Joan was through the front door of the brownstone before the cab had even had a chance to pull out from its parking spot. She rolled in her luggage and set it by the coatrack. Why she gave the cabbie this address instead of that of her new apartment she hadn't been sure; but looking around as she removed her coat, feeling the comfortable embrace of the old house welcome her, she understood. She walked into the library and took a big happy breath. Everything looked perfect. Ms. Hudson deserved a raise, if only she could afford to give her one. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Angus on the red sofa, sitting on a cushion rather than his perch on the mantle. Ms. Hudson must have forgotten to set him back up she thought.
"Hi, Angus," she picked him up and gave a small kiss on his cracked forehead.
"Well, if you are giving away kisses..." The unexpected voice behind her startled her and Angus leapt out of her hands. Sherlock lunged forward and together he and Joan saved Angus from a great fall.
Joan looked up in complete surprise. "Sherlock! When did you get here?"
They stood close, both holding on to the porcelain bust. "Two days ago," Sherlock answered as he took Angus out of her hand but still kept it between them. "I spent last night having a heart to heart with our boy here," patting the top of the bust's head with his free hand. "... Never put him away properly."
Sherlock's eyes flitted across her face, took in her stance, her apparel. She looked different, more relaxed perhaps, but excited and utterly beautiful. A happy warmth filled him at finally being able to see her, talk to her after all these months apart. He was not sure what to make of it and all he managed after several seconds of staring at her was a breathy "Hi." She reciprocated with her own, whispered "Hi," equally as amazed to suddenly have him in front of her.
Sherlock broke his gaze, cleared his throat and tried to reclaim control of himself, "You've just arrived from the airport?" he said more as a statement than a question.
Joan nodded her affirmation. It was her turn to appraise him and she logged the slightly apprehensive look and the excited tenseness with which he held himself.
Realizing that Angus was being gently squeezed between them, Sherlock turned his body without stepping away from her and carefully set Angus back down on the sofa. With the physical impediment between them removed, Joan instinctively moved a little closer towards him. Without thought, her hand reached up gently and touched his cheek. "You shaved off your beard?" She let her fingers caress his face, feeling the little bit of stubble that was growing back in. Joan quickly realized the boldness of her action but it was too late, she did not want to take her hand away.
Startled at first by the physical contact, it took Sherlock a second to find his voice, "You told me to..." Unable to help himself he leaned lightly into her hand enjoying the caress, his eyes on her face.
"And you do whatever I say?" She teased and found herself being pulled in closer by his eyes.
"Absolutely..." He responded with a half smile.
"... Sometimes." His half smile faded and intensity began to build in his eyes.
"On occasion ..." Emboldened by the look in her eyes, he slowly moved his face so he could kiss her palm as it lay on his cheek. Joan's eyes closed trying to hide the overwhelming pleasure the small act gave her. His hand covered hers and he brought it down from his face to his chest. No longer able to restrain herself, Joan moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his body, laying her head on his shoulder. Sherlock responded immediately, bringing her closer to him, a hand on her head, the other stroking the small of her back.
Joan nestled in his neck. "God, I missed you," she whispered and his arms tightened even more around her in response.
Sherlock took several deep breaths, attempting to remain in control, before he responded, his lips close to her ear, "I was under the impression you hated me." He was trying to sound flippant but she heard the pain underneath.
Joan pushed away from him just far enough to search his face, not believing he could be serious. His eyes spoke volumes to her of his insecurity, his fear, his past of being left behind and excluded. Joan stroked his face once more tenderly and gave him a small wry smile, "For a smart man, you can be such an idiot."
Looking at her, the tenseness around his eyes and mouth dissipated and a thin smile formed, feelings of relief and affection surfaced in his eyes.
Sherlock reached towards her and brushed a strand of wayward hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as they continued to stare at one another, bodies tightly held.
The moment was passing quickly and Sherlock was unsure of how to proceed, of what was the wrong or right thing to say or do. The physicality was new for them, and awkwardness was beginning to seep in.
"Are you hungry?" he asked quietly with the same emotional intensity as a declaration of affection. "I ... I was making soup for myself and there's plenty." He nodded to assure her, although he wasn't sure of what.
She nodded her head yes. Joan too felt awkward, "Let me wash up and I'll ... I'll be right down."
"Alright." Sherlock moved his arms from around her and turned to walk away but just as quickly turned back towards her. He bent his head and stole one quick wisp of a kiss from her (in case he never got the chance again) and turned once more and rapidly headed for the stairs. He was completely unable to emotionally or intellectually process exactly what had just occurred between himself and Watson, but knew he was very pleased by it.
Stunned, Joan watched him walk away towards the stairs, the feeling of his lips on hers still tingling and smiled to herself. She too had not expected what occurred between them but she too was pleased.
Two steamy bowls of home-made soup greeted her as she walked towards the table. Sherlock had obviously been feeling domestic. She wondered what kind of soup he had made.
"Split pea curry soup." He stated, leaving her almost wondering if she had asked the question out loud. It smelled wonderful.
He brought a plate of warm naan to the table when he sat down to join her.
"You weren't expecting anyone were you?" she asked. He was not usually one to cook for just himself.
"No." He helped himself to the bread and passed the plate over to her. "If you must know, I was feeling a bit lonely and out of sorts and thought the cooking would help." Sherlock looked thoroughly embarrassed by his admission.
"I'm glad you did," she gave him a pleased look, that they held a second too long before turning their attention to the soup.
Sitting here at the table, sharing a meal together, was such a small thing, but they had both individually longed for moments like this since their separation. The soup was delicious and they ate in content silence.
Joan didn't want to bring this up but she decided this was probably the best time to do so. "You do know I've moved out, right?"
"Yes, it was a rather difficult deduction but I figured it out." He shot her a glance, as if to remind her who he was.
"Just checking, sometimes you are blind to what you don't like," she kept her tone soft.
After a few seconds of silence he asked, "Watson, do you intend to come back home at some point ... perhaps?" He looked like a scared child waiting for her answer. Before she could respond, he cleared his throat and threw on his armored shell, "Not that it matters, you're a grown woman obviously, you can do what you like. ... I just need to know if I can start working on bringing down the apiary..." His face was still pointed at his soup but his eyes shifted to the side to catch a glimpse of her response.
Joan was caught off guard and answered him as honestly as she could. "I don't know. ... Could you give me some time though, before you start bringing the bees down to my room?"
His shoulders relaxed, "Of course." He continued eating. "Besides I've not yet had the heart to tell the bees that you've gone..."
She looked at him trying to decipher the comment and instead decided to change the subject, "How were your travels?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, unfortunately, even with you. Suffice it to say "those people" and I shan't be working together again for a long time to come but we both got what we needed from our collaboration."
It was her turn to talk into her soup, "I'm still angry about that you know ... About you leaving ..."
He interrupted her, "You were leaving me, I thought it was best for both of us."
"How? How did you think that was best?" Anger rose in her voice. "You didn't even talk to me you just left ... When I really needed ..." Joan stopped talking, emotion was overwhelming her and she didn't want to breakdown in front of him. She rose and took her bowl to the sink. As she stood there trying to compose herself, she sensed Sherlock come up behind her.
Sherlock did something that took more courage from him than any criminal investigation ever had. He came up behind her and gently placed his hands on her waist, moving his body close to hers, his cheek along side her head. He took a breath, "I'm sorry, Watson. Truly. I spent months berating myself for the choice I made. It's no comfort now, I know. I'm boorish and selfish. I've lived alone my whole life." His voice became less agitated as she placed one of her hands on his where it lay on around her waist. "I didn't take your feelings into account; I just assumed what was right for me was right for you. I spent so many days, nights, weeks besieged with worry and fear for you, for what I'd done to you..." She leaned back into him and he held her closer to him. "I was wrong to leave ... I'm sorry."
Joan turned to look at him and was overcome with emotion at the sight of him. She'd seen many of his tossed off apologies in the past two years, but this was Sherlock at his most open and vulnerable. The kiss that he stole from her upstairs, she now gave freely to him. Months of fear and frustration at not seeing each other, not communicating, not being with each other, poured out of both of them in a desperate need. There was no thought involved as they came together, lips open and passionately seeking out the other. His hand threaded through her hair as he grasped and pulled her closer to him, his mouth laying a trail of opened mouth kisses on her neck as it rose to meet her mouth. Joan's hand clasped the back of his neck crushing him to her. This kiss took both their breaths away, left them speechless and wanting more.
He cupped her face in hand and stared into her eyes finding acceptance and caring for him spilling out. Joan moved to kiss him again when a phone's ring on the counter behind her made her jump. They turned and looked at it, Captain Gregson was calling.
He looked at her questioningly. "I told him I was available, should he need me."
They still clung to one another. She nodded her head yes, there was no doubt he should answer, "Get your breathing under control first."
Sherlock took one long big breath, exhaled and answered, "Captain Gregson, how can we be of service?"