As the soothing music from the violin resonated throughout the house, Joan found herself closing her eyes for a moment, and allowing herself to fall completely into this idyllic scene. The music was a gentle hum to her ears, and her senses were heightened and alert and the sounds produced by the simple stringed instruments. She focused her attention completely on the music, and swayed slightly as she found herself completely lost in the tune. After a few moments of peaceful musings, she opened her eyes slowly and tiredly, and found herself thinking of the man who was playing the instrument so expertly, and with such passion. She found herself remembering her statement from shortly before, assuring him that they had plans that day. She had intended on taking him to dinner that night, to a quaint little bistro that she used to go to in college, which she still went to with some friends. She wanted to introduce him to part of her world, share it with him. But as she listened to the gentle and soothing tones from above, she had quite a different idea, and one she was certain he would appreciate. She scrolled through her contacts list, selected the person she was searching for, and made a brief phone call, smiling contently at the end. It was not until she hung up that she realised that the music had stopped playing.
Joan crept silently up the stairs, holding on to the bannister to support herself. She felt shaky with excitement, and slightly nervous too, following the night before. The reality of their time spent together, completely together, was dawning on her. She did not regret sleeping with him, not at all. She remembered how right and how natural it had felt the night before, during their love making, and afterwards as they lay together, entwined in each other's arms. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused cautiously on the landing, and glanced towards the closed door of Sherlock's bedroom, and then towards the open door of the bathroom. She crossed the landing quickly and passed into the bathroom, dropping the woollen blanket on the ground as she turned the shower on. As the room began to fill with heat and steam from the rapidly pouring water, Joan looked at her reflection in the mirror, staring at it hard until the glass clouded over with steam. As she watched her reflection become hidden by a cloud of wet mist, she reiterated her previous thought, and concluded that she did not regret a thing. She slowly rose her hand to her neck, which Sherlock had just recently lavished in welcome kisses. She ran her fingers gently down her neck, before turning on the spot and walking towards the shower, and allowing herself to be overcome by the comforting heat of the water. This time, as she showered, Joan Watson did not cry.
Thirty minutes later, a freshly showered and dressed Sherlock and Joan met in the foyer, where they acted as they usually did. As soon as Joan reached the bottom step, Sherlock turned on the spot, reached for her coat, and eased her into it. She accepted his assistance willingly, and felt her whole body tingle as he ran his hands down her arms. She turned to face him as she did up buttons, staring from the top. However, her attention was soon drawn from her task by Sherlock, who had taken a step closer to her, and was buttoning her coat up from the bottom, in a deft and efficient manner. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, and allowed her hands to fall to her sides, which attracted his attention. He paused, removing his hands from her coat, and watched her with a fiery intensity, and with the remnants of desire burning brightly in his eyes. As their eyes met, Joan felt her breath catch in her throat. Before either of them could say anything, Sherlock's hands were at her hips, pulling her towards him as they began to kiss. This kiss, like so many of those which they had shared before, was full of both passion and adoration. It was not desperate or full of longing and physical need, but of love. Joan felt her whole body quiver beneath his hands, and placed her fingers gently over his, as he cupped her right cheek. She then opened her eyes, breathed in shakily, and broke the kiss.
"What did Captain Gregson say?" she asked in a low tone, as she did up the remaining buttons of her coat. Sherlock watched her with amusement for a moment, before removing his hand from her cheek, and taking a step back. Their eyes met for a moment, and they shared a private look, which conveyed their equal happiness and contentment with their current situation far better than any words they could have used ever could.
"Captain Gregson thanks us for our assistance, and wishes to extend us an invitation to the precinct, where he would like to take our statements, discuss some case-related matters and then, I suspect, bore us to death with some bureaucratic nonsense which-"
"If by 'bureaucratic nonsense' you mean 'official procedures', then yes" she spoke amiably, attempting to hide her amusement as she reached for her scarf, and wrapped it around her neck. "I suspect you may be right."
"As is often the case." He stated absent-mindedly, as he leaned back on his heels, lacing his fingers together as his hands rested behind his back.
"Hmm" came Joan's reply, as she pulled on her black leather gloves.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the door with one hand, before walking towards it and opening it wide, allowing Joan to pass through. As she crossed the threshold, she felt the familiar sensation of Sherlock's hand resting upon her lower back, and guiding her onto the street. She leaned into this contact, and mourned it when he removed his hand at the top of the first step. As they walked down the stairs together, side by side, Joan found herself slightly taken aback by how normal she felt. It was almost as though nothing had changed, really. As she reached the bottom step, and strolled confidently towards the taxi, she considered the apparent normality which had accompanied their night of unreserved passion, and was grateful for it. Sherlock opened the taxi door for her, as usual. He then spoke to the driver, as usual, before taking up his seat next to her in the back, as usual. The only thing that changed, and which was notably different, was the way they sat in the back. They had always been comfortable with each other, and had felt relaxed and unrestrained when in each other's company. But this time, any remaining barriers of formality or platonic relations had been completely eroded, and they sat, with their legs touching, thighs pressed together. The contact was not overtly sexual, or even noticeable to external parties. But it was a closer degree of contact than they had permitted before, and it was significant. They found no reason to speak or to communicate directly in any way. Instead, they passed the short taxi ride to the precinct quietly and peacefully, bodies pressed together, hearts beating rhythmically, as they remained where they belonged: side by side.
Upon arriving at the precinct, Sherlock was surprised to find that everything was apparently relaxed, with none of the usual bustle and business which often followed in the wake of the apprehension of a serial killer.
"Was Miss Lennard tried, convicted and imprisoned overnight, Captain?" Sherlock asked sardonically as he and Joan approached the waiting Captain Gregson, who was standing with his hands in his pockets.
"Miss Lennard has not uttered a word since her arrest. I've had her looked over by a doctor, and a shrink is comin' in at noon. So until then, we're at a bit of a standstill."
"What about Greta?" Joan interposed, causing Gregson's attention to shift towards her. "Is she alright?"
"Her condition is serious, but she's stable, for now" he responded, speaking in a lower and slightly more gentle tone as he addressed the issue. "The doctors have managed to deal with her head injury, but can't be sure of the nature or presence of any lasting neurological or psychological effects" he stated quickly, using the words the doctor had spoken to him. "We don't know when, or even if, she will wake up."
"And even if she does, there's a good chance she won't remember anything about last night" Joan continued, causing Gregson to nod in response. "Perhaps that would be a good thing." Gregson gestured non-committally, as Sherlock turned towards Joan and watched her with confusion. She observed his look, and addressed him. "After what she's been through, it may be best if she can't remember being attacked for a second time."
"Whilst I completely understand your logic, Watson, and applaud it" Sherlock began, in a low and respectful tone, which she believed to be sincere, "the physical evidence against Miss Lennard is lacking. Confirmation from Mrs Mathers, as well as your statement and testimony, will go a long way to ensuring Lennard's conviction." Joan nodded in understanding, before turning towards Gregson, who was addressing them both.
"Which is precisely why I called you both in so early" he stated simply, removing his hands from his pockets and leading them to the interview rooms. "I'm gonna need to take statements from both of you, as soon as possible, as everything will be the freshest in your mind. I'm gonna take your statement, Joan, and Bell will take Sherlock's." He stated simply, indicating towards two rooms. "I'm glad you took my advice last night, and you both got what you needed" he said to Sherlock, as he glanced across at Joan, and watched her with a mixture of confusion and satisfaction.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock returned, trying to keep his voice even as his mind raced. Joan felt as though she had stopped breathing.
"Rest" Gregson said simply, pushing open one of the doors and indicating for Joan to pass through. "You're both... glowing, I guess would be the word. You seem very well rested, and I'm glad." Sherlock and Joan both relaxed slightly, and Joan found herself suppressing a small smile. "I was beginning to worry about you, Miss Watson."
"Thank you, Captain, but there's really no need to" she stated kindly, meeting his eyes with a look of conviction, before continuing to speak in a simple and candid manner. "Sherlock took very good care of me last night."
"Good" the oblivious Gregson returned, as Joan passed through the door which he was holding open for her. Sherlock watched with amazement as Joan passed into the room and took up her seat, with her back to him, as Gregson slowly closed the door behind him. Sherlock could hear the familiar sound of Detective Bell's rapidly approaching footsteps, which he ignored for the moment, as he smiled with satisfaction and impression. He did not expect such a teasing statement from Miss Watson. Clearly, they both had much to look forward to.
"You ready, Holmes?" asked Bell, as he reached the side of the consulting detective.
"Oh yes, Detective" he responded, turning his head to face him as he spoke. "I most certainly am."
The interviews, which both Joan and Sherlock expected to be fairly lengthy, certainly lived up to their expectations. After an hour and a half, Joan was finally released from what felt like a small, cramped, poorly ventilated and shoddily dreary torture chamber. As she passed through the doorway and into the artificially lit corridor, she found herself beginning to empathise with the individuals who were interviewed in such rooms on a regular basis. Even the guilty ones.
"Hey" Joan stated, as she noticed that the 'in use' sign was still up on the room next to hers, where Sherlock was being interviewed. "Is he still in there?" she asked Gregson, before looking around the precinct for her partner. "I expected him to be done before me."
"I guess so" Gregson stated simply. "Do you wanna wait in my office til he's done?"
"Thank you, I-" she began, before remembering her plans for them for the afternoon, and correcting herself. "Actually, would you mind if I went out and picked up a few things? I'll be back in about half an hour, can you ask Sherlock to wait for me if he comes out before I return?"
"Sure" Gregson responded, as he walked her to the exit. "And thank you, Miss Watson, for everything. Your statement and your testimony are really gonna help."
"I hope so" she stated, pushing the door open, and turning her head away from the brightness of the street. "Thank you, Captain." Gregson nodded politely to her, before watching her cross the road. There was certainly something different about her. She no longer carried the same look of weariness and concern, and nor did she seem to exude fear or discomfort. Instead, she appeared to be perfectly rested, bright-eyed and alert, and almost... happy.
"Must've been some rest" Gregson muttered to himself, before turning on the spot and heading back to his office. As he did so, he cast a cautionary glance towards the interview room which held Sherlock and Bell. He could only imagine what was going on inside.
Joan returned to the precinct twenty minutes later, arriving just in time to see a confident-looking Sherlock stroll from the interview room, followed by a frazzled-looking Detective Bell.
"Watson" Sherlock began brightly, striding towards her. His attention was immediately drawn to the brown paper carrier bags she was holding in her left hand, and he glanced from the bags to her face in confusion. "What's all this?" he asked simply.
"Lunch" she stated simply. "It's almost one o'clock, and I thought you'd be getting hungry by now. Seeing as we've technically finished the case, and we didn't-" she paused for a moment, lowering her tone as Bell walked slowly towards them, "we didn't have anything to eat last night."
"I don't know about you, Watson" he returned, speaking in a low and seductive tone. "But I found my appetite perfectly sated last night." Before Joan could respond, she became aware of the look of acute distress which defined the features of Detective Bell.
"Marcus, are you okay?" she asked with concern. "And why did you guys take so long?"
"Oh the interview was finished after thirty minutes" Marcus stated simply, pausing as he turned his head reproachfully towards Sherlock. "But your partner here decided that I was in need of an hour and half's worth of lecturing on interview techniques."
"And I was right, Detective. Your methods of ascertaining information are as trivial as they are woefully out of date" he returned, before turning his head to face Bell. "And it was one hour and twenty minutes."
"Yeah, well it felt like much longer." He returned. Joan gave Bell an apologetic look, before deciding that it was best to cut their current conversation short.
"Sherlock, are you ready?"
"Ready?" he asked, diverting his attention from Bell and towards Joan.
"For lunch."
"Lunch, right, yes, of course." He stated, putting his hands behind his back as he walked obediently towards Joan.
"If I don't feed him, he just gets worse" Joan whispered to Bell, who smiled at her approvingly. As he bade goodbye to the consulting detectives, he watched as Joan led Sherlock from the building, and smiled to himself as she seemed to be lightly chastising him. Their relationship continued to surprise him, as did her ability to reason with him, a man who was often painfully unreasonable. It was just one of the qualities he admired in Joan Watson.
"So, which take out did your order this time, Watson?" Sherlock asked amiably, glancing down with caution at the paper bags she was holding. "Am I to have the honour of dining upon Thai food or Indian?"
"Neither, actually, I bought something a little different" she stated, pulling the bags closer to her, as she led Sherlock towards a taxi. She opened the door for him, which evidently amused him, before leaning towards the driver and whispering an address to him. Even with his acute sense of hearing, Sherlock was only able to make out part of the address, and found himself racking his brain for possible destinations.
"Where are we going, Watson?" he asked finally, as he and Joan clicked their seatbelts into place.
"I told you, we're going for lunch."
"But you have lunch here, Watson. The food is here." He stated, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Where are we going?" he repeated, as the cab pulled away from the pavement outside the precinct.
"It's a surprise" she said simply, turning towards him and watching him with wide, warm eyes. "But you'll know it when we get there."
After a ten minute drive, in which Sherlock and Joan spoke of many matters, none location-related, the cab pulled up outside a newly refurbished building, which stood majestically in the centre of the street. It was a fairly large building, constructed from blocks made of white and grey stone, giving it a modern yet natural appearance, almost of marble. There were four large, white pillars by the entrance, and several windows were symmetrically displayed across the face of the building. Sherlock ran his eyes curiously over the building, reading the sign which revealed it's title, before observing that some nearby signs revealed that the grand opening was 'coming soon'.
"Your city's newest and most interesting attraction" he began, in a pleasant and curious tone. "The New York Museum of Etymology, the city's latest attempt to provide displays, education and even lectures on the world's insects, particularly those native to this country" he continued, before leaning back in his seat. "I have been following the construction of this place for months now, but I am sorry to say that we are too early to view the exhibits. The grand opening is not for another week" he stated, turning towards her as he spoke. As he faced her, he found that Joan was staring at him kindly, with a placating look of warmth and contentment playing on her features. She looked serene.
"Don't be so sure" she stated, before opening her door and exiting the cab. Sherlock stared after her for a few moments, and was not broken from his trance until he observed her thanking the driver and paying the fare, before she opened his door for him. Sherlock stepped out cautiously, and stood slightly in front of Joan, watching her expectantly for an explanation. "Over these past few weeks, you've taken me to so many places. You have really allowed me to enter your world, more completely and in more depth than I ever thought it possible" she stated, her voice gentle and kind. "I know you don't find it easy, and I know that you have been going out of your way to do things for me, to ensure that I am happy, that I am taken care of" she paused for a moment, staring analytically at his face, which remained impassive. "So I wanted to thank you. Properly, I mean, by taking you somewhere I thought you'd want to go" she continued, before turning on the spot and taking a step towards the building. "Follow me." Sherlock obeyed, and strolled with Joan up the stone steps and towards the museum, which stood grand and tall before him.
"If you're thinking of breaking in, Watson, I must strongly advise against it" he began, as they reached the front door. Joan rested her hand upon the door handle and turned to face him, a look of amusement playing on her features. "They are bound to have the latest and most up to date CCTV equipment, alarms, and-" before he could continue, Joan pressed down upon the handle and swung the door open, standing to the side for a moment to allow him to pass through. He stared at the door in confusion for a moment, before glancing from the handle, to the inside of the building, and then back to Joan, who was watching him with feigned amusement.
"The CCTV cameras aren't being connected until Friday" she stated simply, as she watched as his curious eyes observed her with interest. "I'm friends with the curator" she added, watching as realisation swept over his features. "I operated on one of his daughters last summer, and we ran into each other a couple of weeks ago, and he told me about this. Of course, I knew immediately that it was something that would interest you, and intended on getting us tickets to the opening night" she indicated towards the building, before glancing back towards Sherlock. "But I called him this morning and, after explaining that I have a friend with a keen interest in everything both creepy and crawly, he gave me permission to take you on a tour of the museum, before the grand opening." Sherlock's eyes lit up, and he stared at Joan with a mixture of both gratitude and awe. He was clearly deeply touched. "You will be the first person to see the exhibits, which are complete, running and fully-functional" she continued, before pushing the door open and indicating into the building. "Harvey, the curator, will be back in an hour, by which time the decorators will be arriving to add the finishing touches. So we haven't got too long, I'm afraid."
Sherlock found himself unable to speak or move, and was simply gazing into the room, attempting to discern its contents through the darkness. Joan Watson continued to amaze, astound and utterly bewilder him. She was the most unpredictable and delightfully thoughtful person he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. And this latest gesture was another in the long line of kindnesses which she had bestowed upon him. He was exceptionally grateful for it, and would show her so.
"Thank you, Watson" he breathed, as their eyes met, and their gaze held.
"Thank you" she returned, offering him a warm smile. They remained still for a few moments, before Joan broke the silence. "But as I said, we only have an hour, so-"
"Yes, of course, Watson" he stated kindly, nodding towards her as he passed into the building, and looked around approvingly.
The building itself was rather large, and seemed much greater than it appeared from the outside, if that was possible. Sherlock and Joan walked together down the corridors, admiring exhibits, discussing various artefacts and samples, and listening to the educational videos, the sound from which resonated throughout the almost empty building. As they entered each room, Joan watched with happiness and awe as Sherlock's features seemed to light up, and he would walk quickly towards something he recognised, gesturing to it wildly, before speaking in a quick and animated fashion about the insect, larvae, habitat, or other item. Joan was happy to see him so content and so relaxed, and was grateful that she was able to share this time with him. She was also glad that he seemed to be enjoying their trip. After about twenty minutes, she ushered him from the room which displayed butterflies from South America, and led him down the corridor to a large door at the end, which was tall and made from dark wood.
"I thought we could check this room out, and eat inside" she stated genially, as she reached for the handle and pushed the heavy door open. "I think you'll really like this room, Sherlock" she added in a low and pleasant tone. Sherlock nodded appreciatively at her, before walking past her and into the room, which she stared at with awe. It was the room dedicated to 'The History of the Honey Bee'.
Unlike the other rooms, this room was almost completely interactive, and filled with a multitude of items which Sherlock considered with interest. The room itself was fairly large, with dark wooden floors, and walls decorated to look like honeycombs, with hexagonal shapes forming a mosaic across the walls, making it appear as though the entrants had just stepped into a beehive. Directly in front of them was a display of dozens of types of honey bee, charting its evolution over the centuries. There were some actual bees, some photographs, several diagrams and exceptionally detailed notes and leaflets. To the right were further pieces of evidence and information, relating to the Queen Bee, hives and the process of making and acquiring honey. Sherlock admired this all with interest, and stood in the centre of the room, completely still, with his arms by his sides, fingers splayed. Joan found herself smiling in amusement, watching as he glanced approvingly and with great interest across the room.
"This is quite remarkable, Watson" he breathed, as he continued to glance around the room. "Thank you" he added, as he turned to face Joan, who was walking towards him, and stood by side side.
"You are very welcome, Sherlock" she returned, drawing her paper bags close to her chest. "to our left, as I am sure you have already seen, is a display charting the many different types of product, process and item which use honey. They chart the use of honey back as far as they can go, and have got records from thousands of years ago to the present day" she continued, as Sherlock slowly crossed the room and walked towards the area in question, running his fingers along some of the items displayed. He was standing in front of the display, picking this up and considering them closely, before replacing them and selecting something else. "Which is why-" she began, pulling an item out of the bag, which drew Sherlock's attention towards her, "- I felt that this would be particularly appropriate."
Sherlock crossed the room once more and stood slightly in front of Joan, and watched with interest as she plucked an item from the bag, and passed it to him. It was a small white paper bag, which he opened carefully, staring with interest at the content.
"Sticky buns?" he asked.
"Cinnamon, lime and honey sticky buns" she corrected him, before reaching into the second bag, extracting a bottle, and passing that to him. "Which I thought would go down quite nicely with some of this."
"Mead?" he asked, reading the label, and then glancing at Joan with concern.
"It's a non-alcoholic taste on mead, but it's made with honey, like the original stuff." She stated simply, as he smiled gratefully at her. "It seemed appropriate, really. I thought you'd like this room and, as I felt we'd be spending a considerable chunk of our sixty minutes inside it, I thought you would 'require sustenance'" she continued, pronouncing the last two words as if it were the first time she had ever come across them.
"You put a great deal of thought and preparation into this, Watson" he stated, adjusting the bottle under his arm. "I am extremely gratefully for it, truly. This has been a wonderful and truly memorable experience" he continued, reaching into the bag and passing her a sticky bun. "And I a, very glad that you chose to share it with me."
"I'm glad that we have been given the opportunity to" she returned, accepting the sticky bun and taking a bite, before leading Sherlock back towards the exhibit which he had just been admiring. He opened the alcohol-free mead, before passing it to Joan, who took a sip, and nodded approvingly. Sherlock then rose the bottle to his own lips, and began to drink. The warm, comforting liquid filled his body quickly, and he felt instantly at ease. His eyes fell towards Joan, and he watched as she gazed up at the items before her with interest. They discussed several of the items, talking animatedly and with shared interest, as Sherlock answered many of her questions. He knew more than the leaflets provided, and was particularly knowledgeable on the subject of honey in medicine throughout the ages. They spoke, ate and drank for about ten minutes, before Sherlock removed his coat, crossed the room, and spread it across the floor.
"What are you doing?" Joan asked, her mouth full with sticky buns.
"A picnic is not a picnic without a blanket, Watson" he stated simply, bouncing on his heels as he stood. "Would you care to sit down?" he asked chivalrously, indicating towards the neatly-arranged coat with his left hand. Joan swallowed the food and smiled, taking a sip of the mead as she crossed the room and stood opposite Sherlock, before they both sat upon the coat, and continued their feast.
The coat covered fairly little of the floor, and Sherlock and Joan found themselves sitting opposite one another, their knees touching, as they continued to talk pleasantly about the room and the exhibits, before moving on to another subject, at the instigation of a clearly-nervous Sherlock.
"Watson, I-" he began, before pausing for a moment, his brow wrinkling as he considered how to phrase his statement. Joan could tell that he was concerned, and evidently struggling with whatever it was that he was attempting to say. She placed the bottle she was holding upon the ground, before adjusting her position on the ground, and tilting her head curiously towards him.
"Yes?" she asked kindly, in a low and gentle tone.
"I... I feel that we-" he began, lifting his head as he faced her directly, their eyes meeting, their faces less than ten inches apart. As he looked into her warm, kind eyes, he felt completely and utterly calm, and the familiar feelings and sensations which they had experienced and accepted the night before began to return to him. "I believe that we should discuss the events of last night." Joan watched him for a moment, before nodding twice, and encouraging him to continue.
"Of course" she stated, her voice a nervous whisper. "Please."
"I... I want you to know that it, that it meant a lot to me, last night" he began. "And I wanted to reassure you that... that what we did last night, what we shared, is... it is different from the experiences which I shared with women prior to our... to our romantic relationship" he continued nervously, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. His discomfort, combined with the fact that the was clearly trying to reassure her, touched Joan, and she found herself reaching across the space between them and clasping his hand tightly in hers. He seemed reassured by this action, and accepted her hand gratefully, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I just want you to know that... that you matter to me, Watson. A great deal. And I... I want you to know that, despite everything I have said about sex in the past, how I view it and why I involve myself in it-" he paused again, glancing up at her to check whether he had made her feel uncomfortable. He had not. "Last night was not like the other times, Watson. I did not wish to sleep with you purely to improve my mind or satiate some primal need. I... I wanted to be with you, in... every sense. I wanted to be close to you" he stated, as she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know that, even when considering the development of our partnership over the past few weeks, last night may not have seemed odd or unexpected. But I want you to know that, whatever it was, and whatever it leads to, that it meant a great deal to me, and I am glad of it. I just... I want to be certain that you are comfortable with what happened..."
"I am" she added instantly, nodding as she spoke. "I do not regret a single second of last night."
"...and this morning" Sherlock added, as his nervousness began to depart.
"And this morning" she repeated, remembering how they had made love into the early hours. "I am grateful that you felt able to discuss it with me, and I am especially thankful that you have been so open about what it meant to you. It meant a great deal to me, too. I am so glad that it was something we were able to experience together." She stated, as she looked into his eyes, which were filled with warmth and kindness.
"As am I, Watson" he continued, adjusting his grip on her hand. "I just... I want to make sure that you are quite alright. That you don't feel that I-"
"You didn't" she stated simply. "Absolutely not. I wanted last night to happen just as much as you did" she breathed, as she found herself experiencing similar feelings to those the night before. Her heart was beating fast, almost audibly, and she could feel her breathing becoming deeper and more frequent. As she glanced up at Sherlock, she found that he was looking at her with the same eyes as the night before.
"Did you?" he asked breathlessly, as she leaned closer to him, so that their lips touched.
"Yes" she responded, before closing her eyes, and kissing him delicately upon the lips. Sherlock removed his hand from hers, and cupped her cheek, drawing her deeper into the soft, tentative kiss. Joan opened her eyes for a moment, placing one hand over Sherlock's, and beginning to speak.
"Sherlock-" she breathed, as he tilted his head down, before leaning towards her mouth once more, and kissing her gently upon her bottom lip.
"Yes, Watson" he responded, moving his other hand up her back, causing her to arch herself once more, and lean into him.
"We... we can't" she breathed huskily, returning his kiss, and pressing herself closer to him. "We... can't... in..."
"What" he began, running his hand up her back as he kissed her cheek, neck and collarbone, before moving back up her body and towards her lips. "What can't we do?"
"We're in a museum" she breathed, tilting her head back as he trailed kissed up her neck, before pulling her onto his lap. She exhaled raggedly, before gripping his arms tightly to steady herself. She felt very unsteady, as though her whole body was tingling. She ran her hands up his arms and past his shoulders, cupping his face with both hands, as she stared into his eyes. She then leaned forwards, and planted a kiss gently upon his lips, which Sherlock returned hungrily.
"And yet" he began, running his hand up her back once more as he drew her closer to him. "You are positively buzzing with anticipation."
"Hmm" she sighed onto his lips, faint traces of laughter rising in her breath.
"Tell me, Watson" he began, as Joan continued to kiss him, before running her hands up his back, and pressing her body tightly to his, causing him to stifle a moan, "is your friend, the curator, in the habit of being late for appointments?" Joan continued to kiss him for a few moments, running her fingertips gently down his back, before she pressed her cheek to his, and spoke breathlessly into his ear.
"God, I hope so" she breathed, before pressing her hands upon his shoulders, and pushing him to the ground.