Joan and Sherlock spent over an hour talking to each other at the restaurant, asking each other the kind of questions which they had never asked before. With most relationships, the kind of questions regarding tattoos, childhood and various preferences typically occur at the beginning, and would lead up to more personal, difficult and intimate issues. However, the opposite was the case with Sherlock and Joan, whose relationship was built upon the foundations of personal struggle, addiction and self-condemnation. They began their relationship out of necessity, and found each other's secrets and weaknesses revealed within days of first knowing each other. This had developed over two and a half years, with those secrets being further explored and dealt with, until the relationship between Sherlock and Joan became romantic. And now, sat across a small, well-lit table, in a room filled with beautiful artwork, stunning flowers and entrancing music, the consulting detectives asked questions that they had never dared to pose, and received answers they never expected to hear.
"It's eight-thirty already" Joan stated, as she checked the time on her cell phone. "I can't believe we have been talking for so long." Sherlock stared at her appreciatively, nodding his head a couple of times, before becoming fidgety and slightly agitated. "Sherlock?" Joan asked in a concerned tone, as she placed her glass of water upon the table. "What is it?" Sherlock did not respond immediately. Instead, he continued to watch her with a kind, sombre expression, before clasping his hands together in his lap, and tilting his head up to face her.
"I confess, Watson, I have something else planned for tonight" he began tentatively, tapping his thumbs upon his hands as he spoke. "You may recall that I mentioned a surprise earlier. Now, I do not wish to rush you, but we will need to leave shortly if we are to make it on time."
"Make it to what?" Joan asked gently, curiosity present in her tone.
"For a remarkably intelligent woman you seem completely unable to grasp the concept of a 'surprise'" Sherlock stated sarcastically, raising his glass to his lips as he took a sip. Joan suppressed a small smile, before brushing some hair behind her ear, and placing her clasped hands upon the table.
"Fine" she stated simply, realising that he would not reveal any more information to her. "What time do we need to leave?"
"I have arranged for the car to pick us up at 8.45, in order for us to-"
"-car?" Joan interjected. "What car?" Sherlock paused for a moment, his wide and alert eyes fixing themselves upon her own, as he considered his next words carefully.
"I took the liberty of hiring a car to drive us to the destination" he began, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "It seemed appropriate. You'll understand when we get there."
"Right" she whispered, taking a small sip of her drink. "Okay, sure. I'm pretty much done anyway, so..."
"Excellent" Sherlock responded, becoming more animated.
"How would you like to spend the next fifteen minutes?" Joan asked, dabbing the side of her mouth with her napkin. Sherlock watched this elegant motion for a moment, and found his attention fixed on her lips. He blinked a couple of times, before allowing his eyes to move up her face, and focus on her own. Sherlock then got up from the table, pushed his chair back, and began to walk towards the bar. Joan's eyes narrowed with confusion, as she stared after the tall figure of her partner, who was talking across the bar to the manager. Her attention was soon transferred from Sherlock and to the kindly looking elderly gentleman who managed and owned the restaurant. He was watching Sherlock with intent, nodding enthusiastically to his words, and smiling broadly. He then smiled one final time, wiped his hands upon his apron, and beckoned Sherlock forward. Joan watched the scene with interest, folding her napkin neatly and placing it on the table, before feeling the presence of her partner slightly in front of her. Joan released her hands on the napkin, and looked up towards him. Sherlock was standing tall, his arms pressed to his sides, as he stood expectantly before her. Joan watched him expectantly, and was surprised when, instead of speaking, he reached out his hand to her. She took it automatically, and allowed him to ease her from her seat, and lead her towards the bar. Sherlock and Joan walked past several tables filled with well-dressed diners, all too engrossed in their dinner and conversations to notice the consulting detectives moving swiftly across the room. As Sherlock reached the bar, he was greeted by the manager who Watson had seen him talking to just moments before.
"Hello, miss" he greeted her pleasantly, bowing politely. "Thank you for coming this evening."
"Oh, thank you" Joan replied graciously. "It's a wonderful restaurant, and the food was delicious."
"Thank you" he smiled, nodding once more, before turning to face Sherlock. The manager then flipped a small catch on his side of the bar, before opening the door built into the bar, and permitting Sherlock and Joan through. Joan looked up at the manager for a moment, who smiled at her warmly. She could feel Sherlock's hand gently squeeze her hand reassuringly, and she nodded in response, before leading him through the gap and into the bar.
The manager stood before her, and led the couple across the bar, and through a door towards the back. The door swung open, revealing a set of steps, leading down to the basement. Joan waited a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before allowing Sherlock to lead her down the steep steps.
"What is it with you, stairs and deep, dark places?" she asked in a barely audible voice.
"They are the most underrated places, Watson" Sherlock stated, as he assisted her down from the final step. "I think we can both vouch for the importance of searching beneath the surface." Joan smiled slightly into the darkness, before nodding in agreement. Although she could not see it, Sherlock smiled too.
"You aren't wrong, sir" came the voice of the manager, whose figure had disappeared into the depths of the basement.
Joan stood closer to Sherlock, in an attempt to share his body heat. The basement was cold, and there was a notable chill in the air. Joan placed her free arm across her chest, and temporarily mourned the fact that her jacket was upstairs. Before she could pose another question, the pinging of a light, and the flickering of several bulbs overhead, permeated the silence, and lit up the room. Joan squinted slightly as her eyes adjusted to the new brightness within the room, which was revealed to be much bigger than she had originally anticipated. The room had a dark stone floor, high ceiling and light-mustard-coloured walls. The walls themselves were almost completely obscured by tall pieces of furniture, which proudly displayed several hundred bottles of rare and expensive-looking wine and champagne. Joan allowed herself to glance cursively across the room, before turning to face Sherlock with an expression of perplexity and wariness.
"Sherlock, have you brought me down here to show me alcohol?" she asked, a slight note of incredulity present in her tone.
"Yes, Watson" he answered simply, nodding several times as his wide eyes glances lazily around the room. "And, with you being a former sober companion, and myself an addict, the irony of this situation is not entirely lost on me, I assure you" he continued, before taking a step in front of her, and guiding her towards the wall to the left. "However..."
Joan followed him willingly, curious to know what she was about to be shown, and why she had been brought down into the basement. As she found herself lost in these thoughts, she felt her hand become cold and weak suddenly, as Sherlock reluctantly removed his hand from her own, and proceeded to run his fingers along the necks of the bottles of champagne which lined the walls.
"Sherlock" Joan stated in a notably reproving manner, as her partner lifted one bottle from the display, and continued to search amongst the others. "Sherlock, what are you-"
"Ah-ha!" he proclaimed victoriously, as he plucked another bottle from its place. Sherlock blew the dust from the bottom of the bottle, before holding the two large, expensive-looking bottles side by side, and nodding at them approvingly. He then rose his head to face Joan, before walking quickly towards her, and holding the bottles in front of him like a proud child with an excellent report card.
"What's this?" she asked, as he turned the bottles over in his hands and held them up to her, so she could see the front. She stared at the expensive champagne for several minutes, marvelling at the intricacies of the design, and the beauty of the gold-embellished label. Her curious eyes scanned the bottles for several moments, before becoming fixed upon the information which Sherlock had first noticed. Despite her concerns, she could not help but smile. "The dates" she whispered, reaching out and running her fingertips lightly across the dates written on the bottom of the labels.
"Yes, Watson" Sherlock responded gently. "The bottle on the left was sealed in the month and year of your birth, and the bottle on the right was sealed in mine."
Joan stared at the two bottles for a few moments, before taking a tentative step forwards, and taking the one on the right from Sherlock. She held it in her hands, turning it around and examining it closely, before holding it by the neck.
"And what exactly do you plan on doing with these?" she asked slowly, an edge of light warning present in her tone.
"I assure you, Watson, I have absolutely no intention of drinking these vintage champagnes. To break the seal on such a magnificent brand would surely be a travesty" he stated simply, speaking in his usual fast and animated manner. "You see, Watson, these two bottles are not only ones made in the months and years of our births, but they are the first made in those months and years. And, as for the others-"
"I have been serving them to the other guests all night long" the manager interjected. "A very special wine, Miss Watson, to have been made when someone such as yourself graced the earth. I wanted my guests to sample a fine drink from a time which was clearly revolutionary."
"And quite perfect" Sherlock continued "and, clearly, becoming more improved and more satisfied with age", causing Joan's attention to shift from the manager to Sherlock's.
"So you're saying that the champagne that people have been having all evening is from the date and year of our births?" Joan asked, touched by the sentiment.
"Quite" Sherlock responded, nodding a couple of times, before handing the bottle he was holding to the manager.
"Would you like to have that one, Miss Watson?" the manager asked, indicating the bottle in her hand. She shot a cursory look up at Sherlock, who flushed slightly, before passing the bottle back to the manager. "Would you... would you keep it here for me? Somewhere safe?" she asked kindly.
"But of course!" he responded, his features lighting up, as he relieved her of the bottle, and took both of the bottles to the back of the room.
"Sherlock" Joan began, speaking in a gentle tone which quickly attracted the attention of the consulting detective. "This was an incredibly kind gesture, really. And I am so very, very grateful" she continued, watching as his curious eyes became fixed upon her own.
"But you are concerned that such a gesture involved being presented with alcohol by an addict?" he added, his voice low yet candid.
"Yes" she replied simply, her voice tentative and gentle. Sherlock smiled lightly in response.
"Because, Watson, it is thanks to you that I am able to stand in this room, as I do now, surrounded by alcohol, and without the slightest interest or intention of drinking it" he stated simple, speaking in a slow manner to ensure that she understood what he was saying. "In fact, the only thing that provides me with temptation within this room" he stated, taking a few steps forwards as their eyes met, "is standing right before me". Joan watched him curiously for a moment or two, before taking a single step forwards, pressing her body against his, and kissing him gently upon the lips. Sherlock reacted instantly to this gesture, returning her kiss in the same manner, as he cupped the side of her face, before running his fingers down her cheek. "It's all because of you, Watson" he breathed huskily into her ear, before taking a step back. "My being here, now, in this room, is thanks to you. And I don't simply mean my being in a room filled with expensive alcohol. I mean here, now" he stated simply, glancing briefly around the room, before fixing his eyes upon hers. "I would not be here right now, if it were not thanks to you."
"Nor would I" she replied instantly, in a low and gentle tone. Sherlock watched her with interest following her response, but before she could expand upon it, the manager trotted merrily over to the partners, his face a broad smile.
"Your champagne bottles will be stored in the safe, with my finest and most expensive wines" he stated, clasping his hands together before him. "Is there anything else you wish to view down here?"
"Watson?" Sherlock asked chivalrously, to which Joan replied with a gentle shaking of her head.
"Thank you, but I think we have taken up enough of your time. I'm sure you would like to get back to your guests."
"Also, Watson" Sherlock began, glancing at his watch. "It is time, if you are quite ready, for us to depart." Joan nodded in response, as she realised that it must be almost quarter-to-nine. With all the activity downstairs, she had almost forgotten about her surprise.
"Sure" she responded, before turning to walk from the room. She took a few steps towards the door, before pausing, turning on the spot, and standing opposite Sherlock, who was watching her with mild confusion. "Thank you, Sherlock" she stated in a kind and genuine manner, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently, before leading him from the room. Sherlock did not respond vocally, he simply nodded, before squeezing her hand gently in response, and walking with her up the steps.
Sherlock and Joan headed back to their table and gathered their things, pulling on their coats and generously tipping the kindly waitress who had been so attentive that evening. Joan then released her hair from her jacket, picked up her clutch bag, and followed Sherlock from the restaurant, waving to the manager as they left. As Joan walked through the door which Sherlock was holding open for her, she could not help but reflect on how perfect the evening was, and how kind and attentive Sherlock had been. He had spoken to her kindly and candidly, answering all of her questions and responding appropriately, as well as posing ones to her which did not make her feel uncomfortable or put on the spot. He had been incredibly attentive that evening, assuring that she had everything she needed, and doing whatever he could to ensure her comfort. As she walked with him down the stone steps, and towards a sleek, black car with tinted windows which was awaiting them, she reflected on how he had been the perfect gentleman. And as Sherlock took a few quick steps in front of her, before holding open the back door for her, she realised that she had not doubted this for a minute. As she arrived at the door, she paused for a moment, offering him a kind, warm smile which conveyed her gratitude and sincere contentment.
"Thank you, Watson" Sherlock responded, as his eyes met hers in the darkness of the street. She nodded slightly, as she felt a strong draw towards him, a familiar urge which she had been attempting to suppress. She nodded slightly, before easing herself into her seat. She was reflecting on her physical response to Sherlock as she clicked her seatbelt into place. Her thoughts were only interrupted by the gentle closing of the door, and the feeling of Sherlock Holmes sitting next to her in the back. The seats were leather and cool, providing a welcome comfort from the slightly humid evening. She leaned back into the material, resting her hands in her lap, as the car cruised quietly towards the unknown destination.
The car drove through the dark city streets for about ten minutes, with the sounds of activity outside permeating the silence. Sherlock and Joan were sitting reflectively in the back of the car, occasionally exchanging a few words with each other, but generally being quite pensive, thinking over the events of the evening so far as their bodies were pressed comfortingly against each other. After a few minutes more, the car pulled up outside a bustling building, drawing Joan's attention from her partner to her window.
"The theatre?" she breathed. "You brought me to the theatre?" she repeated, her face alight as she turned to face Sherlock, who was surveying her nervously.
"I bought you to the opera, Watson" he stated, watching as her eyes widened slightly, and she began to smile. "I seem to remember you inviting me to it on the first evening of our partnership. However, I-"
"-insulted me, declined the invitation, but later gatecrashed it" Joan stated in a light-humoured manner, turning from the window to him as she spoke. "Yeah, I remember."
"So I... I wished to make it up to you. And, as you seem to enjoy the opera, I hoped you would enjoy this one." Sherlock continued, his tone still attempting to conceal a slight degree of nervousness. "It seemed appropriate."
"It is, and I will. Thank you" Joan returned soothingly. "What your father said to me back then was true, wasn't it?" she asked tentatively. "That you enjoy the opera?"
"I do" he returned, leaning back in his seat as his hands were clasped in his lap. "Although, I confess, I have not been to see this particular opera before, despite its fame and popularity."
"Which is it?" Joan asked with interest.
"La Traviata" he returned instantly, causing her eyes to soften and a small smile to play at her lips. "Again, it seemed appropriate."
"It's beautiful" she stated simply. "You're right, that does seem appropriate" she continued soothingly, as Sherlock seemed to relax slightly at her approval. "You know, I haven't seen this since I was in college" she stated in a low and reflective tone. "It may have even been the first opera I ever saw."
"Well, if you are happy to, you shall see it again tonight, Watson" Sherlock stated, his voice pleasant and conversational. Joan nodded in response, which Sherlock returned, before the latter got out of the car, walked around it, and held Joan's door open for her. Joan thanked the driven, whose face and profile were almost completely obscured, before accepting Sherlock's hand, and easing herself out of the comforting leather seat. The theatre was brightly lit and extremely busy, with long queues of eagerly-waiting and well-dressed individuals brandishing their tickets.
"These queues are insane" Joan stated as they slowly made their way towards their steps.
"Yes, they do look quite tiresome" Sherlock stated, before turning to her and offering her his hand, which she accepted. "It is fortunate that we will not be required to join them."
"What?" Joan asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion, as Sherlock led her past the queues and towards a door to the left of the theatre, which was guarded by two tall, muscular men in dark suits. Sherlock reached into his pocket, passed them something which they glanced at briefly, before returning the items and opening the door behind them, standing aside to allow the partners to pass through. Sherlock thanked them, before leading Joan through the dimly lit corridor and towards a staircase. "Sherlock, what's going on?" she asked curiously, tugging gently on his hand to attract his attention.
"I have reserved us a VIP box for tonight's opera, Watson" he stated amiable. "And the kind gentleman at the front have permitted us to reach our seats this way. It is the most direct route, I assure you."
"Okay" she conceded warily, as she followed him up the staircase, which was fitted with a thick and expensive-looking red carpet.
Joan held onto Sherlock's hand tightly as he led her up the steps and into the theatre itself, which was tall and grand, with red carpets and oak panelling. It was exactly as Joan remembered it. At the present moment, people were beginning to file in to their seats, and light conversational tones were beginning to permeate the silence. Sherlock and Joan stood motionless for a few moments, surveying the room, and appreciating how grand and how beautiful it was, before turning and walking up another set of stairs, and into the VIP box which Sherlock had reserved for them. The box was beautiful, of the same design as the rest of the building, yet with a seemingly more modern and comfortable edge. Their seat was ornately designed and intrinsically decorated, with cushioned seats and a small table, which held two glasses and a small non-alcoholic drink selection. Programmes for the opera lay beside the glasses, as did two pairs of opera glasses, and a box of expensive French chocolates.
"Are you alright, Watson?" Sherlock called to her gently, as found herself completely enraptured in the sight before her. "Watson?" he called again, taking a step in front of her.
"You did all of this?" she asked breathlessly, glancing across the box.
"Well, not personally" he began, confused and slightly concerned. "I knew some of your favourite drinks, and asked for the staff to place a selection up here for tonight" he continued gently. "Is something wrong?"
"No" she returned immediately, her voice clear and absolute. "Nothing is wrong" she continued, before adjusting her grip on his hand. "I just... you've gone to so much trouble..."
"Watson" he interrupted, taking a step closer to her. "I assure you, it was no trouble. I wanted to create an evening that you would enjoy, that you would be able to feel relaxed and comfortable in. I did not wish for you to worry about a thing."
"This evening has been perfect, Sherlock. It has been absolutely wonderful. It's been so personal and so thoughtful, and I am really, really grateful" she stated kindly, as she considered how to phrase her next statement. "I just... I want you to know that..." she paused briefly, before lifting her head to face Sherlock, and continuing. "I'm not one of those people who expects expensive gifts and gestures. I don't... I love absolutely everything about this evening, but... but I..." she faltered once more, but recovered quickly. "I don't want you to feel used, Sherlock. I want you to know that our relationship has absolutely nothing to do with money or connections. I just want to be with you." Sherlock was silent for a few moments, and Joan was worried that she had offended him. Her intention had not been to offend him. She had not experienced a more considerate gentleman, or spent such a wonderful night with someone before. But she was concerned about Sherlock, and did not wish to take advantage of his clear desire to please her.
"I assure you, Watson, I do not feel used. We have been out together on several more low-key dates, which have been arranged by both you and I" he stated, gesturing to her as he spoke, causing her to nod in agreement. "I know that you are not one to expect expensive gifts or gestures, and you are certainly not one who is accustomed to receiving them. Those are the two main reasons I wished to give you an evening such as this one" Sherlock was speaking kindly and gently, alleviating Joan's concerns that she had caused him offence. He seemed more concerned about her than about his own feelings. "Money matters very little to me, Watson, as we have discussed before. But if I can use a small portion of my modest funds to create an evening which we can enjoy, and which removes us so completely from everything else that we are dealing with at the moment, then I would leap at the opportunity." He paused once more, and Joan nodded in understanding. Before she could form a response, Sherlock continued to speak. "I apologise if I have made you feel uncomfortable this evening-"
"No" Joan stated immediately, in a reassuring manner. "You haven't, not at all. It's just that... that this is so new to us both, and I want you to know that I want to be with you, because of you. Because of who you are as a person, and not because of your bank balance of family connections."
"I quite understand" he responded gently, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I assure you, Watson, that particular thought never once crossed my mind. You are not that type of person, and I know that" he stated gently, before taking one step closer to her. "And I want to be with you, too, because of you." Joan smiled in relief at his comment, and stared up into his bright, alert eyes, as the lights above them began to dim, signalling the beginning of the show. Sherlock and Joan's eyes rose for a moment, before meeting once more, as he leaned down slightly, and kissed her on her lips. Joan felt her whole body tingle with anticipation, as she leant into his body and held him to her, deepening the kiss as they found themselves surrounded by darkness. "It's starting, Watson" he breathed in the darkness, as she felt the warmth of his breath upon her neck. "Are you happy to stay?"
"Yes" she breathed in response, as he led her to their seats. The lights rose for a few moments, providing a dim light in their box, which lit up their faces, as well as the table before them. Joan leaned back in the seat, before shrugging off her coat and laying it across the back of the seat, which Sherlock did too.
"Would you like something to drink, Watson?" Sherlock asked kindly.
"I'm fine, thank you" she stated, as she perched herself on the edge of the seat, and stared at the crowd below. She was thinking over her conversation with Sherlock, and was beginning to regret having initiating it. She felt that she had done him a disservice to presume that he would, even for a moment, believe her to be interested in him for monetary reasons. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, criticising herself inwardly, before opening them to find that Sherlock was watching her with concern. Her eyes met his, and he did not speak or respond to her mild discomfort immediately. Instead, his bright and intelligent eyes scanned her briefly, as he too considered their previous conversation, and correctly deduced the reason for her current discomfort. Sherlock placed his phone on the table, before edging across the seat until their legs were touching. Joan felt warmed and reassured by the contact, and smiled lightly before lifting her head to face him. She found him looking upon her with a kind and sympathetic expression, which she was grateful for. He then rose his left arm, and wrapped it comfortingly across her shoulders, holding her to him. Joan was immensely grateful for this contact, which provided her with an indescribable feeling of relief and adoration. She leaned in to him, resting her head by his shoulder, as the curtains rose and the opera began.
Sherlock and Joan spent the entire opera sitting in this position, with Sherlock's arm wrapped protectively and reassuringly across Joan's back, causing her to lean into his touch, and find herself feeling almost invincible. Sherlock and Joan whispered a few comments to each other, laughed on a couple of occasions, and enjoyed the company of the other for the entire evening. At some points of the opera, Joan found her eyes welling up with tears, as she bit her lip to stifle a sob which she did not wish her partner to find out about. He knew, of course, and passed her a handkerchief each time. Every time. By the end of the opera, the sound of appreciative applause and whispers of contentment resonated throughout the entire theatre, and Sherlock and Joan rose to their feet to join it, basking in the ambience. As they clapped, Sherlock turned to Joan, who was smiling brightly at the sight before her. At that moment, Joan also turned towards him, and their eyes met in the new lightness of their private booth. Her smile softened, and her eyes were sparkling and alight. Sherlock watched her with interest for a few moments, relieved to see that she was enjoying herself, and appeared to be so free from all of the worries, concerns and burdens which she bore alone. He hoped she would continue to experience such happiness and contentment, and that, when the concerns and burdens did arise, she would know that she was not alone, and would allow him to shoulder some of them too.
"Thank you" she stated, her eyes still glistening slightly with tears. "It was wonderful, Sherlock. Tonight has been incredible. Really. I don't know how I can thank you."
"You have" he returned instantly, as he picked up her coat and began to assist her with it. "But you do not owe me anything, Watson. Let me make quite certain that you know that." She nodded slowly in response, before doing up the buttons of her jacket and picking up her clutch bag. Sherlock pulled on his own coat, before offering Joan his hand, and leading her from the emptying theatre. As they exited the bustling theatre, Sherlock and Joan found themselves standing on the pavement amongst the other groups and couples, who were discussing the opera, calling taxis and getting into waiting cars. At this moment, they were both struck by how comfortable they felt, and how feelings of being out of place or awkward did not affect them at all. In fact, neither of them had ever felt so natural.
"It's almost midnight" Joan stated as she glanced at her phone.
"Are you worried about turning into a pumpkin, Watson?" Sherlock asked in a sarcastic manner, causing her to smile slightly, and lean closer into his side, as their clasped hands remained between them.
"Cinderella did not turn into a pumpkin, her carriage did" Joan corrected him, causing Sherlock to mouth 'ah' before widening his eyes and nodding in agreement. "Speaking of carriages..." she began, glancing across the sea of vehicles before her.
"I asked the driver to come when I called, as I was uncertain of when the opera would conclude" Sherlock explained, speaking in a low and gentle tone. "Now, I was going to take you to the airport to board a private jet to the Bahamas" he began in a light and sarcastic manner, "but seeing as you-"
"Okay, okay" Joan smiled, laughing lightly as she spoke.
"Is there anything you would like to do before we head home?" he asked kindly, as she glanced tiredly across the street. "My dear Watson, you're exhausted" he stated, raising his free hand to hold her cheek.
"I'm fine" she returned dismissively, offering him a small, tired smile.
"Would you like to be fine, at home?" Sherlock asked, punctuating the last words as he spoke. She smiled once more, before turning from him and nodding slightly.
"Would you mind?" she asked, looking back up at him. Sherlock removed his hand from hers, and placed it in the centre of her back, causing her to lean into him as he extracted his phone from his pocket.
"Not at all, Watson" he stated, planting a kiss on her forehead as he held the phone to his ear. "Not at all."