Light... Too much light ... Where was she?

"Watson! Time to get up! Lets go!"

Too loud ... Stop... What day was it?

She was dragged out of deep sleep to curtains being pulled back, shutters being thrown open. Light flooded in through her closed eyelids; the sound of his voice reverberated in her head. Being awakened in this manner was not new, but still it confused her.

Why was Sherlock dressed? Why was he up? He had just been in bed with her, hadn't he? They had spent the night together, and came home ... and she showered and ... had she been dreaming? Had she dreamt it all, the tree, the motorcycle ... Joan was confused, dizzy from trying to pull herself from the fog of deep sleep to this sunshined-reality that Sherlock was hurling in her direction.

"Come on Watson moooove. We have a case. I have tea ready for you downstairs."

Joan squinted up at him. Anger flared. She pulled up the sheet covering her, "Alright, stop yelling. I'll get dressed as soon as I have some privacy!"

He looked surprised, "Oh." He nodded, "Of course, I'll be in the kitchen."

She looked around the bed for the clothes he had probably selected for her. Instead she found the rumpled sheets beside her, the indent his head left on the pillow ... she picked it up and held it as she re-centered herself and came out of the muddled state of half sleep.

"Wait..." She called after him. He looked back from the doorway to catch a glimpse of her with his pillow in her arms much like a child with a security blanket. Sherlock stood and waited, touched by the sight.

"Do you want to bring the tea up and we can have breakfast, or lunch, or whatever it is, together while I dress?"

"Alright," he acquiesced, "but hurry!"

She was almost dressed by the the time he came back with the tray. She pulled on her shoes while he filled her in on the details of the case. Tea and food was quickly consumed and they were at the front door just minutes later.

"We aren't taking the motorcycle are we?" She said with a certain amount of dread.

"No, that was returned to Alfredo while you slept. I called a cab." He was in the process of opening the front door for her when he quickly shut it.

Joan turned to look at him. His eyes were searching her face. "What's wrong?"

"May I?" he asked in a hushed tone, his eyes fixed on her eyes and then her lips as his body minutely moved closer to her. She brought her hand up to his face and led him to her. The kiss was tender and short but they lingered nose to nose for a second or two.

"Preemptive," he said. "I know I'll want you at some point today and shan't be able to express it." He leaned in for a longer exploration of her lips and mouth. "This will have to suffice until we are alone again."

With closed eyes he leaned his cheek slightly into her hand. Joan's thumb traced his lips. They stood and took the moment. Sherlock felt Joan's other hand slipping into his coat pocket.

"Watson, you really need to work on your pickpocketing skills," he murmured.

"Handkerchief." She whispered and produced the white hankie from his pocket. Joan held his chin while she wiped his upper lip. "This way we don't have to explain why we are wearing the same shade of lipstick."

"Ah." He gently took the handkerchief from her and gave his lower lip a swipe.

"Believe me Sherlock, if I picked your pocket, you would never know." She gave him a smug little tilt of the head.

He opened the door for her, "Is that a challenge, because we can certainly put your skills to the test. I'm positive you'd not get far..."

"Oh please..." Out the door and into the real world Sherlock and Joan went, bickering happily all the way to Chelsea.

The crime scene was a disappointment. Nothing much for them to do but corroborate the NYPD's findings. Gregson and Bell observed their consultants as they knelt, confirmed facts, spouted information at each other. Joan was at a peculiar angle calculating trajectory and almost toppled over as she went to get up. Without thought or even looking at her, Sherlock's arm was immediately there to provide assistance and steady her as she rose. Gregson and Bell exchanged looks. Over the past few weeks they had noted a change in the Holmes/Watson partnership. And after what Bell told him yesterday, Gregson decided to take a direct approach. He called them over, away from the body and the forensics team.

"I'm going to blunt here. It's none of our business and you certainly don't have to answer," as Gregson talked, Bell fidgeted next to him, "but we are friends, I think, and for uh, ... safety's sake...uhm ..." Gregson paused, looked from one to the other and just blurted the question out, "Are you guys pregnant?"

Sherlock and Joan stood silent. Sherlock squinted an incredulous look at Gregson, looking almost pained by the question. Joan stared unsure she'd heard correctly. She turned and looked at Sherlock, her face asking what is he talking about. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Bell, here, saw a text yesterday, inadvertently mind you," Bell squirmed and looked away as Gregson continued talking, "between you two and he mentioned the reaction it provoked in Holmes here. It said ...'we are' ..." He paused uncomfortably waiting for a response from either of them.

Sherlock turned his gaze back onto Bell and then the Captain, "Well, first let me say that that was a personal communication between myself and my partner and as such is very much none of your concern." Sherlock stared them down. "In direct response to your question, I can say with 100% certainty as to the veracity of my statement, that I am not pregnant. What about you Watson?"

Joan glared at him, being a smart ass, typical Sherlock, she thought. She turned to the two men before her, pinning them to the spot where they stood with the surgical precision of her stare. "No." She waited a beat and watched them squirm. "To the best of my knowledge, at this moment I, we, are not pregnant. Should the situation change, we will be sure to inform you two immediately." Sherlock smirked at them behind her. They had ticked Watson off. For once, he wasn't facing the brunt of her ire. Joan took off her latex gloves and turned to Sherlock, "I think we're done here." She walked away. Sherlock turned to his companions, shook his head at them and with a sigh of disapproval took off his own gloves and followed after Joan.

Bell and the Captain stood and stared after them. Bell cleared his throat, "Notice that while they denied the fact, they did not deny the possibility?"

"Yup." Gregson smiled and looked at Bell, "But I think we've known that probably longer than they have."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"Watson, Watson, wait up!"

Joan stopped and faced him. He pulled her from the middle of the crowded sidewalk into the doorway of a closed shop. Sherlock's tone changed as he studied her face. "You're angry. That's understandable. Gregson and Bell were way out of line."

"And you're flippant attitude didn't help," her calm voice belied her anger.

"And my flippant attitude didn't help, you're right." Sherlock continued, "We have had a very ..." he searched for the best descriptor. "A very action packed 24 hours, yes?"

She nodded and tried to hide the smile at his choice of words. He was right. Yesterday at this time they were beneath the oak, alone, in a world populated solely by their desires. Now every move they made would be colored by those moments, be it good or bad. Each step taken would require thought, negotiation.

"Let's take it slow for awhile, hmm? ... Cut ourselves some slack and see where this all takes us." He found her hand and she held on. When did he become the reasonable one she thought. She lost her anger in his eyes.

"Home," she stated more than asked. "Home." He answered.

-/-/-/-/-

The awkwardness that stood tenaciously between them at first, graciously stepped aside after a day or two. Love had always lived with them, the difference being now it was acknowledged and accepted as a member of the household, though Sherlock still refused to use the word. An absent-minded morning kiss from him as she shuffled in for tea, an arm slung round her shoulder as they made their way upstairs, crawling quietly into bed late at night so as not to wake her, all enunciated the word to her that he verbally could not. Neither were the sort to cling on to each other and certainly never in public, but the small gestures were always there to assure they were alright. The bickering and the arguments continued, it was part of who they were and would never change.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Joan stood under their tree waiting for him, unsure why "Sean" had called her here. They'd not been back to the tree in quite some time. She saw Sherlock coming towards her, his cocky walk signaling to her he was feeling a bit nervous - he tended to overcompensate when insecure.

He strode up to her not stopping until her back was up against the tree and her arms came up and around his neck. She smiled at him as he pressed his body close to hers. They kissed the way they never did in public.

Breathless, he stopped and pushed himself away from her. Sherlock reached into his pocket, took something out but held it tightly in his hand. He took a deep breath, looking down at his hand for a second before his eyes locked onto hers.

"Do you believe in love at first sight? I know what you're thinking; the world is a cynical place and I must be a cynical man, thinking a woman like you would fall for a line like that. Thing is, it isn't a line. So please hear me when I say this, I have never loved anyone as I do you right now in this moment."

Joan was just as mesmerized as she had been the first time he said those words to her.

Sherlock looked at her and whispered, "I mean it this time. ... Today makes two years since you walked into my life. I just wanted to express my gratitude to you for not leaving the many, many times I gave you ample reason to walk away ..." He gave here a small nervous smile. His closed hand came up between them. "I had these made for you, for us..."

His hand opened to reveal two rings of carved wood. "Oak." He nodded his head "Our oak." Tears were blurring her vision but she reached for the rings. "The craftsman said the wood is strong but it is wood and it will wear down and change with age. I told him it would not matter, we too will wear down and change with age but the sentiment will never age, will never change."

Sherlock took the ring from her hand and put it on her finger. Joan did the same with his.

"Let me be clear, you know my views on marriage, Watson, these in no way are ..."

She shut him up with a kiss.