The Pull of His Gravity Chapter 2
By phaedraphelan
Word count: 9,511
Summary: Sherlock and Joan become closer than they would hav imagined as their work and their personal lives blend together. This is about them, a murder mystery, and a great deal of Joanlock. Please review.
Disclaimer: "Elementary" is the artistic property of CBS and no infringement is intended.
As night fell, Joan lay completely conquered in Sherlock's bed. She had never experienced a man involving her physically and emotionally so completely as Sherlock. Her whole body was tingling and vibrating from Sherlock's attention as they lay in each other's arms. He had so stimulated her that, in spite of her exhaustion she still wanted him. She was so excited that her body could not shut down its passionate response to him, her parts so tumescent that she could not think of resisting any of his advances. She lay there in his bed, unable to stop clinging to him, whispering his name, offering herself to him to use her to his heart's desire, Sherlock rested his head upon her belly, at first just caressing her and then gently nipping her all over her midsection with his teeth as all the while she moaned his name softly over and over.
"Sherlock . . . Ooh, Sherlock, my baby! I have given you all. You are my only one . . . my sweetheart."
"Dearest Joan, my dearest Joan. I can't get enough of you," Sherlock murmured as Joan ran her fingers through his hair. "Tell me to stop, luv, because I can't stop myself. I love you so. I am overwhelmed by my feelings."
"Don't stop, baby. Please just let me have you again. I can't get enough of you, Sherlock."
Sherlock mounted her and he slid deep inside Joan again and she cried out and shook and vibrated helplessly under him as her flesh clasped his tightly and then in just a few minutes Joan went into the spasms that they both knew so well now. Sherlock was rocking gently upon Joan as they both moaned softly together. Then his passionate thrusts accelerated and he groaned from the very depths of his soul as he used Joan so deeply that he grunted out loud with each thrust.
"I'm blind, luv. I can't see a thing. Oh, God! Dear God! I don't want to hurt you, but I'm gone!"
"Ooh, Sherlock, yes! Yes! Oh, baby, yes!" Joan wailed his name as her orgasm surged, enveloping her, her parts clenching in spasm after spasm that rippled through her whole body around Sherlock deep inside her. "These . . . spasms . . . won't stop, Sherlock!"
And then Sherlock began to ejaculate again, snorting and grunting passionately, overcome as he spilled into Joan, giving her what she craved so desperately from him and from him only.
"Jesus, Joan! Oh, Jesus!" Sherlock cried out as the bright flashes of the climax exploded in his brain.
"I love it when that happens . . . every time it happens, Sherlock. I crave that moment now. I crave it so much."
"Then you . . . you shall have it. You shall have whatever it is in my power to give you, luv."
Sherlock kissed Joan tenderly now as his keen mind processed what she had just told him and he began to realize how little he really knew about the needs and responses of this woman that had shared his life for more than two years and had now become involved with him in an intimacy that he could not have imagined possible with anyone. He wondered within himself if Joan was desiring to carry a baby for him. The thought crossed his mind often when they were sexually involved, but he and Joan had not broached that subject. It seemed that now that time had arrived. Suddenly he wanted to fulfill every one of her womanly desires.
"Do you think that you want to carry, Joan? Would you ever want a baby with me?"
"Why?"
"Because if you do, I will give you a baby. I will give you whatever you want."
"I love you so much, Sherlock . . . so much, but I'm not prepared to . . . even think about that. I know that we are not, as you would say, in a traditional relationship. This is all completely new to me . . . how I am feeling, what I am experiencing." Joan paused for a long moment before she spoke again. "Thank you for asking me, Sherlock. I hope that you will let me know if you develop the urge to be a father. Have you ever imagined me pregnant?"
"Yes . . . from when we first met. I would have these dreams about you and you would be quite pregnant, luv. I never dreamed that I had made any other woman pregnant. If ever . . . it happens, I know that I would have no negative feelings about it."
Sherlock kissed Joan tenderly over and over as they lay in each other's arms and finally drifted off to sleep again.
Joan wakened after midnight in Sherlock's bed. She was ravenous and the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen was calling her name. She got up somewhat painfully. (She had never been used so thoroughly by any man in her life.) She found Sherlock's robe and wrapped it around herself and found her way downstairs to the kitchen where Sherlock stood in his boxers making scrambled eggs.
"Oh, there you are, luv. I was going to bring you a late night's breakfast in bed," Sherlock said softly. "I fear we got carried away, didn't we?"
"My body feels like a truck ran over me, baby."
"Please forgive me for my exuberance. I was unable to restrain help myself."
"We couldn't stop ourselves, could we?" Joan said softly as she sought the comfort of his arms.
Sherlock shook his head and bent to kiss her lips gently.
"I know. I cannot blame you. I kept begging you for . . . for more. Your lips are puffy as well. I never saw your lips swollen when you were entertaining your various female visitors."
"I never shared the kind of kisses we have been experiencing, Joan. I have never been as intimate with anyone as with you. Even . . . Irene . . . was not . . . well, let's just say that I never had a case of swollen lips till you . . . you and I began to explore each other's mouths. I canna get enough of you, lassie."
"We were crazy to not have seen what was between us, weren't we?"
"I must tell you, Joan, that what we are sharing together is not just about your lovely hind parts. It is true that I have never been with a woman with whom I experienced what we have, but it isn't just about the sexual connection. It is a strange combination of the flesh and what I can only describe as the soul when we have that moment when I spill into you and you cry out my name and I cry out in ecstasy. I never had elevated coitus to where it has become between you and me till we began to come together. I-I must tell you that I truly love you, all of you . . . your lovely hind parts and your b-beautiful breasts and hair, but I love your mind, the way it syncs with mine, the sound of your voice when I am stressed, the touch of your fingers in my hair when I am in your arms, the sight of you in exstase . . ."
Joan's eyes filled with tears as she stared into Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock nodded and smiled tenderly at her and gently touched her swollen mouth with his fingertips before kissing her again ever so lightly.
"Let's give ourselves some nourishment and then I will draw a warm bath for us so we can relieve the soreness we are both feeling and then we can get some sleep."
"I couldn't be more satisfied than I am right now," Joan said, blushing even more deeply. "I don't think I ever knew how satisfied I could be till now with you, Sherlock. You really know how to make a girl feel good."
"You are a woman, not a girl, luv," Sherlock said as a matter of fact, "the most completely sensual woman I have ever known."
Sherlock had blushed uncharacteristically hearing Joan's words of approval of his sexual prowess. He knew that he had always had the ability to please the women he had been with, but at the same time he realized that the closeness that he and Joan were now experiencing was unlike anything he had ever known. With other women in his vast experience he had usually been satisfied with one or two sexual experiences and then he was done, no longer craving or even curious. Even Irene only kept his interest because she denried him full expression most of the time. But with Joan everything was different . . . an ongoing sexual mystery was unfolding before his eyes with no end in sight, a mystery of moments of marvelous discovery of one another. They had been so completely in sync mentally and now, with the powerful sexual component overlaying everything else, they had begun to forge something stronger than either of them had imagined possible.
"You're blushing, Sherlock," Joan said at the unusual sight of his cheeks reddening.
Sherlock nodded and his blue-green eyes filled with tears. That was when Joan felt her power over him for the first time. In those moments since she surrendered so completely to him she had wondered if she was losing herself in him in that act of capitulation, that act of completely letting go. That had always been her fear in the face of Sherlock's flamboyant personality. Now she suddenly realized that she had lost nothing at all, that she had instead gained a communion of mind and body with him that she had never imagined to be possible with any man. As she looked into his eyes there was no doubt in her mind. And when he cried out her name when in the paroxysms of ecstasy, Joan knew that Sherlock was truly her man.
They finished their midnight supper and then got into the tub of hot soapy water together. They washed each other's bodies and then lay there, their passions totally exhausted, and then finally as the water went tepid, they got out of the tub, dried themselves and practically fell into the nearest bed, Joan's, together and fell sound asleep between the smooth luxe pastel sheets.
The next morning Joan wakened slumbering on Sherlock's chest in her bed and reached for the bottle of water on her night table.
"Have a sip of water to freshen your mouth because I want to really kiss you this morning."
Sherlock took a swig from the water and sighed passionately.
Joan nestled into Sherlock and patted his firm belly and touched the rest of him as she offered her open mouth to him.
"God, Joan, I'm in love with you. I am completely in love with you."
"I think my man needs attention this morning," she whispered into his ear as she gently nibbled his earlobe. "I'm here for you . . . right now."
Sherlock's libido had made itself powerfully manifest again and just knowing that Joan would not reject him in his moment of need filled and warmed his heart as she began to caress him.
Sherlock reached for Joan and drew her onto him and they began to kiss and kiss and that was as far as they got before they came together in intercourse. It was tender and passionate between them as Sherlock carefully arranged himself over Joan and claimed her again, telling her over and over how much loved her, how beautiful she was. Joan melted under him, her body vibrating and trembling as she so often did when he made love to her.
"Ooh, Sher . . . lock . . . Please help me, baby. Please!"
"I'm here, luv. I will always . . . be . . . here for you. I will always help you. Oh, God! Yes, Joan!" Sherlock cried out as his life force spurted from him.
"Sherlock, baby! Ooh! Yes! Yes!" Joan whimpered and then wailed softly as powerful spasms seized her in the deepest part of her again.
Both of their bodies had gone rigid at the same moment and they saw stars together as the release surged over and through both of them as they were caught up in the supreme moment of ecstasy.
When the spasm eased its grip on them, Sherlock gently reversed their positions so that Joan was on top of him and not bearing the weight of his body as they let themselves slide down into the afterglow. And Joan clung to him, her body melding completely with his in the moment of her surrender to him.
That morning they stayed in bed and slept and slept and then in the afternoon Sherlock wakened Joan. By then he was completely energized and ready for activity.
"I think that we should go out tonight . . . for dinner at someplace special. Will you go out with me, luv? How about Peter Luger's?"
"Sure, I am ravenous, and I feel like a great steak."
They dressed in a leisurely fashion, stopping for extended periods of touching and kissing, and finally emerged to face the world outside the brownstone together. It was late spring with a brisk chill in the New York air. Sherlock took Joan's hand and led her down the steps to the street. There was no need to speak at this moment. They had said everything that needed to be said. They just wanted to enjoy the knowledge they now had of each other. They were so tuned in with each other now. Joan enjoyed it when Sherlock looked at her and felt no need to hide the desire in his eyes any longer. And she did not hide the desire in her eyes from him, but openly flirted with him, tossing her hair and tantalizing him shamelessly. She belonged to him, but Sherlock belonged to her . . . totally, completely, without reservation . . . for the first time in his life he knew that he belonged to a woman. When Joan rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed it in that way she did, his knee jerked as he was excited beyond his imagination. He belonged to her as surely as if she had tied a rope around his neck to lead him about and he didn't care who knew it.
They hailed a taxi and headed to Peter Luger's for dinner. Sherlock put his hand in its now familiar soft place between her knees and left it there.
"You like to do that, don't you, Sherlock?"
Sherlock just smiled down at her, winked, and bent down to steal a deep sensual kiss.
They arrived at the restaurant all too quickly because the passions were running so high between them, but then their need for food overrode their passions and they settled down to enjoy the fine meal, the aged prime steaks which some viewed as the best in the city.
Sherlock loved to watch Joan eat almost as much as he loved to watch her sleep. And now they took turns feeding each other, something they did naturally without thinking till finally they were replete, ready to go home. But they decided to walk along the waterfront below Peter Luger's in the evening darkness where they could see the bright lights of Manhattan as they walked hand in hand.
Sherlock drew Joan close and up against his body as they stopped for a moment to embrace in the soft darkness of the somewhat desolate area.
Joan shivered slightly in Sherlock's arms and his embrace tightened around her.
"I feel uncomfortable here, Sherlock. Can we walk back toward the restaurant?"
Sherlock always trusted Joan's instincts and now, when the direction of the wind changed and a smell not unfamiliar drifted by his sensitive nose, he instinctively reached for his cell phone.
"Someone died here. I'm calling Gregson."
Now Joan's nose caught the same dreadful scent and she walked in that direction instead of away from it.
Behind several garbage cans the stench became even stronger and Sherlock saw the body of a woman under a pile of trash. She was nude except for stockings on her legs that were doubled under her. Her hair waist length hair was in braids, but one of the braids had been cut off.
"Come, Watson. We need to step away and wait for the CSI Team to get here."
The young woman had been choked to death and there were no clues. The crime scene was taped off and Sherlock and Joan stood staring at it. Sherlock was watching the CSI take several photos as a point of reference."
"You two can go on home. I don't guess you were planning to have your evening out end this way. You can start on this tomorrow."
Sherlock nodded to Gregson and took Joan's hand and walked her away from the crime scene.
Suddenly both their minds were racing, processing what they had just seen. As they sat in the taxi headed back to the brownstone, they were thinking of all the scenarios that could have led to the murder they had discovered. When they arrived home, both immediately began to search the missing persons lists for someone matching the description of the victim.
"The victim was Jewish, Sherlock, probably Orthodox . . . the seamed stockings, the waist length braided hair. An unmarried Jewish girl. Why would anyone kill her?" Joan summarized.
"It will be interesting to know whether she is intact, Watson. We shall be interested in the autopsy report."
"I am so glad that I have you to protect me, Sherlock. Even last year when I was kidnapped, I knew that you would find me, that you would protect me. I need you, Sherlock."
Sherlock stopped and stared at Joan, realizing the intensity with which she had spoken.
"You are my priority, Joan."
"Come and have tea before bed," Joan said, taking him by the hand. "We can work this case tomorrow."
They sat down together. Sherlock had made a fire and he drew Joan close as they sat in quiet reflection before it. The day had been a full one with them making love to one another till they were exhausted, topped off with a fancy restaurant date. Sherlock lay on Joan's lap after they had finished their tea.
Finally Sherlock drew Joan down so that he could kiss her mouth with his as he slipped his hands under her top so that he could squeeze her soft breasts and let his thumbs caress her dainty nipples. Then he adjusted their position as he took control of the situation, embracing her, letting his hands wander up and down her body as their passions escalated.
"Oh, God, Joan . . . Joan, please take care of me again."
"Yes, Sherlock, yes!"
They were suddenly fully engaged, kissing passionately and sliding down onto the floor in front of the sofa, Sherlock oblivious to the hard floor as he drew Joan on top of him, as they anxiously pulled each other's clothes open so that they could access the parts of each other that they craved to touch. Sherlock gripped Joan's hips tightly and cried out for joy as her flesh found congruence with his and took him deep inside her.
"Oh, God, Joan! Joan!" he cried out loud as he began to gently rock Joan in the rhythm of the ages as she moaned and whimpered in his arms, gasping his name each time she felt his thrusts carry her all the way through the portals of the most exquisite pleasure she had ever known.
"Sherlock . . . Sherlock, baby," Joan bit Sherlock's shoulder hard in a fit of blinding passion at the apex.
"Yes! Yes! Hurt me! God, yes!" Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head and he cried out in ecstasy as his release came at that moment and he emptied himself into her as she melted in surrender to him.
They lay panting together on the floor, Sherlock smoothing her hair and whispering his words of love over and over as his body and Joan's lay joined in total communion. Finally they got up and managed to go to Sherlock's bed where they fell immediately into a deep restorative sleep.
Joan wakened in the early morning hours to an empty bed, wrapped herself in her robe and went to find Sherlock. He was sitting in front of his computer in deep contemplation. She recognized that he was thinking on the case. There were still the dark circles under his eyes.
"You have something in mind, don't you?"
"Yes, the young victim was a member of the Hasidic Jewish community. They are essentially a closed community, not mixing or intermarrying with non-Jews, ergo the seamed stockings and the waist length braids. How would interaction with a Gentile man go down in such a community?"
"Not good, I am sure. That would not go down well. The family would yield obvious suspects."
"Tomorrow we will continue our investigation, luv. I didn't want you to break your rest, but I had to give this case some thought. Would you come back to bed with me?"
Joan nodded, but when she pulled back Sherlock's robe, she saw the red marks where her own teeth had bitten him earlier.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you, baby, I don't mean . . ."
"I love you to hurt me. Do you have any idea how it affects me when you inflict pain, luv? I'm quite imperfect, you know. I can't help it if I . . . I need . . . crave pain sometimes."
"Sherlock," Joan stated as a matter of fact. "I don't know what to say. I only know that I want to please you."
Joan had felt his explosive release inside her at the moment she bit him and she had always known that pain in a sexual context would not be a repugnant thing to Sherlock. She knew very well that whereas Sherlock was usually masterful and even unrestrained in his taking her and using her, later Sherlock would hold Joan so carefully, so tenderly, kissing her all over as he sobbed his love, his gratitude to her, opening his heart completely to her.
Joan stood and reflected on where she had come in her relationship with Sherlock and recalled his words as he had lain with her in bed.
"I love you . . . more than I have ever loved, Joan. The words come freely now, because they are so true. You know me so well, what I need. I should feel shame that I enjoy it when you inflict pain on me sometimes, luv, but I don't. Sometimes I crave pain in the worst way. Why do you think I went to those whores and paid them to beat me? I am quite damaged. Can you really love a man as damaged as I? There is something wrong with a man who needs pain."
"Because I do. I love you back . . . without reservation, with no limits. I love your mind and I love your body. When you are on me, I just begin to vibrate all over. I will bring you whatever pleasure you crave if you love me the same way. And Sherlock, I will not resent it if you even smack my behind when you feel inclined."
"Would you also indulge my desire to pinch your lovely nates on occasion? I am tempted relentlessly at the sight of your hind parts, luv."
Sherlock wrapped his arms around Joan and squeezed her hips as they gazed into each other's eyes.
"I think I should leave you to your work. I think I am distracting you."
"Distraction? Yes, but a source of the utmost pleasure."
Sherlock smacked Joan's bottom as she left him, but then he had to follow her back to bed, unable to resist the powerful urges in his flesh. He reached for Joan's hand and drew her back to him.
"Joan! Joan! I can't stop . . . I can't make it to our bed. Forgive me my extremely carnal nature!"
"Sherlock . . . baby . . . I for . . . give . . . Ooh, Ooh!"
He pushed Joan up against the wall of the hallway, rotating his excited pelvis upon hers as he kissed her again and again, stripping her clothes out of his way and tossing them aside as they slid to the floor there and came together again in a rhythmic tangle of arms and legs on the floor with Sherlock gripping Joan's hips, holding her on top of him in a perfect connection till they came to climax.
Later Joan had smoothed Sherlock's hair back from his damp forehead kissing him all the while. She loved lying with him in the afterglow, smelling the scent of his skin, his hair, his sweat, his semen in those moments before she took a shower when the scent of the efflux of sex was all over both of them. His scent was that of a wild man when he was aroused and Joan loved to lie in his scent, that strange heady mixture of sandalwood, violin rosin and pure man that was Sherlock. She had never felt completely conquered by a man till Sherlock made love to her and she loved that feeling, that feeling of throwing all caution to the wind, that feeling of being completely wanton in her need for him, even as he was conquered by his need for her.
In the morning Sherlock wakened with Joan in his bed in his arms. Tears flooded his eyes as he recalled the night that they had shared together. He had never felt this close to anyone in his life as he felt at that moment when he opened himself completely to Joan and she had given him what he craved and needed so. Sherlock's hands roved up and down Joan's back and he hugged her tightly.
"Sherlock, you are so strong . . .umm. . . umm," Joan sighed sleepily as she wakened in the warmth of his embrace.
"I am a very flawed human, Joan, and you understand and accept me with all my flaws, and I love you because of that."
They stared at each other in the morning light and there was absolutely nothing hidden from the other. Their souls were naked and bare to one another now.
Joan touched his finely sculptured lips with her fingertips and pressed down, opening up his mouth completely so that the soft wetness of the inside of his mouth moistened all of her fingers as she gently massaged his gums and his tongue and she even found the pair of mandibular tori in the floor of his mouth and massaged their soft firmness with her index finger in a manner that was so erotic that Sherlock began to salivate copiously.
"I love your mouth. This is what I always wanted to do, Sherlock."
"Aargh . . . Aargh!" Sherlock's eyes finally rolled back into his head and his body jerked helplessly as Joan pleasured him this way and then removed her hand from his mouth and carefully sucked the taste of him from her own fingers before she kissed him so passionately that he was completely undone, shaking and trembling in ecstasy. "Joan . . . Joan," he gasped.
"I love you, Sherlock."
Sherlock threw back the sheet so that they both lay completely naked as they began to engage in their morning session of pillow talk.
"I believe that I have loved you since that first day when you came here to me. Could you possibly have begun to love me then?"
Joan smiled at him and blushed, not because she was naked, but because he reached the depths of her heart with his question.
"I must say that I found myself supremely drawn to you. That is all I will say at this point."
Sherlock grinned with masculine pride as his flesh came to full attention in her sight.
"Oh, God, Sherlock!" Joan exclaimed, stunned at the sight of his maleness asserting itself so powerfully again.
"But, tell me. Did you always want this?" he said, gesturing toward his evident state.
"Yes," Joan answered simply before continuing. "You know that I have seen countless male specimens, Sherlock, both intact as well as circumcised. I am not a blushing virgin. And I had imagined you many times."
"And do you have a preference, a requirement?"
"Only that it belong to the man I love with all that I am. But I somehow think that the fact that you are intact is an unanticipated bonus."
"But you excite me as no other woman has ever excited me. My own flesh often shocks even me in our moments together . . . like when you put your hand in my mouth a few moments ago . . . something no other woman has done to me."
"You make me lose all restraint when I see you this way. I want nothing more than to be with you, to be whatever you want, to give you whatever you want, to fulfill all my fantasies."
Now it was Sherlock's turn to blush as Joan regarded him in the bright morning light from the window.
Joan lay back upon the pillows, her arms welcoming Sherlock now as she watched him gasp helplessly at the sight of her this way.
"God! You have no idea how much I am excited by the sight of you like this," he told her. "You are so beautiful, your beautiful yoni, your lovely . . ." he whispered into her ear the common word that sounded almost like poetry in his clipped British accent.
If Joan doubted his words, there was no further question when he fell upon her and began to kiss her over and over upon her neck and breasts and then her torso and belly.
"Oh, Sherlock!" Joan moaned as Sherlock continued to pleasure her. "Sherlock . . . Ooh . . . Ooh!"
Sherlock was consumed with his passion now as Joan cried out, her hands clutching his chestnut locks, as he held her fast.
Finally Sherlock lifted his head and the languid stare in his blue-green eyes revealed the depth of his ecstasy with her, as their open mouths were completely engaged again.
"Oh, God, my Joan! I love you so! Look at me! I am completely engorged. I beg you to attend to me. Please, Joan. I feel as if my testicles will burst because they are so full for you."
Joan held him fast as he pushed himself inside her in one powerful thrust and at that moment their bodies seemed to melt into one another as the cadence of coitus seized them once more.
"Is it good for you, woman? Is this good for you? Is this what you want?""
"Yes! Yes, Sherlock! Oh, yes! Yes! Do not spare me. Bang me into this bed!"
And that is what he did in a powerful flurry of rhythmic thrusts that pounded into the depths of her as Joan dug her nails into his forearms and then raked his back from his shoulders down to his muscular hips as her whole body contracted powerfully with each thrust as he used her and all the while she gripped both his hips, pulling him as deeply as possible, digging her nails in deep in her passion, wailing his name as ecstasy seized her at the same moment when Sherlock's release came in a blinding flash of light.
"Oh, God! God!" Sherlock cried out in an ecstatic orgasm, clenching his teeth, as he gave his seed to Joan, his eyes rolling back into his head as the spasms shook him to his foundations.
"Sherlock, baby, I am yours . . . completely." Joan swooned in surrender in his embrace, moaning his name. "Ooh, Sherlock . . . yes . . .yes," she was suddenly soft and tender with Sherlock, melting in her moment of capitulation.
Sherlock sobbed at the sound of her calling his name in that moment.
"Oh, my darling Joan . . . I do love you so," Sherlock cried as his tears flowed, wetting Joan's breasts as he lay in her embrace sucking her breasts as spasms continued to intermittently ripple both of through them.
They lay finally exhausted together, cooing softly to each other in their bed holding each other and realizing where they had come in their relationship together. They did not fall asleep immediately, but they just lay together for the next hour or so, hardly speaking, not needing to speak, needing only to look into each other's eyes as the deepest emotions flowed back and forth between them.
"My dearest Joan . . . my dearest Joan," Sherlock whispered into her ear as he kissed and nibbled her tiny earlobe.
"Sherlock . . . Yes . . . Oh, yes. Remember what I said to you . . . about the pull of your gravity? I cannot deny it. When you said we were bound, you were right. I knew that you were right when you said that. I am so bound to you."
"I adore you, Joan."
They finally got up from their bed and went into the bathroom to shower together and then tried to get dressed. They were constantly touching each other now in spite of themselves and trying to control themselves, their passions so stimulated that they were completely distracted by each other, stopping to rub up against each other and kiss and pat on each other. This was new to Sherlock, who had always shied away from all but the most necessary physical contact, but now craved it with Joan, constantly needing to touch her as if to reassure himself that she was his woman, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Work took their much of their attention and energy for the next few days as they investigated the case of the young Hasidic Jewish girl who had been found strangled on the bank of the East River near Peter Luger's. It turned out that she was the daughter of a rabbi in Williamsburg. The fact that she had not been reported missing raised a red flag to Sherlock.
"How could a young virgin woman from a closed society like the Hasidim go missing and not be reported?" Sherlock asked as he paced the floor of the brownstone.
"Sherlock, did the autopsy confirm her to be a virgin?"
"She was not intact, but there was no evidence of rape and it was still assumed that that was the case. The Hasidim are known to eschew all premarital sex and she was from one of the most well known families in Williamsburg."
"But, Sherlock, remember that one of her long braids had been cut. The long hair is a symbol of the virginity of young Hasidic women. I learned this from the Jews in Queens that lived in our neighborhood."
"We need to speak with persons in her neighborhood and to her family."
Sherlock and Joan went to visit the family of the girl in their coop apartment in Williamsburg.
"Sir, we are consultants with the NYPD and we are working with them to solve the murder of your daughter Hadassah."
"We are greatly saddened, Mr. Holmes, but the mystery will never be solved by your people. We have our own methods, our own council, to handle matters such as this."
Jacob Steiner turned to his teenage son standing observing the conversation and dismissed him with a stern glance which Sherlock noticed.
"She didn't believe in our ways any longer," the young man blurted out.
"You are?" Sherlock asked.
"I am Levy Steiner, Hadassah's twin brother. She was leaving our faith."
"That is enough, Levy. Leave this room now!" His father demanded sternly.
"Please don't shout at the boy, Mrs. Steiner begged. She had been silent till this point.
"Mrs. Steiner, may I have a glass of water?" Joan asked in an attempt to have a few private words with her.
"Certainly, come with me."
She led Joan down a hallway to the well-appointed kitchen and they passed a picture of Hadassah on the way, a dark-haired beauty with perfectly symmetrical features.
"Your daughter was beautiful. You have our deepest sympathy at your loss."
"My heart is broken. She was a special child. But she broke the rules and brought shame on our family by becoming involved with a goy. I know she couldn't help it, but there was no way it could end up well."
"Do you know the young man she became involved with?"
"She never told me his name, but I knew she was seeing a young man. I saw the change in her. She suddenly was not a child any more. A mother knows when that change takes place. And then I found this note in her things after she was found murdered."
Gertrude Steiner drew an envelope from her bosom and handed it to Joan.
"If you find the young man she wrote this to, please give it to him. It was meant for him. He must be devastated. I know you probably think that we are unreasonably strict, but I do have a heart, Miss Watson. When I was Hadassah's age, I fell in love with a Gentile boy. It was the most difficult time of my life. I did not give in to him, but I came very close to it."
Joan took the note and put it into her purse, drank her glass of water and followed Mrs. Steiner back to the living room.
As Sherlock and Joan left the Steiner home, they saw Levy who was sitting on a stoop in front of the family grocery store a couple doors down and stopped to speak with him.
"So, Levy, why was your sister going to leave the faith?" Joan asked him. She paused for a long moment before continuing. "Did she fall in love with the wrong young man?"
His silence confirmed their suspicions.
"We need to talk with him. He would know who may have made a threat against your sister," Sherlock said.
Young Levy shrugged his shoulders and nodded toward a slender teenage Hispanic fellow who was easily carrying boxes of produce from a truck in the street into the store. Sherlock and Joan walked toward the young man and he stopped at their approach.
"His name is Carlos, Carlos Reyes," Levy had said as he got up from the stoop and walked away.
"Excuse us, you might be Carlos?" Sherlock said as they approached the handsome young Puerto Rican man offloading groceries from the truck parked near the grocery store.
"Yeah, what you want with me?"
"Young Levy there tells us that you knew his sister Hadassah who passed away last week. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm her?"
Carlos' eyes immediately filled and he turned away from Sherlock and Joan. It was obvious that he had had an emotional connection with the murdered girl.
"I don't know, man. I can't talk here."
"Here is my card. Come here this evening."
The young man took Sherlock's card and they left him there.
"Do you sense that something may have been going on between Hadassah and our young Carlos there?"
Joan nodded. "And that would have definitely been forbidden by her faith."
"Let's stop in the Steiners' grocery store. I want to just observe."
They walked into the typically kosher establishment and walked around a bit. They stood out among the people of the Williamsburg neighborhood. None the less, Joan picked out some pastrami and corned beef at the deli counter and they then walked to the cash register where a nondescript looking thirty-something bearded fellow with a nameplate that read "Moishe" was handling money matters.
"So, Moishe, is it, you know the Steiner family?" Sherlock queried.
"You are asking why?" Moishe answered curtly.
"We work with the NYPD and we are investigating the murder of young Hadassah Steiner."
"The Steiner family and our own council will handle matters. Our community attends to these matters. We have no need of the NYPD."
"Well, when a murder has been committed, the NYPD supersedes any neighborhood council. How well did you know the deceased young woman?"
There was a brief moment when an expression passed across Moishe's face that revealed something that Sherlock had begun to suspect.
"I was fond of Hadassah for a very long time. I had hoped that when she came of age, we could be married. Simple as that. No more, no less."
Joan peered at the man and then back at Sherlock.
"We will chat again perhaps, sir," Sherlock said as he paid the man.
Sherlock and Joan took a taxi back home and Joan handed the note to him to read as they rode along.
"My dearest and only love, I cannot tell you how much I loved being with you yesterday. I know that things went beyond . . . but you only took what I freely gave to you. The pain was for but a moment, my joy forever. I will never give myself to anyone else, my dearest love.
Yours always,
DassahS
They were preoccupied by their own thoughts as they rode the rest of the way back to the brownstone at the end of the day. It was easy to see what had probably happened between Hadassah and the handsome young Carlos.
It was after dark when Carlos Reyes showed up at the brownstone. Sherlock ushered him into the parlor where the young man sat down. He seemed to be rather uneasy.
"It was obvious today that something happened between you and the young lady in question. How did you become acquainted with her?"
"Well, nothing happened really at first . . . nothing serious. I work for this company that makes deliveries each week to the store. We would always just speak and then one day I was putting the produce in the walk-in fridge and she came in there. Sir, we just looked at each other, you know, and then she pushed me up against a box of grapefruit and we kissed. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me. Hadassah was so beautiful. I know she had seen me stare at her. She was so different from the girls I grew up around. Everything about her was a mystery. Her clothes completely hid her body, you know, skirts below the knee and tops that didn't show anything below her neck, but that didn't hide her body. But all that just made me curious. Then when she kissed me like that and pressed my hand against, her- her breast . . . her breast was so soft and. . . . everything inside me . . . you know, it all just came alive like fire in my belly that the first time."
Joan dropped her head and smiled to herself at the young man's description of the awakening of his youthful passions.
"Did anyone observe this . . . encounter, Carlos?" Sherlock asked.
"I know her cousin was in the store at the cash register. I don't know if he knew what happened. I had to get out of there or something else would have happened. The next time I made a delivery her cousin Moishe followed me as I put everything in place. Then he got in my face and told me to keep my filthy schlong away from his cousin."
Sherlock went silent in a long moment of reflection. As he looked at Joan and saw the compassion in her eyes, it was a mirror of his own feelings at the sad results of a first youthful dalliance.
"We knew that we were in love, Mr. Holmes. We were sure of it. We planned to get married when she was able to leave home. We were both just nineteen. I had to be prepared to care for her."
"So you and Hadassah had opportunities to communicate otherwise?" Joan asked as they tried to understand the extent of the relationship between the two young people.
"She slipped a note to me when I made the delivery and gave me her cell phone number and we would talk hours on the phone. She said that she was in love with me."
"So you and Hadassah passed notes when he made deliveries to your parents grocery store on Lee Avenue." Joan stated as a fact.
Carlos nodded.
"Were you in love with her, son?" Sherlock asked with uncharacteristic tenderness.
"Yes, I was. She was the first girl I ever felt that way about. We started meeting over in the city when she went to take care of business for her family. We just wanted to touch each other, kiss, hold hands. No one knew except Levy, her twin brother. He is the one that warned me that her cousin, the one that worked in the store had told their father that he wanted to marry Hadassah when she was of age. She hated him. He accused her of having been with a non-Hasidic boy, a goy. He said that he could tell."
"You refer to Moishe, the man working at the cash register?"
"Yes, Moishe Weitz. He accused her of being with me, you know. But we hadn't touched each other like that then. I respected her and I loved her."
"You are sure that you and Hadassah did not eventually have intercourse?" Sherlock asked him directly.
The handsome Hispanic youth flushed in embarrassment and his shoulders slumped as he shook his head.
"I swear that we did not plan to. We saw each other and kissed and we t-touched each other, you know. But then that one time she put my hand under her sweater . . . against her breast, and I-I put my hand inside her bra, I couldn't help myself. And then, Oh, God, she touched me . . . down there, you know, and we completely lost control. We didn't plan for it to go that far. Honestly we just somehow ended up doing it."
Joan sensed the difficulty that Carlos was having explaining what happened between him and Hadassah and stepped out of the room for a moment to give him a private man-to-man moment with Sherlock.
"Continue, young man. A man of honor will not deny the truth in matters such as this. He will always take responsibility for his actions."
"I had never . . . never had sex and . . . I respected her, but she was so beautiful, Mr. Holmes. But I take responsibility for being with her like that. Suddenly it was like I was out of my head. I was inside her, shaking all over and crying out and she was too. I guess that we had an-an . . ."
"It's called orgasm, son. It is the culmination of what happens when a male and female successfully have sexual intercourse. It is meant to be a beautiful part of adult life," Sherlock stated as a matter of fact.
"I'm so sorry. I knew that she was a virgin. And I caused her pain in that moment, but she forgave me in the very next moment. I truly loved Hadassah and I respected her. We planned to run away from New York to get married when we were old enough. She called me her. . . her bubbelah," Carlos said, breaking down in tears as Joan came back into the room.
"It happened once and then . . . then the next time we just couldn't stop ourselves. Oh, God! Mr. Holmes, we completely lost control of the situation," Carlos said as he doubled over, dissolving in tears. "We saw each other . . . and then we were doing it. We couldn't stop ourselves. We had sex ten times . . . ten beautiful times. We started figuring how to use condoms and Dassah started taking the pill for protection."
Sherlock and Joan sat back and gave Carlos time to compose himself. It was obvious to them that he was badly shaken by what had happened to Hadassah.
"I couldn't even say goodbye to her. I couldn't go to her funeral because I was afraid of her people. I couldn't even tell my mother what had happened to us."
"What do you believe happened to her, Carlos?" Joan asked carefully.
"I don't know. Why would anyone hurt her? If she was hurt because of me . . . if I had known that would happen, I would never have let myself fall in love with her."
"Carlos, we often don't have a choice when it happens. When that chemistry exists, it exists. I have come to know that love is not something of human construct. Neither you nor Hadassah knew what happened to you when that hit you."
Sherlock and Joan felt the powerful energy pass between Sherlock and herself and in the same instant the young man's eyes registered the realization that the liaison between him and Hadassah had probably led to her death and he began to weep profusely.
"Carlos, I think that you should go home to your family and let us pursue this matter for the police. Just be . . . thankful that you have your memories, son," Sherlock said.
"I never knew my father, Mr. Holmes, nobody to teach me how to be a man. I completely lost control of the situation. I know that I made a terrible mess of things."
"It isn't easy, being a real man, Carlos. It takes some of us a while to learn. You have had a rough start, but it doesn't mean that you, you n-never will love again, that you cannot become a fine man." Sherlock stuttered a bit as he often did when his emotions took hold of him. "I think that this last note from Hadassah was intended for you."
Sherlock handed the young man the note that Hadassah's mother had found and Carlos. Unfolded it and read it and broke down completely in tears. Finally he unexpectedly fell into Sherlock's arms and hugged him. It was much to Sherlock's surprise, when Carlos, overcome with the loss of his first love in such a tragic manner, reached out to Sherlock as a sort of father figure.
After they finally closed the door behind Carlos Reyes, Sherlock sighed heavily and turned to Joan and took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.
"I'll make a pot of coffee. I think we will need it tonight," Joan said.
"I think that we should go to bed, luv. Tomorrow will be soon enough to question cousin Moishe. He picked up on the release of tension in Hadassah and concluded that she had been intimate with someone."
"So the infamous gait test gave her away. She didn't even realize the effect being with her young man would have on her. Only someone who had sexual designs on her like Moishe would have noticed something like that."
"A tragic result for two beautiful young people who were impossibly drawn together," Sherlock sighed wearily as they walked toward the parlor.
"And Moishe?"
"He is probably arrogant enough to believe that he got away with murder . . . probably feels that his actions were justified. He is not going anywhere. I have no doubt that we will find that the skin found under Hadassah's fingernails will be a DNA match for him. And I have no doubt that we will find her missing braid of hair in his possession. It seems to be all too clear to me what happened. We will deal with all of this with Moishe Weitz tomorrow in company with Captain Gregson and Detective Bell at the precinct."
"So what will we do this evening?"
"If you permit me, I want to lie in bed with you now . . . and be thankful that I have found you, that love and the pain of love, 'liebe und liebes weh,' are summed up completely in you. Let's forget the coffee for now, luv."
Sherlock reached out, caught Joan's hand, and drew her close up against his body, kissing her passionately over and over, letting his hands wander over her and squeezing her hips as the kisses continued till they were both breathless.
"What do you think would have happened if we had met when you and I were teenagers, Sherlock?" Joan asked later as they lay in his bed in the afterglow of passionate intercourse.
"What just happened is what would have happened, Joan. We would have gotten into all kinds of mischief. Please don't tell me that you wouldn't have let me have my way with you," Sherlock said as he kissed her all over her breasts and then searched for her open mouth again. "I would have loved to have known you then, when you were a nubile adolescent just coming into your own as a woman."
"I didn't even have a boyfriend, Sherlock. No one had awakened all this in me. I just read books . . . and daydreamed. Do you remember feeling what young Carlos was feeling for the first time?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do remember it vividly." Sherlock paused for a long moment in reflection. I was in school in London and I spent the holiday with a school friend. She was his sister, his older sister. Evelyn was her name. I was a suffering, fully developed virgin boy at eighteen and she was twenty-two. I remember being absolutely mesmerized at the sight of her hips swaying in that seductive way they did. I knew then why I wanted to be with a woman and I knew what that meant. It became crystal clear to me."
"And did you . . .?"
"She made things clear in no uncertain terms. She didn't love me but she enjoyed playing with me and teaching me and I never had any doubts about the the purpose of all of this after that," he said as he gestured in the direction of his genitalia. "But I had to meet and get to know and love a certain beautiful brown-eyed woman who would take me completely beyond anything I could have possibly imagined and now I truly am getting to know the purpose of all of it. It has taken you to help me to see how to make all the pieces fit, so to speak. They do fit, you know, luv. . . the pieces, all of them . . . our minds, our bodies. They . . . we fit perfectly."
Joan's eyes filled as she gathered him to her breasts.
"You are my sweet, sweet 'bubbelah,' "Joan said softly, as she ran her fingers through his hair.
"My dear Watson, I am anything but sweet," Sherlock said in his most Sherlockian manner.
"Oh, but you are sweet to me, baby. Why do you think I love you so much?," Joan said as she leaned down to kiss his forehead and hugged him.
"Dear Lord, Joan," Sherlock sighed as his whole psyche felt the warmth of Joan's love for him and his heart felt as if it would burst. "You have undone me."
The next day Gregson had cousin Moishe brought in for questioning and arranged for a search warrant for his apartment. The missing braid was located in the night table beside his bed. He was so arrogant that he had not even hidden it.
As Sherlock and Joan walked from the interrogation room after Moishe's confession, Sherlock turned to Joan. Her eyes were full.
"Joan?"
"I just was thinking about Carlos. He was so hurt. He probably needs a different job. Maybe we can use him as a messenger of some sort or find other odd jobs for him."
"Sure, we will. I understand. We will find something for him to do."
Joan caught Sherlock's hand causing him to stop in his tracks for a moment.
"One of these days you will be a great father, do you know that?"
"Do you really think so, luv?" Sherlock flushed uncharacteristically before he quickly recovered. "Come along here for a moment."
Sherlock drew Joan down a quiet hallway and into a seldom used interrogation room and shut the door behind them. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her all over her face and then so hard upon her mouth that he took her breath away.
"We need to go home right now, Joan, don't you think?" Sherlock said, trembling slightly, wanting his Joan so badly at that moment that all other thoughts were blown out of his mind. "I am in such need of you."