SUPER SHORT chapter because i'm ridiculously busy

just got out of the hospital; so sorry i couldn't update amg!

it's wayyy past christmas now but i'm still going to finish this so hope y'all are still interested!

love 3

December 22

Sherlock wasn't surprised that Joan got up late, tired after last night. They had danced till around midnight, then left quietly, having shredded the fake invitations in the nearest trash can. Joan had dozed the whole taxi ride home. Sherlock had been surprised that she had agreed to dance with him even after their work at the party was done, but he was also pleased. He sipped his coffee and then perked up a bit at hearing footsteps on the stairs.

"Good morning, Watson," he said as Joan walked into the kitchen.

"Morning," she replied drowsily, pouring herself a mug of coffee too and sitting down across from him.

There was a short pause while both of them sipped coffee.

"Last night was very… enjoyable," Sherlock said absently, setting his mug down on the table. Joan looked up in surprise.

"What, you mean the dancing?" she asked incredulously. "I mean, we were only there to get the information on Leonard Whitson, weren't we?"

"Of course," said Sherlock quickly, "but all the same, it was very enjoyable. You are a formidable dance partner, Watson."

"Only to your toes," muttered Joan, staring into her coffee cup.

"What, you didn't like it?" asked Sherlock, worried now. She had seemed to be having a fine time while they were there, he thought. Joan looked up again, quickly.

"No," she said after a short pause. "I liked it a lot… too."

They smiled at each other across the table.

"We must do it again sometime, then," said Sherlock, picking up his mug of coffee again and draining it.

"What?" asked Joan, laughing. "Interview creepy old ladies?"

"Mrs. Whitson is a perfectly nice creepy old lady," mock-scolded Sherlock. "No, I meant… dancing."

"Oh." Joan was so quiet that for a moment Sherlock was afraid he had offended her somehow. She had seemed very touchy as of late, especially with him. Just as he was about to say something, she raised her head, smiling the same glowing smile she had had last night.

"I would like that," she said.

Before the moment could get too awkward, Sherlock popped to his feet. Joan drank the last of her coffee as well and stood up, stretching before tying her hair back into a ponytail.

"Well, off we go," Sherlock said briskly. "This next suspect doesn't actually live in New York City. We're taking the train."

"Oh, how long will it take to get there?" Joan asked.

"About four hours, I'm afraid," said Sherlock. "Bring something to do."