Sherlock and Joan shared an appreciative glance, before continuing to work on the files in front of them. The afternoon passed quickly, with the small team barely leaving their desks, other than to collect some more files or buy coffee. Joan remained seated for the entire duration, and her attention was only drawn from her work on the two occasions that Sherlock received a phone call and promptly walked from the room, before returning a couple of minutes later and resuming his analysis. Joan found his covertness unusual for him, but suspected that he was making arrangements for dinner that evening, and did not wish to be overheard by the curious ears of Captain Gregson and Detective Bell. She paused at that moment, as she reflected upon the thought. She liked her privacy, and believe that Sherlock did too, especially where romance and intimate detail were concerned. But she still found the concealment of their relationship a strange issue to deal with. Although neither of them had spoken about it, she knew that it was an issue which would need to be addressed at some point, should their relationship continue to progress. However, for now, she and Sherlock were both completely content to explore their new partnership alone, without the influences or advice of external parties. And, for now, she felt that this was the best thing they could possibly do. Not simply personally, but professionally. With the complexity of their current case, they could not afford to have distractions. Every moment Bell spent glancing furtively over at Sherlock and Joan, searching for romantic signs or signals, was a moment that he would not be spending on the case. Joan tapped her pen on her file a couple of times, before taking a final sip of her now lukewarm coffee, and continuing to read.
During the afternoon some small pieces of information had been noticed and discussed, including some minor inconsistencies in previous statements given by Maria Lennard, and the inability of the police to confirm any of the alibis which she provided for the nights of the deaths of the victims. Although they could not find CCTV footage, images or witnesses who could state that she was where she said she was, they could not disprove her claims either. At six o'clock, Joan replaced the cover on the final file she had been examining, before pushing it in front of her, removing her glasses, and tiredly rubbing her eyes. Sherlock glanced from her face to his watch, before dropping his open file on the desk, breaking the silence within the room.
"Captain, Miss Watson and I have a prior engagement which we must attend this evening, shall we regroup in the morning?" he asked, his voice pleasant and conversational.
"Yeah, sure" returned Gregson, turning in his chair to face them, as he also surrendered his file. "We've been at this for hours, an early night and fresh eyes in the mornin' are the best way forward."
"I'll second that" Bell declared, dropping his file to the desk from a fair height, causing some of the photographs to edge out from the manilla cover. "Where you guys off to, anyhow?"
"Reconnaissance" Sherlock responded simply, as he arranged his files nonchalantly on the desk. "Some work on another yet pressing matter, but we will be here first thing in the morning detective, of that I assure you. Miss Watson is always punctual." Sherlock punctuated his statement with a brief smile, before turning towards Joan, who had stood from her chair and was pulling on her coat.
"Goodnight" she stated, addressing Gregson and Bell. "Have a nice evening."
"Yeah, you too" Bell returned. "Don't work too hard, 'kay? We'll need both your expertise in the morning."
"Rest assured, detective, our combined faculties will be at your complete disposal in the morning" Sherlock returned, wrapping his scarf around his neck before making his way slowly to the door, which he held open for Joan. "Goodnight".
The door closed upon the sound of Gregson and Bell bidding Sherlock and Joan goodnight, as Sherlock walked briskly across the precinct, closely followed by a slightly bemused looking Joan.
"'Reconnaissance'?" She asked, her voice keen and alert. "Is that what tonight is? A research mission?" she asked, her tone light and pleasant. She admired Sherlock's quick response to the question, and thought that his response was genius. She was not offended in the least. In fact, she was impressed.
"Technically, it wasn't a lie" Sherlock returned, as he opened the door onto the street, permitting Joan to pas through first once more. "Typically, dinner engagements such as the one you have agreed to accompany me on this evening, are arranged to allow both parties to get to know each other better, so that each may enhance their understanding of the other" he stated, gesturing with his hands as he led her towards a waiting taxi. "Which is, in a sense, very similar to the various reconnaissance missions which we and the police undertake" he continued, placing one hand on the taxi door, before pausing for a moment and continuing to speak. "However, instead of staking out a crack den in Harlem, or a suspected villain's boat-hole in the Bronx, you and I will be... investigating each other."
"So you're saying that it is like police work, only with smaller stakes?" she asked, smiling slightly as he pulled the door open for her. As she stepped towards the seat, her attention was drawn back to him as he addressed her statement.
"On the contrary, Watson" he began, causing her to turn back to face him, resting one of her hands on the top of the door. "The stakes have never been greater." Joan's eyes softened slightly, and a whimsical smile played upon her lips. She nodded simply in response, before turning around and easing herself into the taxi, where she was joined shortly afterwards by Sherlock. The journey to the brownstone was short and pleasant, with both Joan and Sherlock allowing the case to be pushed to the back of their minds for just a few hours, so that they could embark on a very different journey of discovery.
They pulled up at the brownstone, before heading straight into their building, and removing their coats and scarves in the foyer.
"So, what' the plan for tonight?" Joan asked tentatively, turning to face Sherlock, who was just shrugging off his coat.
"Dinner, and then" he stated, pausing as he placed his coat upon the rack, and began undoing his scarf. "A surprise."
"What kind of surprise?" she asked, shifting slightly on the spot, narrowing her eyes as she considered all the things which Sherlock Holmes would deem 'a surprise'. An impromptu death at the restaurant, orchestrated by himself, for her to solve, perhaps? She could picture the scene clearly in her mind. A wealthy older heiress collapsing by the band, an arrow through her neck, giving her the appearance of a tragic Greek heroine, whose death would have to be solved in the space between dinner and dessert. Joan was drawn from her rambling musings by Sherlock's voice, which brought her back into her own reality. Into their reality.
"The unknown-until-they-occur kind, Watson" he stated imply, before flashing her an impish grin. "I have booked a table at the restaurant for half-past seven, is that suitable for you?" Joan nodded immediately, knowing that the time was currently six-thirty. "Excellent. Then I will leave you to get ready" he stated, wrapping his scarf across the coat stand, before walking briskly past her and into the kitchen. Joan remained standing at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, before turning sharply on the spot and rapidly ascending, heading to her room to pick something suitable for the evening.
Forty-five minutes later, Joan checked herself over in the mirror one final time, before picking up her clutch bag and preparing to leave. She was wearing a cream cocktail dress, made from material which felt like satin, and was soft and delicate to the touch. She wore a pair of cream heels, which she matched with her clutch bag, and adorned herself with the same jewellery she had worn on the night they first danced together in the ballroom. She wore her hair down, curling it slightly, which gave it a natural, tousled appearance. She wore a reddish-brown shade of lipstick, which provided a stark contrast to the rest of her ensemble, but gave her overall appearance a warm and romantic edge. She smoothed down her dress, allowing her fingers to float down the delicate material, before selecting a black jacket of light material, draping it over her free arm, and leaving the room.
As Joan closed her bedroom door and began to walk slowly across the landing, she became acutely aware of how nervous she was. She had experienced a temporary bout of nerves before each time she went out with Sherlock. When he took her on the boat, to the baseball game, dancing. But usually, the concern she felt on each of those occasions was small and easily suppressed, and disappeared completely once she and Sherlock reached their destination. In everything they had done, in all the time they had spent together, and in each and every intimate or tentative touch, she had felt completely at ease. It felt so natural, so relaxed and, despite the fact that their relationship had always been platonic, the movement into their current romantic state did not feel frightening or overwhelming at all. And yet, as she made her way slowly to the top of the steps, she found herself feeling almost completely consumed by fear, the type which is all-encompassing, and causes your breath to catch in your throat as your chest tightens, before your whole body feels flushed and tingly. Despite this, she continued to walk. And as Joan Watson reached the top of the stairs, and caught sight of her companion standing at the bottom, she did not feel afraid any more. She exhaled slowly, before placing her hand on the bannister and descending the stairs, as Sherlock turned from his sideways-on position to face her.
"Watson" he stated, his tone normal yet slightly breathless. He had turned to face her, his hands resting in his pockets, his head thrown back slightly as he took in her beauty. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated as he ran his eyes analytically over her body, before removing his hands from his pockets and walking towards the staircase, offering her his hand as she reached the final step. "You look wonderful" he stated, meeting her eyes with his own large and alert ones. Joan thanked him, accepting his hand as she cast an admiring glance over his own body.
Sherlock was wearing a dark suit, shiny black shoes and a charcoal-grey tie. The white shirt beneath his suit hugged his taut physique admirably, revealing his toned body and muscular chest, which Joan found tantalising. She removed her eyes from his body for a moment, before tilting her head to face his own, and smiling warmly at him.
"Thank you, Sherlock" she stated, as they walked together across the foyer. "You look great" she stated simply, as he laced his fingers through hers, before releasing her hand shortly before they reached the door, and helping her on with her coat. "That tie is perfect".
"A gift from Captain Gregson last Christmas" he stated simply, pulling on his coat as he spoke. "I think he was under the misguided opinion that dressing me like a penguin would turn me into a gentleman." Joan suppressed a wry smile, shrugging her coat over her shoulders, before turning to face Sherlock, a look of confidence and warmth defining her features.
"And yet, here you are, offering me your hand, assisting me with my coat, and taking me out to dinner" she stated, adjusting her collar as she stared into his eyes, awaiting his response. Sherlock took a confident step forward, before placing his hands to Joan's hips and pulling her towards him, causing her to relinquish her grip on her collar, and hold her hands motionless in the air. Sherlock broke their gaze, before reaching down and beginning to do up her bottom buttons, as her body was pressed tightly to his own.
"Adhering to the social codes one typically follows when going on a date does not make me a gentleman, Watson" he stated in a lower version of his usual animated voice.
"I never suggested that it did" she returned pleasantly, her voice warm and amiable. "What does it make you?"
Sherlock did not respond immediately, but his finger did hesitate on her third button as she posed her question. He began doing up the remaining buttons, before running his hands down her sides and threading her belt across her waist, tying it in a bow to her right. "An opportunist?" he offered, a playful look lighting up his features, causing Joan to smile lightly, and capture her hands in her own, which drew his attention instantly to her face.
"I don't believe that, Sherlock" she stated in a low and kind tone. "And I don't think you do either."
"I am no gentleman, Watson" he returned, his voice calm and clear, yet with a slight hint of regret.
"I guess it depends on your definition" she offered, releasing her hands from his. "But whatever it is that you are... is great. Not being able to define it is not a flaw, Sherlock. If anything, it is one of your greatest draws." Sherlock considered her statement for a few moments, before nodding in response, and leading her towards the front door, where he paused for a moment.
"I know I have expressed it already, but I feel compelled to do so again" Sherlock began, turning towards Joan as he spoke. "You look quite beautiful, Watson" he stated in a low and husky tone, before tilting his head slightly, and planting a gentle kiss upon her cheek, whilst brushing hi fingertips down the opposite side of her face. Joan closed her eye at the contact, before taking a step forwards and kissing him chastely upon the lips.
"You look pretty incredible yourself" she returned, cupping his cheek with her hand. Sherlock's wide eyes continued to focus on her own, before drawing her hand close to his mouth, and placing a kiss upon the back of it, and releasing it slowly.
"Shall we?" he asked, pushing the door handle down and holding it open for Joan, who nodded and passed through, walking confidently down the steps and towards the waiting cab. Sherlock placed his hands in his coat pockets, and watched her admiringly for a few seconds, before following her down the steps. Sherlock held the cab door open for her, before exchanging a few whispered words with the driver, and joining her in the back.
"You still haven't told me where we're going" Joan stated simply, clasping her hands together over her clutch bag.
"I know" Sherlock responded absent-mindedly, before unwinding and then glancing out of his window. Joan smiled slightly, before leaning back into her seat and breathing in the cool evening air, as the cab swam through the city lights and towards their destination. After a brief drive, they arrived at the restaurant.
"The Opal" Joan mumbled, before turning towards Sherlock. "I thought this place was still being refurbished, and would not be open until-"
"Tonight" Sherlock stated simply, unclasping his seatbelt before meeting Joan's curious expression with one of his own. "A friend of mine owns the establishment, and was able to reserve me a table for the opening night" he stated, speaking in his usual fast and animated fashion. "You and I both have the connections and ability to enter places previously unexplored and unavailable to others" he stated in a slightly lower and sombre tone. His eyes glazed over temporarily, but only for a moment. Just as Joan noticed his slightly melancholy expression, it vanished a quickly as it had arrived, and he sprung from the taxi and walked around it quickly, holding open the door and offering her his hand, which she accepted.
"We do" she stated kindly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, before offering him a small smile. He nodded imperceptibly in response, before paying the driver and offering Joan his arm. She threaded her arm through his, in a now very familiar motion, before being led into the modern yet comfortable new restaurant.
The interior of the restaurant was modern and stylish, yet exuded comfort and homeliness which instantly set the patrons at their ease. The walls were painted a pleasant cream colour, and the floors were a pleasant wooden colour, which matched the furniture. The upholstery was a silvery white, and silver candlesticks and crystal vases of exotic flowers adorned each table. At the far back of the restaurant, a rustic, red-brick fireplace was burning brightly, the gentle sound of the lapping flames providing a bass line for the other sounds of the restaurant, from the low voices of the customers, including a fairly chatty middle-aged woman at a table to the right, whose voice seemed to echo throughout the establishment. However, as soon as they entered the restaurant, and were met by a waiter, the sound which filled their ears was a combination of the tinkling of glance, and the soft tones of the violinists and cellists, who stood at opposite ends of the restaurant. Joan found herself turning instinctively towards the musicians, and was watching them with interest as she and Sherlock were led to their table. Something about them was oddly familiar.
"Sherlock, are those men-"
"The violinists I hired to play for us in the former twenties bar? Yes." He responded promptly, before pulling out Joan's chair for her, and leading her around it with his own hand. She relinquished her grasp on his hand, allowing him to push her chair in slightly, before taking up his own seat opposite hers. Their table was covered in a flawless white tablecloth, silver candlesticks, and a crystal vase boasting calla lilies. Joan allowed her attention to fall upon them for a moment, before glancing expectantly up at Sherlock. "I recommended them to the owner of the establishment some time ago, hence his willingness to invite us here tonight." Joan's attention was temporarily drawn from Sherlock's words by the sound of sniggering from behind her. She turned her head, and found two older male waiters mocking a young waitress, in a very apparent and unrestrained manner. Joan glared at the scene with disapproval, before turning back to Sherlock.
"I see" Joan stated, as the sound of hastily-approaching footsteps drew her attention behind her once more, and she turned to greet the young waitress who was approaching them. She smiled warmly at the girl, whose nervous demeanour and worried expression revealed that she was a new employee. "First night?" she asked pleasantly, clasping her hands together on the table.
"Is it that obvious?" the young girl replied, turning over a couple of pages of her notebook, before pressing her pencil firmly onto it.
"No" Joan smiled, adjusting herself in her seat so that she could face the girl properly. "You seem nervous, that's all. But you shouldn't be" she continued, causing the young girl to glance at her with confusion. "You're gonna be great."
"My dad's friend is the manager" she stated, her voice still slightly shaky, but notably recovered. "He got me the job. The other guys here think-"
"It does not matter what they think" Sherlock stated, in a low tone which was tinged with kindness. Joan was surprised by his interjection, and glanced from the girl to him, before turning back to the waitress. "Whatever they think, whatever conclusions they have already come to, cannot and will not alter simply because they are told that they are wrong" he continued, continuing to address her in the same kind and sincere manner. "So prove them wrong" he stated simply, reaching for his glass of water, and taking a small sip. "You will be able to do so by remaining calm, focused and assured of the fact that you are going to be absolutely fine" he stated, speaking in a slow and calm manner, which seemed to placate the girl slightly. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, before thanking him meekly. Sherlock nodded in response, before continuing to speak. "And if that fails to prevent those young men from being cruel or unkind" he continued, placing his glass back on the table. "Then please inform the man on the right that having romantic trysts in the wine cellar with the blonde barrista is grounds for dismissal" Sherlock stated simply, in his usual animated manner. "And grounds for a thrashing, too, from the man he was so coolly mocking you with. Who just so happens to be the young lady's boyfriend". The girl smiled slightly at this, before stifling a laugh, and relaxing visibly. "Would you please bring us a bottle of mineral water and two glasses, just so that we have a few minutes to decide upon what we would like?"
"Of course, Sir, yes" she stated, her whole demeanour having changed. The young lady now exuded calmness and control, and scribbled away professionally into her notebook. "And thank you she stated, glancing up from her paper.
"Thank you" Sherlock returned courteously, nodding towards her as he passed Joan a menu, and opened one for himself. "And, if you feel so inclined, please also inform the young man on the right that his fly is undone." The young girl's eyes widened slightly, and she began to laugh as she placed her notebook into her pocket. "If I were you, I would try to keep him away from table six, he may give that elderly woman with a heart condition and a rather tiresome husband a medical problem."
The young girl nodded, thanking Sherlock and Joan once more, before turning on her heels and walking calmly across the restaurant and towards the bar. Joan smiled to herself for a moment, before raising her eyes from her own menu and watching Sherlock with a mixture of curiosity and awe.
"Yes, Watson?" he stated, lifting his eyes from his menu.
"That was kind of you" she stated warmly. "And very gentlemanly."
"Unlike those louts at the back" Sherlock stated, giving them a piercing stare.
"What is it about them that annoys you so much?" she asked, placing her own menu on the table, and clasping her hands together over it.
"This restaurant closes in three hours, Watson. I'm afraid we haven't the time for me to tell you." Joan nodded, mouthing 'right', before picking up her menu and scanning it briefly, before placing it back on the table after a couple of seconds. "How did you know that woman had a heart condition?" she asked, "I mean, I'm a former doctor and I missed it."
"I didn't" he stated simply, shaking his head as he spoke with animation. "But being married to a man as vocal and unpleasant as Michael Geralds, the owner of the most right-wing rag in the city, is bound to have a negative effect on one's heart."
"So she doesn't have a heart condition?"
"She does" he stated simply, nodding towards Joan as he continued to scan his menu.
"And how can you be so sure?" she returned, narrowing her eyes as she stared at him, awaiting his answer. Sherlock lifted his eyes from his menu, before dropping it gently upon the table, and clasping his hands in front of him. "The tone of her voice? Her posture? The colour of her dress-"
"-the fact she said that one of the waiters who walked up behind her almost gave her 'another' heart attack-"
"Ah" Joan breathed, crossing one of her legs over the other, before casting a furtive glance behind her at the woman in question. At this point, the young waitress, whose badge revealed her name to be Carrie, brought them their water and glasses, and asked whether they needed more time to order. Sherlock glanced over at Joan, before confirming that they were ready.
"I'll have a caesar salad, please" Joan stated, handing the girl the menu.
"I'll have the roast beef, please" Sherlock said shortly afterwards, passing Carrie his menu. "Hold the yorkshire puddings, please."
"And to drink?" the waitress asked, glancing from Joan to Sherlock.
"Coffee please" they both stated at the same time, before glancing at each other. Carrie nodded, scribbled a few words on her notepad, and left the table.
"So" Joan began, as Sherlock reached for the decanter and began to pour the mineral water into two glasses. "What made you pick this place?" Sherlock glanced up from the decanter for a moment, before passing Joan a glass, and pulling his own towards him.
"I hoped you would like it" he stated simply. "The music, the food, the atmosphere. When Richard was showing me around a few weeks ago, when I introduced him to the violinists, I was immediately struck by how much the place made me think of you." Joan paused for a moment, holding the glass halfway in the air, between the table and her lips. She placed the glass onto the table, before unclasping her hands.
"That's very kind, Sherlock" she stated, her voice low and humble. Sherlock caught the look in her eye, and responded instantly, reaching instinctively across the table and placing his own hand over hers, pressing his fingers lightly to her palm.
"Are you surprised by my capacity to be kind, or your difficulty in accepting that you deserve it?" he asked gently, in a tentative and respectful manner. Joan narrowed her eyes slightly, and he could feel her hand tense slightly beneath his own.
"I don't know what you mean" she responded, as Sherlock ran his fingers comfortingly over her hand.
"Please do not be offended, Watson. I assure you, upsetting you was certainly not my intention" he began, as she returned his grip on her own hand. "I simply meant that I wanted to create an evening that you would enjoy, in an environment that you would feel relaxed in, and in a situation where you are devoid of all responsibilities and duties. You focus a great part of your life on helping others, of tending to their needs, often at the expense of yourself" he continued, lifting his eyes to meet her own. "I wished to show you a night where you did not have to be the bearer of such burdens."
"I don't feel burdened" Joan stated simply.
"But you are, my dear Watson" Sherlock returned. "I only hope that, in the time we have spent together, I have shown you that there is much that you can experience, and that you enjoy. That you deserve to enjoy. I also hope that I have demonstrated to you that I wish to help you with your burdens" Joan lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, and found that he was watching her earnestly. "You are not alone." Before she could respond, Carrie returned with their coffees, which she began to pour, asking each of them how they take it. As they responded, Joan noticed Carrie's eyes fall to her own hand, which was entwined with Sherlock's. Carrie offered her a small smile, before removing the tray from the table, and assuring them that their food would be ready soon.
"She's the first" Joan began, causing Sherlock to turn towards her, and watch her with curiosity.
"The first what?" he asked.
"The first person to see us holding hands." Sherlock considered this for a moment, before allowing his eyes to fall to their linked hands, and running his fingers gently across her palm.
"And is that something that concerns you, Watson? The secrecy of our current relationship?" he asked kindly, as he attempted to suppress his fears of her response.
"No" she answered simply, in a candid and sincere manner. "I don't feel concerned at all." She lifted her eyes to meet Sherlock's, which watched her warmly from across the table.
"You are certain?" he asked.
"Yes" she returned. "We give our time, our resources, our abilities to others. It feels nice to be able to experience something that we don't have to surrender to anyone else. Something that is ours." Sherlock nodded in response, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, before they willingly relinquished their hold upon one another. Joan felt herself relax slightly, and allow herself to become completely lost in the music, the sounds, and the company of the evening. For one night, she swore to herself that nothing outside that room existed. And for one night, she would believe it. "How did you know it was the blonde barrista?" Sherlock watched her for a moment, his curious eyes glancing from her face to the bar, where several attractive women were rushing around preparing drinks. "I mean, there are what-" Joan began, glancing towards the bar with him. "-four, no, five barristas over there. How could you be so sure he was sleeping with one? And how did you know which one, and where?"
"Why don't you tell me, Watson?" Sherlock asked genially. "You are more than able of deducing it, I assure you." Joan turned back to Sherlock for a moment, before gazing subtly back toward the barristas.
"I guess you picked up on the guys flies being undone, and something about his body language, his interaction with the women" Joan continued, glancing back at Sherlock to see his response. "The blonde girl is very similar in appearance and physique to Carrie, who he mocked, yet was watching with a noticeable look of interest. My guess is, he likes her, has made a move, and she rebuffed him" Joan stated, a faint trace of annoyance present in her tone. "As for which barrista..." she began, trailing off as she considered the women. "Well, two of them are seeing each other, which is clear from their matching necklaces, and the way their hands keep meeting on the bar" Sherlock nodded in approval, before continuing to watch Joan as she made astute and correct deductions. "As for the others..." she continued, before placing one hand upon the table, narrowing her eyes slightly, then smiling as she turned back to face Sherlock, who was watching her with a look of approval. "The blonde girl has a slight tear to the fabric of her shirt, and her skirt is slightly askew."
"Indeed it is, Watson" Sherlock stated, wrapping his hands around the warm mug, which he began to raise to his lips. "Just as it was a few weeks ago, when I came to discuss the band with Richard" Joan watched him for a moment, clasping her hands on the table as she waited for him to continue. "He wanted to show me a bottle of vintage champagne, which he keeps stored in the cellar. The young lady and her loutish male friend were engaged in quite a different type of service-"
"Right, okay."
"-which ended in less satisfaction than their customers receive, I should imagine."
"Sherlock-"
"-well, hers, certainly."
"Alright, I get it" Joan stated, raising her hands in the air. Sherlock turned to face her, and they exchanged a brief look. Joan's face was impassive and virtually unreadable, and Sherlock's bore the expression of a young child who had made a completely innocent yet wholly inappropriate remark. After a moment of watching each other, Joan felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards slightly, before she burst into a broad grin, and began to laugh.
"Did you-" she began, attempting to speak through her laughter. Sherlock smiled slightly at this, watching her as she attempted to engage in a conversation with him through her amusement. He liked seeing her so relaxed, so carefree. She seemed almost happy. "Did you choose this place so you could learn more about the staff?"
"Hardly, Watson" Sherlock returned. "I chose this place because I wished to learn more about you." Joan stopped laughing for a moment, and took a tentative sip of her coffee, before preparing herself to speak.
"In what way?" she asked, her voice softening slightly.
"In every way" he returned. "I understand that we have formed a close partnership over the years, and that, with the development of that relationship, has come an increase in the trust you have of me. You have discussed painful issues with me, about your father, your patient, your relationships. You have allowed me an incredible and unprecedented insight into your life, and for that I am both grateful and humbled" he stated kindly, and with compete sincerity. Joan was deeply touched by his words. "The things you have confided in me have led to me understanding you in a much deeper way than many others who believe they are close to you, or who wish to be close to you" he continued, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "But the main things we have discussed which have led to the progression and development of that relationship, were issues in your life which caused you pain. Which caused you to react, and to change, out of both necessity and fear. I will always be here to talk to you about absolutely anything that you wish to tell me, and I will listen with as open a mind and willing a heart as I am able to" he continued, watching her with a warm intensity as he spoke. "For tonight, thought, Watson, I was hoping that we would be able to change our usual routine when having dinner together."
"Oh?" she asked, her voice low yet warm.
"Instead of talking about cases, or deduction, or your training" he began, clasping his hands together and allowing them to rest upon the table. "I was hoping that we could talk about you."
"I had a very similar hope for tonight myself" Joan countered, lifting her eyes to meet Sherlock's, which were watching her with kindness and encouragement. "I was hoping that we could talk about each other." Sherlock watched her for a few moments, before nodding in agreement, and leaning back slightly in his seat.
"Where would you like to begin, Watson?" he asked, his voice gentle and soothing. Joan glanced to the side for a moment as she thought, her mind racing, considering questions she had always formed in her own mind, but so quickly dispelled. It was often the questions regarding things which seemed to be of no importance, or little relevance, that she often discarded. And yet, right now, both she and Sherlock knew that it was precisely those questions that had a much higher level of significance, and would help them to develop their relationship further, and break down the barriers which remained between them.
"Would you tell me about your tattoos?" Sherlock smiled slightly, before pushing his coffee cup to one side, unbuttoning his cuff, and revealing his bare forearm to her.
"Of course" he began, watching as her eyes became fixed upon his exposed limb. "And afterwards, would you tell me about yours?" Joan's eyes rose immediately, and she found herself staring at him in awe, before returning her gaze to his arm. She didn't know why she was still surprised at the extent of his knowledge.
"Of course" she returned, before placing her fingers upon his arm. "When did you get this one?"