared a familiar and comforting look. "I should get ready" Joan stated apologetically, before turning on the spot and quickly making her way up the stairs. As soon as he heard her door close behind her, Sherlock removed the hat from his head, and placed it back on top of Angus's.
"What a handsome fellow you are, Angus" he stated in a low tone, barely above a whisper. "If I had known how fetching this cap was, I would have purchased you one too. As well as a ticket, of course" he stated, before pursing his lips together and raising his shoulders regretfully. "But I fear that a sports stadium is really no place for a porcelain bust. Particularly one which has a habit of shattering so simply." Sherlock smiled contently to himself, before crossing the room and walking towards his desk. He spent the next twenty minutes rearranging his locks and his handcuffs, until Joan came downstairs. She was dressed in black trousers and boots, the jersey and hat, both of which fit her perfectly. Sherlock admired her for a moment, before exchanging a few words with her, and making their way out of the building.
Sherlock and Joan arrived at the arena fairly early, and were admitted fairly quickly. Sherlock glanced around the place with interest, and it was easy for Joan to deduce that he had never been to a game before. After he verbally confirmed her theory, she began giving him a brief description of the layout, the locations of the bathrooms and security personnel, and then indicated where their seats would be. Sherlock turned to walk towards the stall where they were to be seated, before Joan's voice called him back.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked incredulously, in a mock-shocked tone which instantly drew Sherlock's attention towards her. He narrowed his eyes in confusion as he watched her perplexedly. "Snacks, Sherlock!" she stated in a mock-surprised tone, before pressing the tickets to his chest and walking behind him, leading him towards the area where the food was being sold. "You can't watch a game without a ridiculous amount of over-priced under-nutritious food. It's the rules."
"I see" he stated in a low tone, before turning on the spot and following her to the snacks stall. Joan ordered them some hot dogs and fries, a couple of sodas and a large popcorn. Sherlock nodded approvingly at her choices, and watched with confusion as she began to reach for her purse. "Watson, please" he stated in a kind and gentle tone, which drew her from her actions. She glanced from her purse to his face, watching him carefully as he handed the money over to the cashier, with a very generous tip. "Allow me." Joan opened her mouth to speak, but was powerless to prevent the transaction, and simply glanced towards him as he helped to gather the food.
"Thanks, Sherlock" she began, in a kind yet slightly concerned tone. "It's my turn next thought, okay?"
"How very twenty-first century of you" Sherlock stated kindly, as he assisted her with repositioning the popcorn which she was carrying, preventing it from falling to the ground.
They found their seats fairly quickly, and were comfortably seated with plenty of time to spare before the game began. During the first half, Sherlock spent less time watching the game and more time considering his companion, whose clear excitement and animation pleased him greatly. After the year she had had, especially considering the difficulties she had faced in the past few months, he was glad to finally see her smile. She was laughing, cheering and eating contently as she watched the game, which her team seemed certain to win. Seeing her this happy and content, and so completely care-free, caused him to feel something which he did not recognise. At observing her contentment, he found himself feeling his stomach tighten slightly, and his heart beat slightly faster. He was not only glad that she was experiencing this moment, but that he was able to witness it. In what felt like no time at all, the first half of the game was over, and the music and cheering began to subside, and was replaced by the mutterings and conversations of the strong crowd.
"Are you having a good time?" Joan asked, turning towards Sherlock and offering him some popcorn. He was sat with a straight-back, hands clasped together, his eyes shielded from the bright sun by the hat he was wearing.
"Yes, Watson. I am" he stated with conviction, before accepting a handful of popcorn. Joan nodded contently, before picking a piece of popcorn out from the bucket and placing it in her mouth.
"I'm glad" she stated simply, taking a sip of her soda.
"Yes" he stated absent-mindedly. "The game itself is quite interesting. Predictable, of course. Would you like me to tell you the final score as I did the last time we-"
"No." She stated simply, shaking her head slightly as she removed the straw from her mouth. "I would rather watch the game" she continued, smiling pleasantly at him.
"Very well" he stated, nodding slightly. "I must admit, Watson, I find this part of the game to be particularly inspiring."
"Oh?" she asked, turning towards him, her interest peaked. "And why's that?"
"Because, my dear Watson, this place is a notable hive of activity. It's a gold-mine in terms of observatory and deductive potential." Joan considered this point for a moment, understanding his meaning, before casting a preliminary glance across the people in the rows ahead of them.
"You've been deducing things about our fellow spectators" she stated simply, nodding as she took another sip of her soda. "Anything good?"
"That rather depends on your definition" he stated, his eyes remaining focused on three people in front of them. "Take them, for example" he began, nodding towards the people he had been considering. There was a well-dressed gentleman in the middle, with a young blonde lady at either side, who Sherlock and Joan correctly deduced were sisters. "What do you see?"
Joan turned from the people in front and towards Sherlock, smiling brightly at him as he observed her with confusion. "Watson?" he asked, his features displaying his confusion.
"That's one of the things I've always found so interesting about you" she began, her voice gentle and conversational. "How much you notice. I know you once told me the dangers of observing so much, but I think that seeing so much that other people miss, and being able to have a brief snapshot into the lives of people you've never met, it actually pretty compelling. It's a gift" she stated simply, smiling warmly towards him. "It has its downsides, as we discussed. But it's a gift nonetheless. And I am so grateful that you chose to share it with me." Sherlock nodded in response to her statement, before turning to face forward and glancing at the people ahead of him.
"If you are attempting to distract me with your complements, Watson, I assure you-" Sherlock was broken off by Joan's laughter. He turned from the front to face her once more, observing her with keen interest. He really had never seen her so happy, so relaxed and so utterly content. He was not aware of it, of course, but after viewing Joan laughing so sweetly and with such confidence, he too was smiling. Joan stopped laughing after a few seconds, and placed her soda in the holder, before clasping the popcorn tub with both hands.
"The guy in the middle is a city worker, fairly high-up judging by the designer shades and expensive watch. The two ladies to his side are sisters, a few years apart, despite being able to pass off as twins. The lady to his left is his wife, whereas the woman to his right is his sister-in-law." She stated casually, enunciating each word carefully. As she finished speaking, she placed her hand into the popcorn tub and picked out a few more pieces, dropping them contently into her mouth.
"Yes, Watson, you are quite right" he stated, nodding in approval. "Such a pity that he is sleeping with them both."
Joan almost choked on her popcorn as he spoke those words. Before raising his theory with him, she found herself casting a cautious glance around them, in order to reassure herself that no one else had heard what Sherlock had just said. Thankfully the stadium was full, and everyone appeared to be deeply embroiled in their own conversations. She turned away from the crowd and leant slightly closer to Sherlock, speaking to him in a low and cautious tone.
"How could you possibly know that?" she asked, swallowing her remaining popcorn, before placing her hands on either side of the tub.
"Simple deductions, really" he responded, turning to face her as he helped himself to another handful of popcorn. "The wife has been leaning into him during the match, wrapping her arm around his neck, trying to kiss him, but he seems to have been rejecting her tender expressions of love, and not in the most subtle of manners, either" Sherlock began, speaking in an equally low voice. "However, the husband's attentions have been focused on the sister-in-law for almost the entire duration of the game. He keeps running his hand across her thigh, which she has also done to him on multiple occasions-"
"God" Joan stated in exasperation, sighing as she did so. "The poor wife. I wonder if she knows."
"She does, that much is evident from her body language, and the fact that she has not made eye contact with her sister at all" Sherlock responded, clasping his hands together in his lap as music began to play. "Which is probably why she hasn't told him about her pregnancy." Joan turned to face Sherlock, her eyes wide and her expression shocked, before glancing back towards the woman in front of her, whose blonde hair was dancing in the wind. "With twins" he added, glancing at the woman in front of him.
"How could you possibly know that? She's as thin as a rail, and I-"
"Her posture, aversion to junk food and alcoholic beverages, both of which her two companions have been eating voraciously throughout the game. Also, when two highly-intoxicated, brawling college students were stumbling down the aisles, she placed her arm protectively over her abdomen, and leaned towards her husband" Sherlock continued, his eyes adopting a sad and forlorn expression. "It was the only time that he actually turned towards her, and even acknowledged her presence." Joan nodded, placing the popcorn on the ground, as she found that this most recent revelation about the unsavoury nature of the husband and sister-in-law had caused her to lose her appetite. However, her thoughts soon drifted from this to her awe at Sherlock's deductions. She never failed to be impressed by how much information he could gather after such a brief glance, and the most chance of encounters.
"And, of course" he began, uncrossing is arms and gesturing with his left hand as he spoke. "When her husband went to the bathroom about twenty minutes ago, she removed a sonograph image from her wallet, which she replaced before he returned."
Joan sighed briefly, before turning her head to face him. "I see" she stated simply.
"It's a shame the husband does not." Sherlock stated sombrely, lowering his gaze to the ground, before taking another handful of popcorn.
Joan watched him for a few minutes as he played with the popcorn in his hands, occasionally placing a piece in his mouth. Something was different about him, troubling him slightly. And she wanted to figure out what and why.
"This bothers you, doesn't it?" she asked, causing Sherlock to turn to face her instantly. "His infidelity, the sister's betrayal..."
"The wife's torment." He added, before dropping the popcorn back into the bucket. "Being betrayed by someone close to you, by someone you trust so completely, is torturous" he began, his eyes adopting a sad expression. "Being betrayed by two people who fit that description must be simply unbearable."
"I agree" Joan stated sympathetically, placing her soda in the holder before turning in her seat to face Sherlock directly. "But one thing that we learn after experiencing such a betrayal is how to be stronger than we were before. It's painful, it's... it's frightening and it completely changes your whole perspective, on absolutely everything which you once believed to be true" she continued, glancing at the woman in front of her as she spoke. "But it makes us stronger" she stated, slowly moving her hand across his armrest and on top of one of his open-palms, before pressing her hand into his and gripping it reassuringly. He copied this motion, and she felt her heart racing at the contact. "And it makes us able to recognise and appreciate the people who genuinely love us." As she spoke this, Sherlock half-blinked, before turning to face her. His eyes were no longer sad and distracted, but bright and alert, and expressing a look which she recognised from just a handful of times before.
"Yes, Watson" he stated in a low and husky voice, as she leaned slightly closer to him. "I quite agree". At this moment, Sherlock and Joan leaned towards each other, and their lips met. The kiss started off chastely, but soon became more passionate. Sherlock shifted in his seat, pushing himself against the armrest which divided them, as he used his left hand to drawn her deeper into the kiss. She breathed shakily at this action, placing her own hand over his, and continuing to kiss him with as much intensity and passion as she had experienced the night after he tended to her wounds in their bathroom. A few moments later, the music announcing the renewal of the game came on, and Sherlock and Joan opened their eyes, and allowed their lips to slowly part from one another. Joan watched Sherlock with slightly concern, before being instantly reassured by the look of brightness and contentment in his eyes. He allowed his fingers to run down her cheek, and before they fell from her jaw, Joan placed her own fingers on top of them, and drew them to her mouth. She kissed his hand tenderly, before placing one hand on his cheek, and smiling at him with more kindness and adoration than he felt worthy of accepting. But he did. As Joan turned to face forward, she felt a familiar and comforting sensation in her left hand. Sherlock had laced his fingers through hers, and their hands were pressed together, causing the same feelings of exhilaration and ecstasy that they had both experienced on a few occasions before.
For the rest of the game, Sherlock and Joan remained completely engaged in the sport itself, with the only words exchanged between them being in relation to the game. Sherlock made several observations about the game and the team strategies, which he and Joan discussed, whilst enjoying the game completely. Their conversations were pleasant and animated, and they spent the rest of their time in the stadium talking and smiling. As the game ended, with the score being precisely what Sherlock had predicted, Joan reflected on what a wonderful time she had had, and how much she had enjoyed his company. Despite the fact that she had always enjoyed his company, they both realised that this was different. The fact that they had both acknowledged a new side to their relationship, and were currently exploring it, meant that they had to consider occasions such as this in a deductive and wary manner. But instead of being awkward or unsettling, the time they spent together at the game had been wonderful, and felt so completely right to them both. By the end of the game, their fingers were still laced together, and their hands were resting upon the chair.
"Thank you, Sherlock" Joan stated, turning towards him as she spoke.
"For what?" he asked, turning to face her.
"For everything" she continued, as the people began to leave the stadium. "For this."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment, as he continued to consider her statements further. "For bringing you to a baseball match?"
"Yes, partly" she began, her voice low and gentle. "And for trying to enjoy it."
"I did, Watson" he stated with conviction and clarity, squeezing her hand tightly as he spoke. "I really did."
They stared at each other for a few moments, a small smile playing on Joan's lips, as she nodded in understanding. As Sherlock rose to leave, she pulled on his hand gently, causing him to sit back in his seat immediately, and glance at her with the same look of confusion and concern which he often gave her. Before he could pose a question, she relinquished her hands from his, leaned across the seats, and pulled him into another deep and passionate kiss. Sherlock reacted immediately, closing his eyes contently as he kissed her back, running his hand down her back as he did so. He found himself almost completely lost in the moment, and so did she. Neither of them cared about the people around them, or the fact that they were still exploring the precise nature of their relationship. Instead, they allowed themselves to be free from all restraints, departed from all conventions, and separated from all opinions other than their own. This was a time in which they were free, in every sense. Free from judgement, from concerns and from consideration of the impact of their current actions on their long-term partnership. Despite the crowds and the public nature of their current location, the moment was romantic, beautiful, and completely theirs.