The Deduction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

D

Dreamer-

Guest
(I didn't feel like the name 'Sherlock' had to be changed to anything more feminine, so kept it the same. Feel free the change Johns name if you like.)

Blue, black, and different tones of grey swirl in the darkness behind the backs of her eye lids. It was an interesting activity, trying to follow the colors around as the strain on the eye muscles made it painful after a while. And it did little to chase away the thoughts racing threw her mind, which cause a throbbing in her frontal lobe like a white-hot poker. So Sherlock took another long drag from her cigarette that was held between the tips of her long pale fingers. Jesus Christ was this day ever to end? Though its not like the night held any relief; she stayed up, wide awake and tuning her violin till 3 o'clock in the morning.

No... there was to be no remedy to the boredom that consumed Sherlock body and soul. The only good thing that was happening was the possibility of suffocation with the cigarette smoke to oxygen ratio in the room. Well, truthfully it was only enough to make her pass out, but the headache when Sherlock was awoken would be worth it. Earlier, before sprawling her long limbs over the sofa, she had closed up all of the windows and shut the curtains. All doors were closed and the only fresh air able to get threw was from the cracks under the front door and the vents. But because it had been hours since Sherlock had started this activity, the vents were clogged with nothing but grey haze.

A twitch of a smirk spreads across the women's lips as she let her hand fall limp back to her side, hanging off of the couch and flicking cigarette ash on the floor. The swirl of colors just continued on when she opened her eyes. Only these were tones of muddy grey and black, nothing remotely remarkable. All except for the way the ash moves... A person could tell the brand and type of leafs in a cigarette just from the ash in the air, or tin. Which ever one preferred... Then again, the color was important. Even these grey shades swirling around. The small details were always important. For instance the thickness and tint of this smog made it clear there wasn't a filter on the cigarette and it was high in tar. Prefect for ruining the lungs but delightful to inhale and cover the taste buds with.

Another good aspect was there was no one to bug her about this vice of hers. The good doctor was out at the clinic, spending her time looking over the insignificant patients she loved so much. Why, Sherlock had no idea. There was no point in caring for any of those people. It's not like they had a connection or relationship with the doctor outside of hours. She always spends so much time there... Why? When I'm here and clearly so much more interesting. Sherlock shakes her head sharply, a deep and disgusted frown darkening her features. Damn it, she did it again. How is it that that women is always popping into her mind? Its becoming more frequent that's for sure, and increasingly annoying. Sherlock didn't have the power to stop the racing thoughts on subjects like work, or cases with serial killer and murders. But that was fine... it was normal. And she had adjusted to it... But these random thoughts about Watson were disconcerting to say the least. They were friends and Sherlock cared about the other women. That was something she had begrudgingly come to terms with, but this was something new and strange. Emotions were always messy and something to stay away from, they clouded thoughts and reasonable judgment. That's why they were called emotions.

Sherlock lets out a long and tired sigh, letting escape the smoke that had been locked inside her lungs. This stream quickly blended in with the large cloud that consumed the entire room. With her free hand she brushes her bangs out of her eyes, feeling the curly black hair frame her face. Maybe it was time for a hair cut?. . . No. When the mats grew unmanageable then she'd cut it all off. Like last time, and the time before that. It was customary for Sherlock to wait till her hair was unnecessarily long and then crop it short. Though it didn't matter much anyway, it was just hair.
 
RE: The Dedeuction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

(I'll make it "Joan" then, hope you don't mind)

"Thank you very much, Dr.Watson," said the old woman in front of Joan. She nodded with a smile and waited patiently for the woman to stand up from her seat. "Take care, Mrs.Miller," said Joan, "and remember - twice a day." She watched the woman walking slowly out of the room, taking her time. When the door finally closed behind her, Joan sighed with relief. She looked at the list of patients that was on the screen of her computer and scrolled down to the end. She clicked the little box by the word "Miller" and a small V appeared in it. It was the last name on the list, which meant that Joan finally gets to go home. She stretched her arms and yawned, her mood lightened at once. She loved working at the clinic, there was no doubt about it, but sometimes she just wanted some peace and quiet. Besides, after such a long hard day with so many patients, she deserved the right to be a little tired. Joan turned off the computer and took the pin out of her hair, finally setting it free. The pin was digging into her head for hours now, and she wished to take it out a lot sooner. Her hair wasn't long and it barely touched her shoulders, but she was still required to hold it up with a pin while she was working. She ran her fingers through it and shook her head, feeling a lot better. Joan took off her white robe and hung it on the hook by the door. She put on her coat and grabbed her bag, took a quick glance at the mirror, and turned off the lights.

As Joan walked towards the exit of the clinic, she passed by the receptionist. "Watson, out," she said. "Got it. Have a nice day, Dr.Watson," said Stacy the receptionist with a wide smile. She was a very young blonde woman who giggled a lot, but Joan liked her. She was always very positive and energetic, and she greeted everyone with a smile. "Goodbye, Stacy," said Joan with a light wave of her hand as she walked out the door, "see you tomorrow."

Joan reached the bus station and waited. Her thoughts were buzzing with words that her patients said to her, and she couldn't take them out of her mind. It's hard to pay close attention to every single person when you have so many patients, but Joan managed to do so. Perhaps it was because of her caring nature, or maybe because she was used to helping others throughout her whole life. Whatever the reason, Joan loved her job and there was nothing more delightful to her than looking back at the day she had and thinking about all of the people she managed to take care of. Well, there was maybe one thing... Joan wasn't sure why she admired Sherlock so much. Maybe it was the woman's extraordinary talent, or her unique mind. Joan was mainly fascinated by her, and the more she thought about her the more she wanted to come home already.

The bus finally arrived to the station and Watson got on it gladly, it was getting rather cold outside and her hands were freezing. The ride home wasn't too long, and it passed by rather quickly as Joan stared out of the window, deep in thought. She was in a good mood and the day was satisfying enough, yet whenever Watson was left alone for too long she began to think. And thinking lead to memories, and memories... When she walked out of that bus a short time later, she wasn't as cheerful as she was when she got in. Finally, the sight of her home at 221b Baker Street made her smile ever so slightly and walk a little bit faster.

Joan climbed the stairs and opened the door half smiling, but her smile fell at once when she smelled the air. "You're smoking again," she said and coughed, "this is unbelievable." She walked to the window, opened the curtains and then the window itself, relieved as some fresh air got in and she could breathe again. "Were you just sitting here all day? You know how much I disapprove of this habit of yours," said Joan and gave Sherlock a disapproving look. She crossed her arms on her chest and just stood there for a few moments, looking at Sherlock. She felt something weird - was she angry? Not quite. Was she feeling betrayed? That's silly. Disappointed? Maybe, although it shouldn't surprise her, that was definitely not the first time. And probably not the last one either.

"Listen to me," she said, "I'm telling you both as a doctor and as your friend - stop it, please." Joan tried to sound convincing, but she still wasn't sure how to speak to Sherlock. She was so intelligent and amazingly clever. Her sense of logic was impeccable. But then, why couldn't she see how bad it was for her? Why was she harming herself? "Alright, are you going to throw that away yourself, or are you going to make me do it for you?" she asked, gesturing at the cigarette between Sherlock's fingers.
 
RE: The Dedeuction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

(I'm perfectly fine with that :))

Sherlock had heard the foot steps outside of the door, and the 'click' of the dead bolt sliding back into place. But the sounds seemed to be in the background of her thoughts, like having something in your peripheral vision. You know its there but it doesn't quite register. Yet when Joan walks into the room Sherlock's eyes slide slowly over in her direction. What happened next was inevitable, but it didn't make Sherlock any less irritated. The currents being yanked open and fresh air in the room completely distorted the atmosphere. Her train of thought was now broken, or at least pushed aside, putting a peevish frown on Sherlock's face. "Damn it Joan. I was in the middle of something here. Aren't you the one always going on about 'social courtesies' and such?" Sherlock gets up off the sofa, holding the cigarette between her lips as she shakes out her clothing and preens. Once was she was satisfied and the thin grey robe was back in place the cigarette goes between her fingers.

The women with chaotically curly hair waits until the Doctor was done ranting, her lean body still as a statue. "Your the one that wants it out, not me. Only logical you do it." She remarked, looking more and more like a petulant 5-year old having its toy being taken away, back-talking just to get the last word. When Joan did take the cigarette and go to dispense it properly, Sherlock's eyes follow her. She marked the state of her clothing, shoes and Joan's physique. More or less an average day, many patients. That was also clear by the hour she had gotten back. But for once Sherlock kept silent and sprawled herself on the couch again, taking up almost all of it with her long legs. She did this just to irritate her flat-mate even more, since Joan was tired and wanted to rest. But Joan would have to sit in a chair, or move Sherlock's feet to sit down. At this moment a thought popped into her skull: Watson would have to touch her in moving her legs. The notion almost made Sherlock pull her body up to make room for the other woman. This issued a mental roll of the eyes, why should she be afraid of being touched? Joan wasn't going to harm her. So with this mentality Sherlock settled down and relaxed, back molding into the cushions.

She looks over to the 'case wall' where anything for the Scotland Yard would be posted. Alas. . . Nothing. They hadn't gotten anything for a whole week. How long would this hateful dry spell last? And calls from Mycroft had been sparse. He had nothing either, but even if he did happen to call. . . Sherlock wouldn't take the case. Oh yes, play cat and mouse with the subject for awhile but in the end refuse to help, even if she did solve it. Seeing the look on her big brother's face was just to precious to deny herself. But none of that would do right now, since she wasn't getting any calls it wouldn't be probable to waste time dwelling on notional situations.

Sherlock glances towards the kitchen, looking at the tubes, beakers, Bunsen burner, and microscope on the table. She could always experiment with potassium permanganate and glycerol and truly gas everyone out of the flat. But for how ever amusing that would be to Sherlock, one glance at Joan told her that the Doctor wouldn't take a favorable shine to the idea. She let out a groan and stuffed her face into the cushions of the sofa and continued to rack her brain for something to do. Rubix Cube? No. God no.
 
RE: The Dedeuction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

Joan snatched the cigarette out of Sherlock's hand and went to the kitchen. Now she was getting angry, this woman never listened! It didn't matter how many times Joan tried to lecture her about the disadvantages of smoking, it seemed as though she couldn't care less. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and I know everything," she muttered under her breath as she put out the cigarette and threw it away, "except for the fact that my lungs will turn black and shrink to the size of a raisin, and I'll get cancer and die. But oh well, who cares about that, all that matters is that I'm bored." She rolled her eyes as she looked around the kitchen. It was a mess as always, and there were almost no signs that this kitchen belonged to a human being. It was bizarre and usually made her slightly uncomfortable, but she was used to it. If it wasn't for Watson's patience and tolerance, she would've left a long time ago. Anyone else would, it wasn't easy to tolerate Sherlock with all of her weird and irritating habits.

Joan stayed in the kitchen for a while, rubbing the bridge of her nose and trying to breathe slowly. She had a lot of difficult patients in her life. Somehow she always managed to stay calm in front of them, and eventually help them. Perhaps one day she'll manage to help Sherlock too, in the meantime she had to stay calm and act as though everything is completely normal. She came back from the kitchen and rolled her eyes at the sight of Sherlock on the couch. "Very mature," she said as she walked up to her legs and moved them from the couch to have a place to sit. She took her seat and leaned back, breathing slowly and deeply. The air still smelled like smoke, but the way her body felt relaxed against the couch was worth it. Only then she noticed that she was still wearing her coat. "Right," she said as she got back up and took off her coat, "I'm going to take a shower. Don't you dare taking another cigarette while I'm there, do you understand me?" Joan left her coat on the chair and muttered "of course you understand me, you're Sherlock Holmes for god's sake."

She left her coat on the chair and went into the bathroom. Joan took a long shower, releasing all of the stress held in her body. The hot water washed away all of the tension, and her thoughts were slowly drifting far away. She forgot all about the annoying incident with Sherlock, and she felt much better after this shower. It's interesting how a stream of hot water and the smell of soap can make you forget about everything that made you mad. Joan wrapped a towel around her body and walked to her room to get into some comfortable clothes. She pulled on a light blue sweater and some black trousers. Her hair was still a bit wet so she wrapped the towel around it and left it on her head, then went back to the living room. She removed the coat she left on the chair before and took her seat, glad to finally have some rest.

She didn't say anything to Sherlock, because she never knew what she was thinking about. Sometimes she was in the middle of thinking very intently about something, and any word from Joan would distract her and make her irritated. Because of that, Joan usually decided to stay quiet and not speak to Sherlock unless she's the one to speak first. Except, of course, for those few times when Sherlock did something out of the ordinary that made Joan angry enough to lose her temper - like smoking, for example. Joan grabbed the paper to have a look at what was going on. There was really nothing interesting going on, which made her understand what Sherlock was going through. No case, no news, no crimes. It must be killing her. Joan made a note to herself to keep an eye on Sherlock, because she had the feeling that if the woman would be really bored for too long she might do something a lot crazier than smoking.
 
RE: The Dedeuction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

Sherlock listened to the muttering of Joan Watson from her place on the couch, saying nothing. But her mind was now racing with facts and information concerning the subject. Smoking did not necessarily mean one would get lung cancer, or that their lungs with 'turn back and shrink to the size of a raisin', as Watson had so eloquently put it. No, smoking could cause cancer almost anywhere in the body. And the chances of her dying of cancer caused from smoking, at the age she was, were slim. True if she did keep up the habit then those risks and rates would increase and cancer would be much more likely. But who said she wanted to grow old anyway? Loosing the ability to use her mind and memory was to much to pay for a few extra years of what. . . comfort, time, life? She'd never kill herself, intentionally, but being faced with a grim prospect such as that made it seem like a god sent. Sherlock could always have someone else off her, but who? Most likely canadits would be Mycroft(but no, he'd probably be worse off by then, wouldn't he?), or Lystrade(he's killed before, and has always looked like he'd gladly take a shot at Sherlock). Joan, Mrs. Hudson, and Anderson were completely out of the picture. Watson had the Messiah complex, she needed to save everyone, even from themselves. Mrs. Hudson would probably be gone by then, and Anderson was a slimy little weasel with a few complex's of his own. But no matter how much he hated the tall woman in the dark trench coat, he'd never be able to pull that trigger.

Bloody hell, how did one go from smoking to the most likely candidates for a mercy killing? Sherlock's hands had gone to clutch at her head, pressing on her temples and cupping around the ears to try and shut out any potential sound. Just stop it, Stop It. It was to much, why wouldn't the racing thoughts just go away and let her alone? Simply because, they're what made Sherlock, Sherlock. All of this happened in the time span of Joan muttering in the kitchen while putting out the cigarette to coming back to the living room. Once she entered Sherlock was forced to move her hands and curl them up at her chest, dawning a somber look as her facial expression. Anything different and Joan would probably ask after her state of being, and while having some aspect of comfort, it was also disconcerting. Having someone care about Sherlock, to the point the other person was willing to but heads and subject themselves to sharped tounge ridicule was something new. True, big brother Mycroft cared and tried looking after his younger sibling but could never get anywhere. He knew it was practically pointless and gave up after a while. . . He never had enjoyed leg work.

"You forget one thing, dear heart, that even if one understands doesn't necessarily mean they have to comply. Which is the point, isn't it?" Sherlock tells Joan, tone sharp and sarcastic, after she got up off the sofa and moved for the bathroom. Once the other woman was gone Sherlock's legs went right back up on the sofa and curled up underneath her. She should probably have a shower to, but since she wasn't going out there seemed to be no point. Then, contorting her body around, Sherlock went to reach for the black case that sat unharmed on the coffee table in front of the couch. She opened the gold claps one handed, and pulled out what was inside. Her violin was the one thing that she made sure to take care of. She ran the calloused tips of her fingers over the strings, plucking lightly to make the softest sound. In a moment Sherlock had lurched to her feet, positioning the Chin Rest comfortably in the crook of her neck and brought up the bow she held in her other hand, placing it against the strings. She started to play Bach's Sonata 2 in A minor, more somber then his Violin Concerto in A minor, while slower than his 1st Sonata. It fit her mood and Sherlock played while looking out of the open window, staring at all of the people passing below. Such normal lives did they lead, how dreadful. Then she supposed that right now she was doing the same.

It wasn't to long till Joan came out of the shower, right in the middle of her favorite section. Sherlock could hear the slight rustle of the paper as the doctor made to look over the daily trivia. It was then that she soon shut all other noise out and concentrated on playing the piece properly and chasing other nagging thoughts out of her mind. So many useless things vied for attention now-a-days. All the commotion in her head might make it wise to start another distraction purge.
 
Joan folded the paper and put it aside. There was nothing to read in there anyway, it was useless and generally annoying. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms on her chest and closed her eyes slowly. Even though the air still smelled like smoke - which she doubted will ever change, the apartment will always have the mild scent of smoke thanks to Sherlock - her skin smelled like soap and it was a lot better right now. She wasn't angry at Sherlock, especially now that she finally got to sit calmly in the chair and listen to the beautiful music played by her tall roommate. Watson didn't like to admit this, but she loved hearing Sherlock playing her violin. Of course, she still couldn't stand the sounds of her tuning the violin at three in the morning (although she got used to it by now and didn't bother to scream and complain anymore), but the woman was clearly gifted and it made Joan smile for some reason. Sherlock's confidence was high enough without Joan telling her how remarkable this was, so she usually remained silent as she listened to the breathtaking sounds that Sherlock managed to produce.

A few minutes later, Joan felt the need to do something again. She got up from her chair and went to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She opened her mouth to ask Sherlock if she'd like some too, but she closed it again since she didn't want to disturb her in the middle of her playing. She made enough tea for two nonetheless, just in case. Joan walked back into the living room with the small cup in her hand. She approached the open window and closed it a bit - it was rather chilly outside and she didn't want either of them to get cold. She looked out of the window, following the people in the streets with her eyes as she took long sips of her tea.

Sometimes she wondered what it's like to be Sherlock Holmes. She felt really uncomfortable trying to imagine what it must be like inside of her head. For Joan, Sherlock was a genius and a mystery but overall - a giant child. She rarely listened to anything Joan suggested, and when she did listen, Joan had a strong suspicion that Sherlock only did so to get rid of her lectures. Joan often tried to see things from Sherlock's perspective, but it usually didn't help at all. This time, for example, she could understand that Sherlock was bored. But why, why would someone close all of the doors and windows while smoking so heavily? It didn't make any sense, at least not for Watson.

She finished her tea eventually and went back to return the cup. She washed it carefully and placed it back where it belonged, then grabbed her laptop and returned to her chair, ready for another cozy evening of doing absolutely nothing. Even though she secretly enjoyed watching Sherlock solving cases, she could never complain about a nice and quiet evening at home after a long day at the clinic. The fact that she just had a nice shower, a cup of tea and Sherlock's lovely music in the background made it even better. She checked her mail and went through a standard routine she had every time she entered the world of the internet, which simply included checking for any changed on a few different websites. Leaning back in her chair, Joan was ready to finish the day on a very warm, relaxing note.
 
The somber tune Sherlock was playing continued to vibrate through the air. Her fingers were moving of their own accord whilst she played, and her steely blue eyes glazed over as she became lost in thought. It was only when Joan stepped in front of her to close the window that she remembered where she was. She tensed her body for a moment and then instantly relaxed her shoulders when she realized it was Watson. Sherlock's eyes were locked on the other woman as Joan stood beside her and stared out the window as well. The doctor was a lovely individual to look at, attractive with bright, kind eyes. No wonder she continued to attract so many boyfriends. It was hard to think that somebody would be able to hate her and Sherlock was almost positive that nobody did. People tended to flock to her like moths to a flame. Unlike Sherlock. . . Who continued to repel people. But not everyone it seemed, she had the good grace to catch Joan Watson's attention. The doctor was an enigma to the detective, just when Sherlock was sure that she had figured out the other woman she was pleasantly corrected. Even now, Joan wouldn't say it but by the way she held her body in a very relaxed position and tilted her head ever so slightly towards the direction of the music, it was clear that she very much enjoyed Sherlock's playing. And why wouldn't the doctor tell her that she liked it? Was it some fight for dominance, as if she would be showing weakness in front of Sherlock? Or maybe she was holding back any praise she had for the detective because of the cigarette earlier? There were many more possibilities, but that's what made the woman so intriguing. Although it usually went against the grain to have a piece of information just in reach but not accessible, this time it caused a warm feeling to start in the pit of her stomach.

Yet when Joan turned back around to go into the kitchen to clean the cup, Sherlock's face was wiped of the small smile she had dawned and back into a neutral expression. The song was finished just as Watson returned to the chair and picked up the laptop. She drew out the last note before turning wordlessly to put away the precious instrument and walk into the kitchen herself. Before entering, it was already obvious that tea would be waiting on the counter for Sherlock, Joan always made her some. It was odd acts like that that made Sherlock tilt her head and consider social courtesy's. For many a year she had lived by herself and taken care of the place she lived in (if you could call it that), and most of the time it was in seclusion. So having another person, someone 'normal', to constantly be hanging around was a distinct change. Annoying to have someone telling you to eat or sleep, but comforting in its own way. Sherlock then poured out her tea, it was cold now but she didn't mind. Then after stirring in a bit of sugar she made her way into the living to see Watson searching the world-wide web. As her eyebrows arched and furrowed slightly, Sherlock bent down behind the chair and poked her head over Joan's shoulder. "What is this? Are you still continuing with that unproductive blog of yours?" The comment was mostly a grumble and her hot breath brushed Joan's cheek and neck. She really could see no probable cause to use that blog of hers, the limp had gone away months ago. . . And that stupid hat picture peeved Sherlock like nothing else.
 
Joan jumped slightly in her seat at the sound of Sherlock's voice by her ear. She got used to the silence very quickly and didn't expect her to talk. She moved the laptop away a bit in a defensive motion, "it's not unproductive," she claimed, "people like my blog. And yes, I am not going to stop blogging. Although I don't really have a lot to write about, since there is no case. I simply go over the comments and see whether there is anything interesting to read." She paused for a moment, then scrolled down the page a bit and said "I know you don't really like the idea of me having a blog. But you know, I like it and it's just something I enjoy doing. I mean, I don't say anything about your beautif-" she stopped herself, "about your violin. And your habits are clearly more annoying than mine, at least I'm not disturbing your sleep at three in the morning." She didn't want to complain, but she suddenly felt very protective of her blog. It was somewhat important to her, not only because her therapist recommended it in the first place. It was more helpful to her than she admitted, and she had the feeling that she was really good at it. Being good at something besides taking care of people was somehow comforting, considering that she lived in the same apartment as the most talented and unbelievably intelligent person she's ever met.

Keeping Joan awake all night was the least irritating thing on the list of the annoying habits of Sherlock Holmes. Watson has seen all sorts of weird things over the time she spent living at 221b Baker Street. Now, she wouldn't be surprised to get home and find Sherlock covered in green jelly and cherries, saying that it was some sort of an experiment. Joan assumed that from Sherlock's perspective she had some annoying habits as well, but she couldn't really see them. Perhaps she was lecturing the woman a lot, but that was necessary considering Sherlock's way of living. Joan looked at Sherlock over her shoulder and sighed. For some reason - she couldn't quite put her finger on it - she couldn't stay mad at the woman for too long. No matter what she did, she was always forgiven. And now, Joan felt as though she was a bit unfair to her and was complaining too much. "The music you played was very pleasant," she admitted almost unwillingly, "I've never heard someone mastering an instrument quite as good as you." It was more than enough to make up for the lectures and accusations, in her opinion. She returned to her laptop and kept scrolling down, still very aware of Sherlock's presence.
 
At Joan's slight jump a small sly smile spread across her full lips, content and pleased with herself. If was nice to know you could affect others like that, with just your proximity, words, or sneaking up on them. She didn't move from her position behind the chair or leaning over the other woman to get a better look at the computer, but it was mostly in exaggeration. It was predictable that Joan would stand up to defend something that she had come to enjoy as a part of her day to day life. No matter how much the 'hat picture' pissed Sherlock off she wouldn't deprive the doctor of something she truly loved. But that didn't mean she couldn't give her a bit of grief on the matter, messing with her short companion was just to fun to resist. Though with all that aside, she did pick up something interesting in Joan's little rant. Did the good doctor just trip over her tongue there? What was she about to say? Sherlock had a few good guesses and the small smile on her face grew. But the look soon took a condescending turn as she arched her eyebrows and glanced at Joan from the corner of her eye.

"Oh yes, to true. And yet, if my habits are so 'annoying' then why put up with them? You may loose a couple hours sleep, or need to buy a new kitchen table more frequently then normal individuals, but you find my little habits endearing. On some level that is." Sherlock let out a laugh, adding that last part as an after thought just incase Joan Watson tried to deny it. If you thought about it, and Sherlock's little oddities were really that off putting to the other woman then she would have left months ago. She did enjoy the detective's company, companionship, and the prospect of danger she brought to the table. There really was nothing like chasing a serial killer around London's alleyways at 3 in the morning to get a girl's blood pumping. And Joan Watson was always a nice commodity to have around, having all of the experience that the war in Afghanistan had given her. That subject brought up memories of the night Watson had shot that man just to save Sherlock from herself. Who does that?

The complements on her violin playing skills came soon after the rant, and made Sherlock tilt her head to the side. The words came from Joan with a bit of a struggle and it almost made a chuckle escape from Sherlock. "Thank you for that slightly reluctant complement, Joan. It warms the cockles of my heart." Her words were meant as a tease and nothing more. She pulled away from Joan, suddenly realizing how close she was to the other woman and starting to feel uncomfortable. Not that being close to Joan was horrible and distasteful but more on the lines that it caused certain feelings to spread throughout Sherlock's limbs. Being close enough to Watson to feel the heat coming off of her skin caused more biological symptoms then emotional. Yet sentiment is just a chemical defect so it could be categorized as neurological she supposed.
 
Everything Sherlock said was true. Joan did find these habits endearing, for reasons she could not explain. This woman was unique and incredibly inspiring for her, and since she spent so much time in her company, Joan learned to notice every detail. Of course, she wasn't as good as Sherlock when it came to observing, but she could see things that others couldn't or chose not to see about Sherlock. Sometimes she wondered whether Sherlock managed to teach her something, since they spent so much time solving crimes together and Joan was so exposed to Sherlock's extraordinary deduction methods that she started using some of them too.

Joan rolled her eyes at Sherlock's comment, she was clearly teasing her. That was exactly why Joan didn't like complimenting the woman too much. She used to do it a lot when they first met, since her talents were amazing and fascinating. At some point Joan learned to control herself and filter the words of amazement that came out of her mouth, since Sherlock was confident enough without it. Now, when she recalled their first few cases together, Joan felt a bit embarrassed for herself. She was so surprised to see others react so calmly to Sherlock's deductive skills, she couldn't understand why they weren't praising her. Now she could see it, and she toned down the compliments, saving them for special occasions. Situations like this one, for example, when she needed things to get back to nice and normal. And it worked, she smiled with satisfaction as she watched Sherlock pulling away from her. The way physical contact made her uncomfortable was one of these things Joan found adorable for some reason. It made her want to touch Sherlock on purpose, maybe even give her a big hug, just to see her reaction. She didn't really dare to try though, Sherlock drew the lines very clearly.

"So are you going to be stuck here for the rest of the week?" asked Joan, "I don't think a case will turn up anytime soon. It's a bit cold outside so I wouldn't suggest a walk in the park, but we could have dinner if you want. Maybe tomorrow, after I get back from the clinic? We could go to this place - " but her words were cut off, her phone was ringing. She put her laptop aside and got up to grab her bag. She took out her cellphone and checked who was calling her so late, but she didn't recognize the number. Joan wasn't used to people calling her after her work hours, so she was slightly confused. "Hello?" she answered the phone. "Dr. Watson? I'm sorry, is it a bad time?" She recognized the voice at once. It was one of her patients, Richard Lorenson. His voice sounded perfectly normal and from what she could tell, he wasn't badly injured or very ill. Why was he calling then? "It's fine," she said, "are you alright? Do you need any medical help?" There was an awkward pause, then he said "no, not quite. I'm perfectly fine, thank you. I just thought - you know, maybe you'd like... To go out with me sometime?" Joan's eyes widened with surprise. For a few moments there she was speechless, and she couldn't find the right words to say. Then, out of nowhere, she said "sure, why not." She could hear the sigh of relief from the other side of the line right before Richard said "alright then, I'll call you later for details? Good evening, and sorry for bothering you." Instead of saying goodbye, Joan hung up and only realized how rude it was a few moments too late.

"A patient just asked me out," she said, "and it's very weird. Where did he get my phone number? Patients shouldn't have my personal phone number, unless I give it to them, and that's extremely rare." And then it hit her. The way-too-happy-and-energetic receptionist. "Stacy," she said, "I am going to kill this woman."
 
Sherlock had turned away and went into the kitchen, placing her empty mug on the counter while she made coffee to drink. She quietly listened to Joan's proposal and a small smile came to her face. It was normal for them to get dinner or lunch together sometimes, and they even went out during cases. Dinner usually consisted of talking about research, Joan's job, or even taking cracks at Anderson down at Scotland Yard. Sherlock didn't eat but Joan did, and it was a normal ritual they had settled into some time ago. It was a constant in Sherlock's life, just like Watson. And although constants and normalicy were usually boring, things like this made Sherlock feel grounded. Sometimes it was good to feel grounded, where nothing was up in the air and churning about her mind to no end. Sherlock would never admit to it though, to liking something normal.

"Sure. That's-" Sherlock stopped talking when she heard Joan's mobile starting to ring, and then the rustle of the doctor searching her bag. The coffee was done and poured into the same mug by then, and Sherlock walked into the living room to sit in her chair and watch Joan carry on another conversation. It was lovely to see all of the expressions that could appear on the woman's face in only a few moments. No matter what Watson always seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. And that was new to Sherlock, where she was used to people trying to hide all of their secrets to the world and putting on a mask. The good doctor didn't do that, and it made Sherlock smile slightly as she went to take a sip of the hot liquid. Yet the smile turned sour as the conversation carried on; she didn't need Joan's explanation at the end or the ability to hear the man's voice from the speaker to tell her he was asking Waston out. And when Joan stumbled over her agreement to his idea a hot flash of anger spread through Sherlock's limbs. Her finger's tightened around the mug until her knuckles were white, but she was successful in keeping her expression impassive. She didn't completely understand the cause of this emotional reaction but knew it fell along the lines of what was called jealousy.

She wondered if that would mean their own plans were canceled? But as it caused more rage to bubble up she stopped and would wait to contemplate it all later. When Joan hung up the mobile and presented Sherlock with the explanation she couldn't help but mutter an agreement, "And I'll help you." The way she said it left no room for doubt that she was being serious. But Sherlock was quick to realize her slip and instantly lightened her tone, and spoke a little more loudly. "Yet you said yes? Doesn't that come in conflict with some of those strict laws you have?" When she said the phrase 'strict laws', Sherlock mentally rolled her eyes, yet hoped it was the one thing that would stop Joan from pursuing this.
 
Joan looked up, a bit confused when Sherlock said she'll help her. For a moment there, Joan wondered what did Stacy ever do to Sherlock. She was sure the two of them haven't even met, so why...? But before she could properly think about it, Sherlock continued talking. Joan sighed and took her seat in the chair again. "I don't know," she said, "why did I say yes? I have no idea. I mean, the poor guy sounded so nervous and he definitely had a hard time..." She covered her face with her hands and let out a laugh, "did I just agree to go out with a patient only to make him feel better? That's just ridiculous." She felt a little pathetic. Of course she was used to helping people and making them feel better, that was her job after all. But sometimes it crossed the line, and she had to remind herself that job and personal life are two different things. Sherlock was right when she mentioned her strict laws, and Joan immediately felt as though this was the worst idea she has ever had. Regret washed over her, and she was completely sure that she can't do it.

"I'm obviously not going to go out with him," she said, "you're absolutely right, it's against the rules. He said he'll call back for details or something, so I'll just tell him that I made a mistake. Oh, the poor guy, he's going to be really upset." Joan didn't like the thought that she's going to upset him, but sometimes it had to be done. Some pills are bitter, but you have to swallow them if you want to get better. Somewhere in the back of her head she could see the image of her slamming Stacy's head against the wall, and the feeling of it was very pleasant. She knew that when she sees Stacy tomorrow none of this will happen, and that she'll just ask her politely not to do this ever again. Yet the thought of bringing this woman physical pain was very satisfying, so she allowed herself to dream a little.

"We're still going to have dinner, right?" she said, "it's been a while since we last had dinner together. Maybe that can take your mind off of this boredom a bit. Would you please promise me you won't smoke here tomorrow?" Deep inside she was almost sure it was a waste of time, even if Sherlock was to ever promise her, she wouldn't really keep that promise. Joan considered taking away all of her cigarettes, but she knew that wouldn't work either. "It really upsets me when you smoke," she finally said, "so just please don't do it. I know you can find something else to do when you want to." She yawned and glanced at the clock. It wasn't that late yet, but she was exhausted. "I think I'll go to bed," she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll have this dinner. Goodnight, Sherlock." Joan grabbed her laptop and headed to her bedroom, realizing just how much she needed some sleep. Only when she got into her bed and was about to fall asleep, she noticed that she was smiling. The thought about having dinner with Sherlock was somewhat comforting and her good mood was back.
 
Sherlock noticed the slightly confused look that was thrown her way and mentally cursed herself again for the slip. The only consolation was that it was a confused look instead of a knowing one. Still, it was hard to figure out which she'd prefer more. As these thoughts on the asinine subject continued to persist in roaming around her mind, just begging to be listened to, Sherlock instead pushed it all to the outer most reaches of her thoughts. It was in her experience that you could not 'delete' emotions from your hard-drive, but at least you would delete the subjects that caused those certain emotions. And for a moment, just for a moment, the thought of getting rid of the known information on the good doctor seemed alleviating. With Joan gone from her mind everything could simply return to normal, she could go back to how it was before Watson. Solving crime by herself and pushing Lestrade to his limits, taking part in all of her extracurricular activities unchallenged, go without talking to Mycroft for years on end, all the while not being bothered to eat or sleep. Yet she was surprised to find that life sounded much less appealing then it had just a year before. That was all because she had grown accustom the Joan's companionship, and always being around for her. Sherlock groaned inwardly, knowing she could never delete Watson, no matter how much she hated all of those fickle emotions. Now she just had to figure out how deep her affections went for the woman.

At Joan admitting it was a horrible idea and agreeing to cancel with the guy, Sherlock perked up noticeably. She didn't make an other comment on the prospect but it was hard to hide the smile that came to her lips. So she took another sip of coffee to mask the grin and turned her head away to gaze at something on the mantle above the fireplace. But she did allow herself to say something on the dinner, a subject she had momentarily forgotten about. "Yes, we'll go out," She looked over to Watson, shifting the mug away from her lips to show the smug smirk that was there, "And I promise, cross my heart." Then she made the motion with her free hand over her actual heart and watched the doctor walk up the stairs to her room. "Don't be late getting back tomorrow! Who knows what ghastly things I'll do if left alone to long!" The tone was a mix of sarcasm and annoyance. She would probably always find it irritating to have someone else dictate her life, even if only a little and even if it was Watson. Mycroft had tried to do that a few times before and look what happened to their relationship, though their issued stemmed back far farther then that.

With a small sigh, and hearing the door close behind Joan, Sherlock wondered if she too should go to her room. It would be much more comfortable then sitting in this chair all night. So with a small shrug she climes to her feet, places the half-empty mug on the coffee table and also goes to her room. Once the door was closed she flings her body onto the bed, long limbs going everywhere as she landed in a seemingly uncomfortable position. Sherlock stayed like this for a few moments before turning onto her back, straightening her legs and folding her hands on her stomach. She stared at the blank, dark ceiling for awhile and finally allowed for her thoughts to roam freely about her cranium. Sherlock only did this here because she knew she was in no danger of betraying herself with a stray facial expression, or twitch of the body. She tended to be very careful around others and not letting them know what she was thinking. Most of the time it was real, the distain and annoyance she showed on her face, and the callous manner she treated others as she brushed them off. But there were those rare occasions her body would betray her and act of its own accord.

Her deliberation tonight was about earlier, and the way she reacted to Joan simply being asked out by someone else. She wasn't accustom to that, or feeling all of that rage at something as insignificant as Joan going out with another person. It startled and worried her a bit; did this mean she was becoming to dependent on Joan? Sherlock considered her feelings towards the doctor on a normal basis, and then the flux in emotions when that idiot had asked her out. The most likely explanation to the scenario was that Sherlock herself wanted to become romantically involved with Watson. It seemed to fit, the jealous behavior and how her train of thought was often derailed by the other woman. It didn't take long for Sherlock to except the theory, but she only wondered what was the next step. Was there even any sliver of hope that Joan could be in a relationship with a woman? She already repeatedly stated she wasn't gay, the first day they had met she insisted on stating that fact. And this could obviously ruin their friendship, if something should go awry. But even with all of the risks involved Sherlock knew what she had to do and was willing to put everything on the line. If the only way to solve the problem was to become the other woman's lover, so be it. She would not risk loosing the doctor to someone else, or becoming second to any of the moronic blokes in London.

There were only two problems left to take into consideration: How was she supposed to seduce an allegedly straight female, and could Sherlock even successfully be in a romantic and most likely sexual relationship. She didn't even know if she was compatible with Watson that way. Sure they got along and enjoyed each other's company. . . But could she go that far? In the end, Sherlock resolved to test of her theory's tomorrow and hopefully start carrying out her plans. Looks like a lot of researching was ahead of her.
 
The sound of Joan's alarm clock pierced through the air and she opened her eyes at once. Her hand reached for it automatically and soon enough the irritating sound stopped, leaving the room silent again. Joan rolled over in her bed with a sigh, she really didn't want to get up. Her eyes closed again, and she almost returned to the soft land of beautiful dreams, but a small voice in the back of her head brought her back to reality. "Patients," said the voice, "sick patients that require your help. Also, killing Stacy. Wake up." Joan let out a frustrated groan and pulled herself up into a sitting position, sometimes she hated her own brain. She was half asleep when she walked into the bathroom and went through her morning routine as fast as she could with her eyes half closed. She only managed to wake up completely when she pulled on some very uncomfortable clothes and brushed her hair. She never had breakfast at home, so she grabbed her bag and hurried outside.

Joan glanced at her watch before she walked into the clinic - she still had some time, which meant that she could have a word with Stacy. "Good morning Dr. Watson," Stacy greeted her with a large smile, "I hope you'll have a wonderful day." Joan stopped right in front of the woman. "Stacy," she said, "are you aware of the fact that you are not allowed to give my phone number to patients under any circumstances?" Stacy looked a bit taken aback, but the smile returned to her lips very quickly. "Oh, are you talking about Richard?" she said, "that was ages ago, did he finally find the courage to ask you out?" Joan raised her eyebrows, this was unbelievable. "This is extremely inappropriate," she said, "we have clear rules - " but Stacy cut her off. "I'm sorry, Dr. Watson, but why is it so wrong about it?" she asked, using the most innocent voice, "Richard is a very fine man. He is rich, intelligent, handsome. What seems to be the problem?" Joan was confused by the sudden bold question, and all she managed to say was "I don't really do that," to which Stacy responded with "do you only date women?" and Joan was speechless for a few very long seconds. "What, no - " she said, but Stacy cut her off once again. "It's alright if you do," she said, "I do too. I was actually thinking about asking you out myself, I just wasn't sure..." This time Joan was the one to cut her off. "No no - stop right there," she said and placed her hands on Stacy's shoulders to keep her in a safe distance from herself, "what are you talking about? Stacy, when I said that I don't really do that I meant that I don't date patients. Or coworkers! This is so inappropriate... And I'm not even gay! What is it with everyone asking me out lately? Are you out of your mind? No, I'm sorry, I can't deal with this right now." She released the woman and turned around, heading to her office. She could feel Stacy's eyes following her back and the feeling disappeared only once she closed the door behind her.

Joan turned on the lights and took off her coat, hanging it in its usual place. She pushed the button to turn on the computer, and took her seat by the desk. Just a few moments ago she was simply angry at this woman. Now, however, she didn't even know what she was feeling. She knew for sure that she won't be able to look into Stacy's eyes again, and she was very uncomfortable even thinking about that woman. Joan checked the list of patients for the day in her computer and was delighted to see that it was a bit shorter than usual, which meant she could come home earlier and spend a nice evening with Sherlock. Her first patient was supposed to come in in fifteen minutes and she considered getting herself some coffee. However, that would require getting out of her office and passing by Stacy - which she was certainly trying to avoid. So instead, she took out a piece of paper and started doodling, trying to ignore the urge to go out and get this cup of coffee despite everything.

The first patient came in right on time, and from that moment on Joan's mind was completely devoted to all of the patients who came into her office. There was nothing particularly unusual about any of them and it was quite pleasant, just the same old routine over and over again. When it was finally time for lunch, Joan was surprised to see how quickly the time was passing by. Fortunately, Stacy was gone for lunch too and the coast was clear. She managed to eat in peace, but then her phone rang. It was the same number as yesterday, and Joan answered unwillingly, knowing it was Richard. "Hello Dr.Watson," he said, "I'm calling about our date." These words startled her, only then she completely realized how serious he was. "Yes, about that," she said, "listen, I'm really sorry but I can't go out with you. Don't take it personally, it's just that - " but Richard cut her off. "You're gay, I know," he said, "Stacy told me." Joan's mouth dropped open, "she told you what?" she said, but then it hit her. It could be an opportunity to hurt his feelings much less. "Oh yes," she said, "that's right. I'm gay, completely gay. Sorry, it's not your fault, but I only date women." There was a pause, then Richard asked "why did you say yes then, when I asked you yesterday?" Joan thought for a moment, then said "I thought it was merely a suggestion to spend a friendly evening together, I didn't realize it was supposed to be a date." There was another pause, then Richard said "oh well then, it didn't hurt to try. Have a good day, goodbye." He hung up without waiting for her response, and Joan suspected it was because how she ended their conversation last night.

The rest of the day went very well - Joan succeeded at avoiding Stacy and the patients were very nice. For once, nobody was rude and it was a quiet day overall. But when it finally came to an end and Joan pulled on her coat, she realized that she had to pass by Stacy on her way out of the clinic. She turned off the lights in her office and took a deep breath before stepping out of it. "Watson, out," she told Stacy without looking at her. "Got it," said Stacy as usual, "and sorry for - " Joan stopped and turned around to face the woman. "Don't," she said, "just don't. Alright? Let's forget about it. All I ask, is that you never give a patient my number again. Ever. And no inappropriate comments, got it?" Stacy nodded and Joan sighed, glad to get rid of the tension. "Goodbye Stacy," she said. "Have a nice day, Dr.Watson," Stacy called after her but she didn't answer.

On her way home, all she could think about was the dinner with Sherlock. She wanted to tell her about Richard, and Stacy, and how weird it all was. She wanted to share her feeling, even though she knew perfectly well that talking to Sherlock about feelings was quite the waste of time. Sometimes she could feel very comfortable around Sherlock, and even though the woman wasn't helpful at all when it came to feelings, it was still nice to talk and have a somewhat casual conversation with her. Glancing at her watch, Joan wished the bus could go faster and was eager to come home already.
 
Sherlock woke up that morning to an empty house once again. It was normal since she tended to sleep in, only getting up once the sunlight coming in threw the curtains got too insistent. Sherlock was tangled up in the sheets on her bed and took a bit longer then necessary to find her way out. She was reluctant to start the day, but also excited by the prospect of tonight. She was finally going to put into motion the experiments she had planned, and the strategies to seduce Watson. The concept felt foreign to her, and she couldn't help the odd feeling that was building up in the pit of her stomach. Sherlock knew she had to tread carefully in this area, since Joan was sensitive with the subject on dating her own gender, but also that if this fell apart, the friendship both women had built up would be totally wasted. Yet the more she contemplated the idea, the more it made sense. Why shouldn't they be in a relationship? They got along well, both admired each other for different things, spent ample amounts of time together, and put up with the annoying things both tended to do. Going from simply 'friends', to 'more then friends' should have been the easiest thing, in theory. But since everything seemed to hinge on erratic human emotions, Sherlock couldn't just jump into this.

This is the part where the planning and research took place. As it was Sherlock was groping around the floor for her laptop and sitting up in her bed to get into a comfortable position. Once her fingers felt the cold, hard edge of the plastic case she lifted up into her lap and rested it on her crisscrossed legs. For the next few hours Sherlock spent her time looking threw various sites, some more credible then others. It truly seemed sexual orientation was not so cut and dry as others would have liked to believe, and for that Sherlock was thankful. She could use doubts and feelings to her advantage, almost like she did with Molly Hooper over at Bart's. At the notion of the brown haired woman, Sherlock sat back against the bed's headrest. It was very easy to wrap the girl around her finger and use her whenever need be, because her feelings for Sherlock were as obvious as day. Joan wasn't the same in that regard, or it could have been that she just didn't have those same feelings for Sherlock at all. The detective shook her head sharply, waving the thought away, knowing that if this was true there was no hope of a relationship at all. She had to work with what was there, no matter how small.

There was a lot of information on techniques and strategies she could use on Joan that she found on the internet. But it took time weeding threw the unlikely and down right strange to find something subtle and elegant. Even though subtle wasn't one of Sherlock's more defined qualities, it would be one of the key things needed for her plans to work. When she was happy with her knowledge on the 'how to seduce your best-friend' subject, Sherlock finally got out of bed and looked at the time. It would be only a few hours till Joan got back, so she was fine. First she started out with a shower, keeping the water hot enough so that her pale skin turned pink. She took her time in scrubbing down her body, letting the body scrub's spicy scent seep into her skin. When she got out of the shower she put up her hair in a hand towel and dried off her long limbs. It was only a short trip to her room to throw on her thin robe and then she was back in the bathroom again, dealing with her hair. Like always her curly mass of dark hair was a bitch to work with. She used a special cocktail of products kept on the counter in front of the mirror to tame the strands. When it dried there were large, full curls around her face with her bangs swept artfully to the side. Sherlock kept her hair down and splayed across her shoulders, not bothering to do anymore to it.

Next she continued on to her clothing. She wasn't the one to be flamboyant with what she wore, but picked simple things that worked for her. For tonight however, instead of the normal form-fitting slacks she had on all the time, she put on a black pencil skirt that just reached just above her knees, putting on thin black stalkings underneath. Yet she stuck to her normal habit of wearing button down shirts. She choose the purple one, knowing it was probably the tightest one she had, and when stretched over her chest it seemed that the buttons would surely pop off. Never had she intentionally dressed to flirt or get into another person's pants, so doing this made Sherlock feel slightly uncomfortable and disconcerted. It was all she could do to not call everything off and label as foolish and a fleeting moment of insanity, which this surely was. The make-up she put on was simple; just a thin line of black liner to define her eyes and a touch of red to her lips. It was clear her cheekbones stood out on their own so nothing else was added. Sherlock finished with a pair of black flats, no need in being any taller then Watson then she already was.

On her way out of her room she sprayed her wrists once with watered down perfume that smelled of pomegranates. Now a mixture of cloves and pomegranates clung softly to her skin, not overpowering in anyway. Sherlock spent the rest of her time waiting for Joan on the sofa, legs crossed and hands in her lap. Other then the twiddling of her thumbs Sherlock was completely still, feeling nervous and foolish at the same time. What was she doing? Really, what in the hell was she doing? She had probably never done anything so stupid in her entire life, then why was she starting to get high off of the giddy feeling underneath it all? Sherlock didn't have the answers for any of these questions, so took the time to school her face and body language into a cool, relaxed position. She noted the time it was and knew Watson would be coming threw the door soon, so she studied the objects around the room... Feeling a horrible need for a cigarette.
 
Joan walked into the living room with a smile, relieved to breathe fresh air without a trace of smoke. It was truly delightful to know that Sherlock kept her promise. When she noticed Sherlock sitting on the sofa, Joan froze. "Wow," came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Sherlock was all dressed up, and Joan couldn't remember ever seeing her like this. "Sorry, you look... Magnificent," she said, "did I miss something? Are we attending a wedding?" she chuckled as she took off her coat, even though she absolutely didn't want to tease Sherlock about the way she looked. She felt obligated to do so since it was very unusual for Sherlock to dress like this, but she was absolutely shocked and amazed by her. "Alright, I'll go get ready as well then," she said and turned around, heading to her room.

Her plans of wearing some jeans and a blouse were out of the question now, of course. Joan had to match Sherlock's clothes, so she opened her closet and took out one of her few short black dresses. This one complimented her figure the most - it wasn't too short but revealed just a bit of her knees, it was modest in the front but very open in the back and it was tight but not too tight. The perfect little black dress, which Joan chose to wear only on special occasions. After seeing Sherlock in that tight purple shirt that she's never seen before, Joan was convinced that nothing but this perfect dress could beat it. She left the dress on her bed as she hurried to the bathroom to take a quick shower. She didn't wash her hair, she just wanted to feel fresh after a day at the clinic. When she was done, she came back to the room and looked at the dress again. Suddenly, it looked a bit intimidating to her. She felt as though this dress is a symbol of a very uncomfortable and tense situation, and dinners with Sherlock were usually the only times when Joan managed to forget about tension. Why was she doing that? Why did Sherlock dress up for a simple dinner with her? After spending so much time with Sherlock, Joan learned to be suspicious about everything. She was now thinking about how it might be some sort of a test or research, or whatever else Sherlock was doing to avoid boredom. It seemed quite logical to her, especially when she thought about how long it was since their last case. Whatever it was, Joan couldn't just dress up casually as though nothing happened. She pulled on the dress and brushed her hair carefully. It was usually rather straight, but since she went to bed last night with her hair only half dried it was now arranged in soft waves. She added just a bit of product to it and let her hair rest on her shoulders. Joan prefer to use as little make up as possible, so a bit of lipstick and some mascara was all she dared to apply on her face. Finally, she took out some black shoes with high heels and put them on.

She had to stare at the mirror for at least three whole minutes before deciding that it was good enough. She then grabbed her purse and went downstairs, hoping for the best. "Alright, I'm ready too," she said as she walked into the living room, "let's get going. I have so much to tell you."
 
Joan was surprised when she walked in and saw her flat-mate all dressed up, and that pleased Sherlock. She was made a bit self aware from the tease but passed it off on the unusualness of the situation. The only response she gave to Watson was a slow nod and went back to reclining on the sofa and staring into space, as if hardly aware of the other woman's presence. That was actually pretty true, since in the time of Sherlock trying to get relaxed on the sofa to Joan getting home, she went into a trance-like state thinking over past cases she had solved. Normally Sherlock would have considered it a complete waste of time and never dwelled the subject, yet for the fact that she was quite in the mood now to waste some time. Sherlock hadn't known that once on the subject she would be completely enveloped by it. This was helpful in getting her mind off tonight, and Watson's own presence.

The only thing that brought her back to reality was Joan walking into the living room clothed in a simple yet elegant black dress and heels. For just a moment she felt her airways close up and her heart leap into her throat. But Sherlock was quick to recover, so she stood up and picked up her coat on the way to the door. A part of her was naturally disgusted by these emotions, or the way her body was responding to another person's presence. For so long she had thought sentiment as the enemy, and still wasn't wholly convinced of the opposite. Sherlock could only hope that since things like this were new to her that even the smallest bit of feelings put her off center. She looked over to Watson, tilting her head to the side and looking at her quizzically, "You mean about dealing with the secretary and patient of yours?" Sherlock asked, opening the door for both of them and locking it behind them. She took the stares two at a time on the way down, absently wondering where Ms. Hudson had been all day. There had been no sounds from the flat below, or anything to indicate a living person was inhabiting the area. It could only be assume that she was spending a day out with Ms. Turner next door.

The sun was setting quickly outside, and there was as much traffic as ever in this part of London. Sherlock stepped onto the curb, held up a hand and shouted for a taxi. It no time one was pulling up next to the girls, and Sherlock pulled open the door of the black town car for her companion. It was then she remembered that Joan already had a place in mind to go tonight, which made Sherlock slightly curious. "You mentioned yesterday of a place you wanted us to go? What is it?" Sherlock knew this city like the back of her hand, every street corner and alleyway, but was still interested on the prospect of where they were headed. When Joan was in the cab Sherlock slid in next to her, closing the door and relaxed against her seat. While waiting for the answer she looked over the cabbie, thinking back to the first case both women had worked. Sadly, this cabbie wasn't a serial killer, might have added a bit more drama to the evening.
 
The restaurant Joan had in mind suddenly sounded weird to her. When she thought about going to this restaurant in the first place, she had in mind a perfectly casual dinner, but their clothes suggested otherwise. For a moment she considered suggesting another place, but then she decided that she shouldn't change her mind just because Sherlock decided to experiment with her style all of a sudden. "It's called Balthazar, it's on 46 Russell Street," she finally said, "I heard a lot about it, so I thought we should check it out." The ride wasn't too long and soon enough they were standing outside of the restaurant. Joan opened the door for Sherlock and followed her in, where a nice young man offered them to sit by the table that was right beside the window. "That's a lovely table," said Joan as she took her seat and noticed how comfortable the chair was, "I already like this place. But let's have a look at the menu first."

The waiter gave them some privacy to examine the menu, and Joan raised her eyebrows at the prices. "Not bad," she said, "I expected it to be a bit more expensive." Joan was quite predictable when it came to her taste in food, so it didn't take her too long to make up her mind. She also knew that Sherlock didn't usually eat, no matter how much she tried to talk to her about it. Despite the fact that Joan knew very well about Sherlock's habits, she felt responsible and had to be polite enough to ask every single time. "So, are you not going to eat again?" she said, "the food here looks very nice, you should try it. I promise it won't kill you, unlike many other things you like to do for fun." Joan glanced at Sherlock over her menu and smiled.

The waiter came back the moment Joan put down her menu, as though he was only waiting for her to do so. Joan made her order, when suddenly the waiter allowed himself to throw in a few suggestions. "Would you like some wine, maybe?" he said, and looked from Sherlock to Joan. "No, thank you," said Joan, "I'll just have a glass of water." But the waiter insisted - "are you sure?" he said, "we have a very fine collection, it's down there in the menu. I'd like to suggest this one, it'd make any date perfect." The waiter pointed at one of the wines mentioned in the menu, and Joan rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. "We're not - we're not on a date," she said, "we're not a couple, we're just two women having dinner. No wine, thank you." The waiter seemed confused for a moment. He looked at Joan's dress again and glanced at Sherlock's clothes, then shrugged and said "oh, I just thought... Alright then, my apologies. How about you, miss? Would you like to order anything?" he addressed Sherlock, and Joan just couldn't understand why all of these assumptions about her were made lately. Was there a huge sign over her head that read "gay" in big bold letters? It was beyond her understanding.
 
Sherlock looked around the restaurant they entered, hands stuffed into pockets and staring at the serving staff. Once those people got boring, which was quick, she went on to examining the building itself. It was a nice place but you could tell how long it had been around from a bit of chipped paint or peeling wallpaper in the corners. The carpet had been replaced around 2 to 3 times? Clearly they tried to keep up on appearances but kept it all very simple, not like they had enough money to be extravagant anyway. A modest place that lived on the reputation of having good food, how normal. There was probably even a cook in the kitchen that didn't sanitize his hands all the time or a waiter that shortchanged his colleges tip's. How comically predictable people could be, with their simplistic lives and trivial problems. Yet, no matter how much enjoyment Sherlock got out of picking others apart, tonight she had to focus on studying Joan.

She was snapped to attention by Joan asking her if she was going to eat, and while she rolled her eyes in response, she couldn't help but give a small smile. "Nope, I've got a few days left." Sherlock gave her a quick, closed lip smile before the waiter came over to take orders. What played out next was quite funny, and informative. Joan was still stressed out and was getting irritated over people making that simple 'mistake'. Though it was becoming clear to Sherlock, that if all of these other moronic individuals noticed it right off the bat, why hadn't they? But now only one was in the dark, a wrong that Sherlock was intending to right. Yes, Joan's reactions to other people's comments was a bit disconcerting, but the detective just rationalized it. She was nothing if not stubborn. "No, nothing for me," Sherlock absentmindedly waved him off and sent him away, her focus now purely on observing Joan Watson. "So how was your day at the clinic? You seem a bit... irritated." Sherlock motioned with her hand to Joan, referring to the way she snapped a bit at the waiter. Yet all the time there was a smug and sly smirk clinging to her lips, as if teasing the doctor for her actions. It was a calm and lazy remark, nothing that would be libel to produce any suspicion. Plus, knowing Watson, she would want to tell all about her day. And so Sherlock was just giving a blank canvas, and letting Joan spill her guts. For one, it would make Joan pleased to know that Sherlock actually listened, but more importantly, it would give the detective valuable information about her test subject.
 
Joan took a deep breath and let it out at once, recalling her day at the clinic. For a moment she almost forgot how she wanted to tell Sherlock about it, but now it all came back to her. "Oh it was just a ridiculous day," she said, "I was going to murder Stacy in cold blood, I was really angry at her. But then, instead of simply apologizing like a normal person, she almost asked me out too! And it's so inappropriate, I just couldn't look her in the eyes anymore. And then at lunch I received a call from Richard, and I was about to turn him down, when suddenly he said that Stacy told him I was gay! Can you believe that? This woman is insane." Joan paused, considering telling Sherlock about the part where she lied about her sexuality to get rid of Richard. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but she had to get it off her chest. "I told him that Stacy was right," she said with half a smile, "I'm such a horrible person. I didn't want to tell him that I'm simply not interested in him, so I said I was gay."

The waiter came just in time and placed Joan's order in front of her with a smile. "Thank you," said Joan and the waiter left. She started with the salad, as usual, and her mood improved at once. "So in conclusion," she said before putting the fork full of salad in her mouth, "everybody wants to date me. What do they see in me anyway?" She chewed her salad and thought about it. Sure, she was somewhat attractive. She was also a doctor, which gave her a nice social status and some money in her pocket. But she always tried to avoid showing any signs of being available. She dressed in a very modest manner, made sure not to talk about anything personal, was sweet and smiled a lot but never said anything suggestive. And then there was the fact that so many people assumed she was gay - why was that? She was rather feminine and never looked at other women in any way that could suggest - or did she?

Then, Joan thought about how every time she was seen in public with Sherlock there was someone who thought that they're a couple. Of course, they were living together and they learned to deal with each other's habits. Eventually, they liked each other in a way and Watson could easily call Sherlock "a friend". But why did the rest of the world insist on seeing them as more than friends? She couldn't really see it. Joan shook her head a little, trying to avoid those thoughts since Sherlock was sitting right there across the table, and Joan hated it when Sherlock could read her thoughts through her facial expressions.
 
Sherlock just sat back in her chair, relaxed, and let Joan's little tale wash over her. It wasn't that interesting, yet she listened anyway and didn't interrupt. For the most part it was because she had nothing to say on the subject, and didn't consider Joan's actions to make her a 'horrible person'. She had lied, like many would have. It was only a white lie and so Sherlock couldn't understand where the guilt was coming from. Yet it did amuse her to know she was lying about that particular subject. So much that it brought a smile to her face and caused a chuckled to escape, "I doubt you'll have to see very much of him again, so it shouldn't be a problem. Plus if you did, it would not be that hard in keeping up that little lie. Though I have to tell you I'm surprised that you did not choose to argue the point, and just decided to be deceitful instead. Tired of arguing with everybody on this subject? I don't know... I suppose we would make a cute couple." Sherlock laughed again and the last part of her comment came out relaxed and almost like a joke. But part of if was a test for Joan and trying to push her buttons, wanting to see a reaction. Both knew about the comments that were made about the pair, and this was the first time ever Sherlock brought it up.

"Well, if that is true, why aren't you going out more often? You are getting plenty of offers, and not just from the people at work. I thought you enjoyed spending that short of time with other people?" Sherlock then tilted her head to the side, examining Joan curiously. A part of her genuinely wanted to know the answer, the other part was just glad for the fact Watson hadn't been dating to much. There was nothing and no one to be jealous at for the moment, which was nice. But if work days kept going like this for Joan, Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if she ended up getting married. It was true, everyone wanted to date Watson. For an odd reason she attracted people to her, whether she liked those other people or not. Luckily, in Sherlock's case, Joan did like her.
 
Why wasn't she going out more often, really? Joan tried to think about it, but nothing came to her mind. She could think about many excuses but none of them were completely true. Sure, she would never date a patient or a coworker, but she received offers from other people and declined every time. She considered the fact that her work and solving cases with Sherlock took a great amount of time and dating wouldn't be easy at such circumstances, but she knew that she could always find some time for going out if she really wanted to. The proof was right in front of her, she had the time to go out with Sherlock. What was it then? Why couldn't she think about going out with anyone?

"I don't know," she shrugged, "honestly, no idea. It's not that I don't want to date, it's just... Doesn't feel right? Besides, what would you do without me? I can already picture it. I'd go out on one date, and then I'll come home and the whole place will be upside down. There will be monkeys drinking tea in the kitchen, the walls will be covered in paint, a few human corpses on the sofa and perhaps I'll find you smoking in the bathroom with dirt and blood all over you. And I wouldn't be surprised for a second. No way, I can't leave you alone for too long." She kept eating with a smile, deciding that blaming it all on her concern for Sherlock was good enough. Deep inside she knew that it was far from being the real reason, since Sherlock obviously managed to live without her before they met. But Joan decided not to think about it anymore, since trying to figure out her own thoughts and feelings was too complicated for her. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "How about you?" she asked Sherlock, "are you going to keep doing absolutely nothing until the next case? You've got to do something. Staying home alone all day doesn't do you any good. And just imagine for a moment, what if there wasn't a next case? What if all of a sudden the world becomes a perfect place and no more crimes are committed? What would you do then?" Joan obviously knew that such reality would never be possible, but she was curious to know what would Sherlock's life look like without any cases to solve.
 
Sherlock had the smallest frown on her face as she watched Joan consider the question; eyes squinted in concentration while she tried her best to read the other woman’s mind. Of course, it was no use. All the powers of deduction couldn’t let anyone figure out what another other person was thinking. Sherlock was no exception, even with all of her skills in that department. This little fact was frustrating beyond belief. But Sherlock could at least take solace in the ability to tell from body language Joan’s emotions or feelings on different subjects. Reading basic moods from small twitches of the mouth, eyes, or body was the easiest thing, if you paid attention. Those signs could tell many other things, for example: if a person is lying or telling the truth.

Luckily enough for Sherlock, Joan decided to share her thoughts. Responding that she had no idea why she didn’t want to go out with anyone, and that it felt wrong. This made the corners of Sherlock’s mouth curl upward slightly, and her pupils start to dilate. Unlike the small smile that vanished after a moment, Sherlock’s pupils were still wide and the only indicator that she was very pleased with the response. “Now you’re just over exaggerating. I don’t need to be looked after like a child. I’m not that bad,” Sherlock’s frown was deeper this time as she thought over Joan’s comment. “Besides, I would never put any cadaver of mine on the sofa. What use is it there? And just so you know, I hate monkeys, they’re disgusting. I would more likely start keeping bees, at least they’re interesting.” She was all serious, unable to detect that Joan’s comment was a joke. She then set both elbows on the table and steepled her fingers against her lips, staring at Joan as she thought.

The next comment made by Joan went over Sherlock’s head completely, and she was just about to give a generic response when she finally realized what was asked. This particular question was unsettling to the Consulting Detective, and the rare expression of shock passed over her features. She had never considered that possibility, it was too horrific to think of. What would she do if there was never another case to solve? If there had never been any cases to solve? “I don’t know. I suppose suicide would be considered.” She stated, seeing no other option. Without the cases, she had no outlet. Everything would be black and white, simple and clean cut with no other possibilities and no puzzles to solve. That, along with only two other things she could think of, would be Sherlock’s own personal Hell. “It would be like an addict going through an endless detox. The symptoms would never subside, but slowly get more and more unbearable. Then one day, when you find the pain to persistent, you climb to the roof of the nearest building and jump, just to end the agony.” Her tone while giving her answer was neutral and completely void of emotion, her expression was the same. Yet at that moment Sherlock could feel an invisible force press heavy onto her chest, constricting her breath. She had never felt like this before, so it took her a moment to realize what it was; panic. But . . . why?

She instantly sat back in her chair, distributing her weight. Then sliding her hands into her lap and under the table. She knew that her body was starting to take priority over her mind, and didn’t want the slight tremor of her hands visible to Joan. She hadn’t even known she had an irrational fear, she was always able to separate fact from fiction, and use logic to assess situations. Her body’s response was defiantly not a rational one in relation to the subject; it was clear that having a perfect and harmonious world would never be possible. The adrenal gland must have been triggered to release hormones and cause the classic fight or flight response. To counter the chemical reaction going on in her brain, Sherlock forced her body to relax then took a few deep breaths. When she realized that her reaction might have worried Joan she pulled into attention. Yet in truth not much changed about her demeanor, the short laps of turmoil happened mainly inside Sherlock’s own head. She might had looked shocked by the question but nothing more then a little put off. Logic told her everything was fine, and that was why the panic passed almost as soon as it appeared. Yet that reaction was able to take control because of normal human paranoia, something Sherlock thought she hadn’t been cursed with, but alas, she was proved wrong.

She was soon back to normal and giving a small smirk to Joan; only the experienced Sherlock Watcher would have been able to detect if anything was wrong. . . Well, had been. “And in response to my activities until a new case . . . I suppose I could go over to Bart’s and see if Molly has anything for me. I need a whole cadaver to successfully complete the next experiment I have planned.” Sherlock’s eyes instantly brightened as she spoke, a ting of excitement in her voice. Sure it wasn’t anything as wonderful as say, a triple homicide. But it would keep her busy, and hopefully from tearing up the flat she had to live in.
 
Joan listened to Sherlock's response carefully, and her little smile disappeared at once at the mention of suicide. For some reason, she felt as though Sherlock punched her in the stomach with that comment. Even though this imaginary plot twist that Joan suggested was completely impossible, even though she knew that a world without any crimes and sins could only exist without human beings in it, the thought of Sherlock killing herself was terrifying. Suddenly, a new scenario appeared in Joan's mind. Instead of the one she imagined as a joke, with the monkeys and the corpses on the sofa, she now imagined a whole different kind of experience. She could see herself coming home from work as usual, ready for a nice shower and a cup of tea. She could see herself coming inside the living room, and Sherlock's absence making her suspicious at once. She'd walk into the bathroom to find Sherlock in a pool of her own blood with a gun in her hand. This thought was horrifying and for some reason very realistic. What would her life look like after this? A shiver went down her spine, as though the threat was real, as though it was going to happen any moment.

For a split second Joan thought that she noticed something in Sherlock's eyes. She thought that the question made Sherlock uncomfortable, and her instincts almost took control over her body. She wanted to grab Sherlock's hand, to say that she has nothing to worry about, that such reality will never occur. But Sherlock seemed to move on at once, and Joan realized that perhaps she imagined the sudden sight of emotions in Sherlock's eyes. Maybe the fact that she had a small panic attack herself made her see things that weren't really there? But she didn't manage to give it a proper thought, since Sherlock was speaking again and Joan immediately forgot about all of these worrying possibilities.

She shrugged at Sherlock's answer. "Well," she said, "as long as you don't kill anyone just for the sake of having a case, I approve." She smiled as she looked down at her plate. Her meal was almost finished, and another thought came to her mind. The dinner. Sherlock's clothes. Everything seemed to be normal, and nothing shocking really happened. It wasn't one of her crazy experiments then, Joan would've noticed if it was. But then, what was it supposed to mean? "Sherlock," she said and cleared her throat, "don't get me wrong, I really like the way you look this evening. I think you're stunning and I don't mean anything bad by saying this but - why did you dress up like this? I've never seen you so..." she struggled to find the right words, and when the pause was getting too long she just said "so concerned about your appearance. I thought you didn't care about things like clothes and make up, since you're so rational. What's different about today?"

The blush appeared on Joan's face at once and she couldn't do anything about it. She was a little uncomfortable talking to Sherlock about her appearance, they never had a conversation like this before. They talked about many things, and she heard Sherlock talking about amazing theories and deduction techniques, but never about fancy clothes and nice hairdos. Once again Sherlock managed to surprise Joan with something very unexpected, only this time she did it by acting like a completely ordinary woman.
 
Sherlock arched an eyebrow at Joan’s first comment, wondering why she would kill someone just for a case. If she was the one that made the murder then there was nothing to solve. Yet, if she killed someone for the sake of playing around with Scotland Yard in a game of cat and mouse, that idea might hold some merit. At the thought, Sherlock gave a small shake of the head, as if trying to chase the idea away. She realized that that notion was probably crossing the lines of ‘Not Good’. Luckily enough she was able to catch herself before entering the danger-zone, since it was probable Joan would never forgive her for that short coming. She went back to focusing her attention on the other woman, derailing this particular train of thought.

But what was brought up next wasn’t any better to Sherlock. Suddenly she felt very tired, and she couldn’t help but slump slightly into her chair and let out a sigh. She was now debating whether or not she was going about this infatuation thing the right way. She was also thinking on the fact if it was ever a good idea to try and jeopardize their friendship in the first place. This was really all she had, the life she built with Joan was something Sherlock would never let go of willing. Yet the way she was acting, and pursuing Joan could end terribly and ruin it all. She wasn’t in too deep, though Watson was suspicious, she could stop all of her plans right here and now and stuff her feelings back down into the abyss which they had come. That would mean the girls’ happy little friendship would continue without a fault . . . a friendship Joan would one day get tired of or find something else that was more important.

The choices were clear and so were the dangers, but Sherlock saw no other option if she was going to be happy. And in fact, she did want to be happy. Her decision might hurt or throw Joan through a loop but Sherlock saw no other way. “Everything.” The word came from her lips easily as she smiled her small smirk at Joan, giving nothing else away. Sherlock looked down to her friend’s plate and noticed that she was almost done, so she held up her hand and called over the waiter, suddenly feeling the need to get out of this place. She opened up her wallet and pulled out a credit card and gave it to the man. It was one of Mycroft’s so she had half a mind to tell him to keep it, but she held her tongue when she realized how much supplies she could buy with that piece of plastic.
 
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