And What of Fiona?

Chapter two

By phaedraphelan

Summary: This is Sherlock and Joan coming to terms with the fact that they are passionately in love with each other. Shameless Joanlock pure and simple is what you will get.

Disclaimer: "Elementary" is the artistic property of CBS, and no infringement is intended.

Sherlock and Joan wakened the next day to the realization that their relationship had changed completely. Sherlock lay in bed listening to Joan snore ever so softly upon his chest and he was brought to tears. He had for so long kept himself from acknowledging the depth of his feelings for her that now it was as if a dam had burst releasing a flood of emotions that he had never allowed himself to experience.

Sherlock caught his breath sharply as his flesh reacted to Joan upon his chest and she wakened with a start. Sherlock smoothed her long dark hair tenderly from her face and drew her closer even to him.

"Joan, luv, I am at a loss for words now, holding you like this. I am helpless in the face of my feelings for you. Do you know that?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I know. I love you too. I have loved you for so long."

Joan lifted her head so that she could look into Sherlock's eyes and she saw all the love in his eyes as he stared into hers and smiled that crooked smile she loved so much as Sherlock drew her up onto him so that he could claim her mouth for himself.

"We truly got carried away last night, didn't we? I had wanted you for so long. I tried to hold myself back, to keep from touching you because I knew that the moment I did I would be lost in my desire for you. And I am lost, lost in my love, my passion. Oh, God, woman, I needed to be with you in the worst way for so long! I guess that is why I turned to someone like Fiona . . . when I really needed and wanted only you. And when I heard you crying out my name at that moment when it happened for you, I knew I had found what I have been searching for all of my life."

Joan and Sherlock kissed now, over and over, and she climbed onto him and their bodies easily joined again and they began to rock together, moaning softly with each thrust.

"Oh, Sherlock . . . Sherlock . . . Yes! Yes!

Sherlock and Joan lost the ability to speak as they continued to rock in the timeless rhythm of procreation. They were in another dimension, unaware of the sun just beginning to stream in through their window, unaware of the city coming to life outside the brownstone, unaware of anything except the power of the passion that had been pent up for so long inside them and that had now found a release. If anyone had been in that quiet house with them at that moment it would have been impossible to ignore the sounds of their cries of joy as Sherlock spilled into Joan.

"Sherlock! Oh, Sherlock! Oooh!"

"Yes! Yes! Woman, yes!"

They suddenly saw explosions like brilliant sunspots in their brains as the summit crashed over them and their bodies were wracked with spasm after spasm till Joan went limp in Sherlock's arms in complete capitulation as he cooed her name over and over while his pelvis continued to jerk rhythmically till the passion finally released its grip on them.

Hours later Joan awakened to the smell of coffee brewing. She was unable to move at first, so fatigued from his vigorous use of her that she simply lay quietly in her bed as she began to mentally reconstruct the series of events that had brought them to that point.

It had happened so quickly, the powerful awakening of the sensual connection between them. One minute they were observing the usual reserve between them, the tight rope that they had walked so carefully for so long that had kept them from reaching out to satisfy the need that had been steadily building within them, and now the passion had surged inside them suddenly without warning despite all of their efforts to suppress it. When Sherlock had taken her hand and kissed it, Joan had melted inside from the heat in the pit of her belly, and it had been all over. When he drew her into his arms and she felt the length of his body against hers, it was all over in that moment.

Sherlock had been everything she had imagined as a lover, and even more than she could have imagined. . . tender and gentle, but then wildly passionate when he carried her up the stairs to her room to lie down with her. All the unspoken words held back for so long tumbled out in a flood of love expressions from his lips.

When Joan opened her thighs to accept him, they both cried out for the joy and sheer beauty of it. They had realized at the moment of their coming together that they were perfectly matched sexually. There was no deficit, no need that was not met as their parts joined, and they found indescribable pleasure in the rhythm of coitus.

Joan's eyes filled with tears as she remembered the moment when it happened for her, when that rollercoaster ride Sherlock took her on seemed to become airborne and she saw all the stars of the Milky Way exploding in her brain. And she remembered what came after, that very thing that had escaped her all her adult life, that moment of complete surrender to her man, that moment when her capitulation was so total that she could only wail out his name over and over as he gasped and snorted like a wild horse in her arms.

Sherlock had reluctantly left Joan in her bed and gone downstairs to make coffee. He had wanted to stay in her bed, in her arms, but he suddenly realized the full import of what had happened to them the night before, what had really been happening ever since he met Joan. That realization shook him to his foundations. The thought that he might have missed the discovery that his dear Watson was to be the love of his life literally terrified him.

Fiona had been a distraction, nothing more. He knew that dreams of making love to Joan had plagued his dreams ever since he came back from his period of self-exile in London the previous year, but he had tried to simply charge them up to his basic physical needs as a man and had refused to recognize his specific desire for Joan as the centerpiece. But any attempt to relieve the sexual pressure he felt had done nothing to alter the persistent pull he felt from deep in his soul toward Joan.

Now, as Sherlock searched for Joan's favorite coffee beans and proceeded to make their morning coffee, his mind was deluged with sensations of such pure pleasure surging through him that he was forced to stop what he was doing.

"Dear God, I'm done for here . . . completely done for."

He sat down, shaken, unable to continue, his flesh crying out for the embrace of the woman whose bed he had left a short time earlier. He remembered lying in her bosom earlier, suckling at her breasts as she cherished him in her arms.

Finally Sherlock got up from the table, finished making the coffee and carried a tray bearing the coffee and scones along with huge fresh strawberries and a dish of clotted cream up to Joan's bedroom. Joan was sitting up on her bed, twisting her long hair into two braids, the sheet drawn across her lap, but nothing covering her bare torso. When Sherlock entered the room, she instinctively reached to pull the sheet up to cover herself, very aware of Sherlock's eyes widened in a passionate stare, his nostrils flaring gently as he inhaled the scent of her.

"Please don't cover yourself from me, luv. I apologize for staring, but I am unable to help myself at this moment. As long as I have known you, I have never seen you more beautiful."

They were both still for a long moment regarding one another in this new context in which they found themselves. Then Joan smiled tenderly and dropped the sheet from her breasts.

"Come here, Sherlock, and sit beside me," she said, patting the spot beside her on her bed.

Sherlock put the tray down and sat beside her, never letting his penetrating stare leave her and Joan reached to touch him, first smoothing his tousled hair and then caressing his lips with just her fingertips. Sherlock caught her hand up and kissed her fingers and then pressing his face to her open palm inhaled the scent of her soft skin.

"How did we not know? How did you allow me to go on a wild goose chase after Fiona when you felt this way?"

"I didn't dare let myself want you this way, Sherlock. I have always loved you, but I fought these feelings inside me. I was afraid you did not share my feelings. I tried. I tried to love you as a brother, but it has always been more than that with me."

"And the feelings I have had for so long, my dearest Watson. I do love you . . . not in that filial sense that we have both tried so hard to maintain, but passionately, madly, as a man whose heart and belly is on fire for the woman who is the love of his life. I see you now, dearest Joan, and I am like a twenty-year old who is experiencing adult love for the first time and I am in such a state here. Do you see the state you have me in now?"

Joan nodded and welcomed him into her arms and they began to kiss each other's lips all over again, at first gently, tenderly, tasting each other's mouths.

"Coffee . . . getting cold, luv," Sherlock said between kisses, but he was overwhelmed by the sensation of Joan's hands reaching under his old worn tee shirt to feel his heart beating for her, continuing to get to know the feel of his body that belonged to her now in the fullest sense.

When Joan pushed down his sweat pants so that she could embrace his muscular hips and pull him onto her to welcome him inside her again, their emotions completely captured them, and their kisses became more impassioned, more insistent.

"We can drink cold coffee, can't we? Oh, Sherlock, I do need you so," Joan murmured as they rapidly became lost in each other.

"Your hair . . . your beautiful hair . . . I need to put my hands in your hair," Sherlock said as he loosened her braids so that Joan's dark hair was set free again.

"Sherlock! Yes, baby!"

"Oh, dear God! Joan! Joan!" Sherlock cried in anguish as they came together and that special and peculiar pressure began to build in his pelvis that signaled that his release was imminent. "Oh, Joanie! My sweetheart! I love you so much! Every moment . . . every day of my life I confess that I had to fight to quell my lust for you."

"Take whatever you want now, whatever you need! Just don't stop, Sherlock! Yes . . .yes!"

They were completely engaged in the act of love, groaning and crying out to each other, caught up in the rhythm of coitus, saying all the things that they had held back in their hearts for so long . . . love words that flooded in a torrent from their lips as they moved in the timeless synchrony of perfectly matched lovers.

When the climax surged over them, they quickly became incoherent, gasping and sobbing as spasm after spasm seized and held them in its grip as fireworks exploded simultaneously in their brains till Joan capitulated, melting in Sherlock's embrace as he continued to kiss her over and over while she trembled in his arms, her hands gripping and rubbing his shoulders as she clung to him.

Finally Sherlock kissed her open mouth again before he finally rolled off her to lie beside her, just holding onto her hand, looking into her eyes watching the passion in her eyes slowly ebb.

"I always thought you would be like this, luv," Sherlock whispered.

"Like what, Sherlock?" Joan whispered, blushing under his gaze.

"Passionate beyond my wildest imagination!"

"Then why didn't you do something about it?"

"I didn't think myself worthy of you, milady," Sherlock said quietly.

"But you knew that you had what I needed, didn't you, Sherlock?"

"It had crossed my mind more than once. I began to find myself lying in bed every night wanting you. I thought when Fiona came into the picture I could perhaps find what I had been needing so desperately with her. I was sadly mistaken. I need to be held in the bosom of the woman I love. I need to suckle and be cuddled, Joan."

Sherlock lifted himself up so that he could kiss Joan's dainty nipples with his lips as Joan clasped his head to her breasts while he suckled there to his heart's content as he lay comfortably in Joan's arms.

"Sherlock, I think I want to drink this coffee you brought. And those scones, are they from that special bakery?"

"Well, I really thought Fiona would stay for breakfast. Imagine that? There are also fresh strawberries with clotted cream."

Sherlock dipped one of the huge strawberries into the clotted cream and put it into Joan's mouth.

"Umm, umm," Joan murmured.

Her mouth was full of strawberry but the next thing Sherlock was kissing her and they were sharing the sweet juicy strawberry together. Then they playfully fed each other pieces of the marvelous buttery scones. Joan squealed when Sherlock dropped a dollop of the clotted cream on her midriff and then kissed and licked it off as she giggled softly. Then Joan dipped two of her fingers into the clotted cream and put them both into Sherlock's mouth so he could suck the cream off as she explored the inside of his mouth with her fingertips.

"Sherlock, I didn't know you had mandibular tori," Joan said as she found and massaged the bony formations she had discovered in the floor of his mouth.

"Woman, where did you learn to do that?" Sherlock groaned happily, writhing passionately as Joan pleasured him in her own unique way

"I don't know, Sherlock. I never wanted to do that to anyone but you. I love your mouth, your lips."

"And I love you. God! I love you, Joan!" Sherlock cried, drawing her into a hug in his arms that took her breath away.