The message said to meet him in front of the house at 5:00, to wear trousers and bring a jacket. Yes, she allowed him, sometimes, to pick out her clothes in the morning, but this was new. Probably case related she supposed as she stood waiting for him in her black pants. Neither she nor Sherlock had said a word about her earlier text, confirming her decision to move forward towards a more intimate relationship. To be honest, they had not talked at all. Joan was apprehensive wondering, how this would change their working relationship. Just greeting each other had the potential of being awkward and stressful.
Traffic around the brownstone was picking up as rush hour approached but through the usual din, a low guttural growl caught her attention.
A huge deep blue and silver motorcycle thundered down the street. It's driver's metallic indigo helmet glinted in the sun as it came to a roaring stop in front the brownstone. Instantly she recognized the driver. Joan's mouth dropped open a bit in surprise. He took off the helmet and gave her his best punk rebel sneer, "Hop on, Watson!"
Joan looked at him in shock, walking towards the metallic monster. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing! Are you even licensed to drive that thing? Where did you get it?"
Being not quite the reaction Sherlock expected, the wind was knocked out of his bravado. He stared at her for a second and answered her questions in a normal tone, "It belongs to Alfredo, he's letting us use it. And of course I'm licensed. I am licensed to operate a wide range of vehicles and machinery." He gave her a tight lipped tilt of his head. "Now, come on, then."
Incredulously she stared at him, and she got closer, "No. Motorcycles are not a safe means of transportation. When I worked the ER, do you know how many ..."
"Watson, Watson ..." he cut her off, "I know what I'm doing, I would never place you in danger ..."
Joan stared down at him about to enumerate all the times he had placed her in danger.
"Let me rephrase that, I would never knowingly and carelessly place you in danger. ... Trust me." His voice was taking on a more personal, softer quality. He reached towards her and tugged her open jacket closed letting his hand stay just a second longer than necessary, his eyes locked to hers.
She should be stronger than to fall for his sorry puppy eyes. The corners of her lips twitched up slightly as she gave in. It would be fun to just let reason go and ride. "Oh, alright, but no antics."
He beamed and handed her the extra helmet. She held onto his shoulder as she swung a leg over the seat. Watson straddled up close behind him and held on tight to his waist causing Sherlock to instinctively lean back into her just a bit and enjoy the moment before he brought the engine beneath them to life.
Elation swept through both as they picked up speed, the world rushed past them. In all her questioning of Sherlock, Joan had forgotten the most important question to ask, "Where are we going?" All she knew at this point was they were headed towards the east.
-:- -:- -:-
The late afternoon mid-August sun was still shining as they turned off the Long Island Expressway on to a frontage road. Joan had closed her eyes once they turned on to the expressway. She did trust Sherlock, she just didn't trust the big trucks and angry drivers that populated the thoroughfare at rush hour.
Change in temperature and speed caused her to open her eyes and look around. The scenery appeared almost rural, homes dotted the groves of trees here and there. The motorcycle was now aimed towards a dirt road. Sherlock had reduced his speed and he carefully maneuvered them down the dusty lane. A sturdy wrought iron gate appeared in front of them. He came to a stop, put the kickstand in place and took off his helmet.
Watson happily took off her helmet and looked around. "Where are we?"
Sherlock keyed the correct digits into the keypad on the side post and the gate clicked open.
"We are on the private land of a previous client of mine who would prefer anonymity. He has graciously allowed our visit." He climbed back on the motorcycle and slowly proceeded past the gate and up the road for a quarter of a mile. Sherlock turned off the road and on to a grassy patch. They made their way towards a grouping of trees.
Joan was intrigued but waited for him to stop before asking anything further.
They found themselves beside a huge green leafed oak. Joan began to understand. Under the tree lay blankets, a picnic basket and several other items including a lantern and cushions.
Sherlock helped her off the cycle as if this were an everyday occurrence. They walked towards the tree's shade. He started explaining as he walked towards the supplies. "My client, let's call him P., purchased this land with the intent of building a home for his girlfriend. They have since had a falling out. He is a rather wealthy singer of sorts and has an estate miles up the road." He reached for one of the blankets and with Watson's help spread it on the grassy area beneath the tree.
"The property is completely fenced in, well secluded, off the road, no chance of children or animals or anyone really wandering through. Cellphone coverage is weak." He tossed a couple of the cushions onto the blanket and motioned for her to sit.
Joan observed him throughout his monologue and realized via his body language that he was as nervous as she was. "I took the liberty of telling Captain Gregson that we would not be available for the next 24 hours. I've turned my phone off and I would appreciate it if you did likewise." He took his jacket off and sat as he continued, "We have a lovely repast waiting for us in this basket, if you would care to join me." He dragged the basket closer to the blanket.
She sat amazed at all he had done and rewarded him with a warm, broad smile. "Sherlock Holmes, I would never have taken you to be so wildly romantic."
He squinted at her, his brows knit, mouth opened in mock disgust and indignation, "That's it then." He moved to get up. "If you are going to be rude and insulting, we are leaving. Come on, help me pick up the blanket."
She pushed him back down with little effort as he pretended to continue protesting. "I take it back," she said. "You are a callous, selfish man ..." she poked at him with her finger as she spoke, "... who would never dream of taking care of anyone's needs but your own." Watson had him flat on his back by now with her face right up against his, "Sherlock you are a terrible... terrible man, and certainly the most unromantic one I have ever met."
His arms came around quickly to hold her in place. "That's better," he whispered as he lightly pressed his lips to hers. Her phone rang.
"No! No, no, no..." Sherlock sat up. Joan rolled over to grab her phone.
She checked the screen and showed it to him, her mom. Sherlock shook his head in disbelief and waved her on. He sat sulkily, knees up and arms behind him.
"Hi, mom ... Yes, uh huh ... Listen I can't talk right now. Sherlock and I are doing some ... surveillance, uh, undercover work for the next 24 ..." Sherlock watched her with growing amusement. He pulled the basket closer to him, as Joan continued, "Uh huh ... That's right. Okay. I'll call you tomorrow or the day after ... Yes, we'll be careful."
She hung up. "Sorry. Look I'm turning it off right now." Joan flashed the phone at him to show it was powering off.
He offered her a bottle of water as reward. "Are you hungry?" Sherlock passed her a bottle of hand sanitizer.
"How did you do all this? How did you know I'd say ... yes," Joan asked her voice trailed off as she spoke.
"You know me Watson. Always prepared. ... I did have a plan B in case you answered otherwise... involved sunglasses, a trench-coat, bees, mixtapes ..."
Watson smiled at him not sure if he was kidding or not. Sherlock rooted through the basket. "What would you like, I have some of everything ... fruit, sandwiches, biscuits ... clotted cream ..." He looked at her suggestively and wiggled the glass jar of cream in her direction.
Joan blushed lightly, remembering licking the cream from his finger. She looked up from the jar to him. His look had changed from playful to intent as he remembered her lips on his finger. She held his stare and after a moment, reached for the jar and took it from his hand. Carefully she removed the jar's lid, dipped two fingers in and offered them in his direction. Sherlock did not hesitate. Maintaining contact with her eyes, he moved forward, parted his lips and took her fingers into his mouth, separating them with his tongue and meticulously licking the cream off both. He held her hand, pulled her closer and placed his lips still sweet with the cream on to hers.
The sun slipped behind the trees and the long shadows it had cast dissolved around them; the last orange gold light of the day quickly faded into greys. From soft and sweet gentle nuzzling their kiss transformed into passionate exploration. He held her face in both his hands as she moved to lay back, bringing him with her onto the blanket. Both were now feeling the urgency of their need. They had been interrupted too many times before.
Hands traveled and searched, looking for the sensation of warm skin on skin. They were heading quickly, as Sherlock had recently stated, to the point of no return. Sherlock unbuttoned the front of her shirt and as he did the warm breeze caressed her exposed skin, followed by the touch of his lips and fingertips.
She ran her fingers through his hair trying to form words as he proceeded down. "Sherlock, you are sure we're alone."
"Mmm hmm..." He lifted his head to look at her, "quite ... I made sure." He came back up to kiss her lips once more and reassure her, "I wanted you to feel comfortable ..."
He felt strong and hard on her as she gripped at his back and forced him closer.
She caressed his face, "You really are a wonderf..."
He quieted her by kissing her, "Don't start that again with me Watson ... I am not nice" he kissed her throat, "I am certainly not kind..." He dragged his lips down to her clavicle. "I am most certainly not romantic ..." He placed his mouth on her breast and elicited soft moans from her lips.
"You ... have ... condoms," she needed to ask now before rational thought abandoned her completely.
"Yes." He growled into her skin. "I like that ... you're ... asking in the ... plural."
Her hips were betraying her, pushing upward towards him. "Take your shirt off," she ordered of him and he readily complied. The feel of his chest on her skin a sensation she had long desired. The minimal clothing they had on was quickly disposed of.
The last of the sunlight vanished and night dripped quickly around them from the branches of the tree. Darkness emboldened them. The rasping sounds of mingled breath and soft moans of pleasure mixed with whispers were the only indicators of their presence beneath the tree.
Much as with all aspects of their relationship, syncing to each others needs came easily and satisfaction this first time came quickly for both of them.
Laying in the inky quiet, the cooling night breeze playing against their bodies, they found themselves joyfully holding on to each other, unfettered by clothes, phones, and the rest of humanity. She clenched him to her not wanting to ever let him go.
His head burrowed into her neck, Joan whispered in his ear, "I know you don't like the word but I love you. I think I've know from the first moment we met ... that we belonged together."
Sherlock responded by rolling himself over so he was flat on his back with Watson on top of him, legs entwined, one arm around her waist and bottom, the other holding her head, fingers threaded through her hair.
She thought she heard the breathy exhalation of what might have been her name softly coming from his lips, "Joan." She shuddered partially from sheer pleasure, partially from the cold night air.
Sherlock released her long enough to stretch an arm, grab the extra blanket and cover both of them. They fell asleep watching the last of the summer's fireflies imitate the stars beneath the branches of the tree.