A/N: unlike my other stories this one is short. Sorta. Anyways this story came up when I was watching 1x16 and Joan fell, it was a nasty fall! and I wondered "she might have ended up all bruised, poor Joan" so that is basically how I came up with this. Its kinda sexy...sensual even, a little bit.
Read it and let me know what you think!
Fran
One of the things Joan had gotten used to, was waking up very early in the morning to find Sherlock nose deep into a book, or a manila folder from an old case. At first she had complained about it, usually because he wasn't exactly quiet (though she imagined it was hard for him to get used to sharing his living space with someone and old habits died hard) but then with time she had gotten used to and, at the same time, went along with it.
Like now; he was sitting in front of the desk in the middle of the room, a file in front of him and a cup of coffee beside him. He didn't notice her presence, being completely focused on his work, until she grabbed a chair and sat next to him. A tiny bit closer than she usually did, and just watched him as he read. He lifted his head momentarily to look at her and share a warm but brief smile.
"Have you eaten yet?" Joan asked him. He shook his head in response. "Do you want to eat something at all?"
"Eating seems such a waste of time at the moment." he told her flatly.
"That's silly." Joan responded, and immediately got up from the chair to make her way towards the kitchen, determined to prepare a meal. Before she could walk any further Sherlock stopped her, holding her wrist tightly between his fingers.
"What's that?" he questioned her and pointed towards her leg. Joan looked down and noticed what was suddenly drawing his attention; a bruise at the side of her leg, gradually turning a deep shade of green.
She had noticed it before but didn't make much fuzz about it and could remember the exact moment that bruise happened.
"Oh, this? It's nothing…"
"When did that happen?" he asked her with mild curiosity, his hand slowly leaving her wrist when she had returned to her previous position next to him.
"A couple of days ago." she told him. "I tripped and fell."
"Where?"
"Outside"
"When?"
"Does it matter?"
"Did I do that?"
Joan glared at him. He had an awful good memory therefore she wouldn't be able to lie. It had happened a few days ago, that was true, and she did fall, but it wasn't exactly outside. It had happened right here, in the brownstone when Sherlock had decided it was her time to learn self defence and she had tripped in one of his 'traps'. So technically had been his fault.
"It was an accident" she told him.
He eyed her momentarily and she was taken aback by the intensity of his look. He wasn't analyzing her, he was just glaring at her in a way she could not describe but either way made her shiver.
Two seconds later he was on his knees, right in front of her. Joan was confused and completely bewildered by his action. She had no idea what was going through his mind, she didn't know what his intentions were. All she knew was that he had reached out to her slowly, the tip of his fingers barely touching her skin. It was enough to make her tremble.
"Does it hurt?" he asked with curiosity, oddly fascinated by the mark on her skin.
"No…" she whispered, feeling suddenly tempted to run her hands through his short hair.
His fingertips were quickly replaced by his whole hand, his palm caressing with tenderness her soft skin, suddenly travelling a little bit further up her leg. Joan felt something building inside of her at the feel of his touch, his warm hand on her cold body and she closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the feelings his ministrations were giving her.
"I'm sorry." he apologized and she quickly opened her eyes to stare at him. His eyes still fixated on her body. "I'm sorry I did this to you…"
"I'm naturally clumsy, this is not your fault." she spoke, words barely leaving her mouth.
"Can I make it better?" he asked her. She was tempted to say, 'I'm fine, there's nothing to fix' but she was also uncommonly curious at what he wanted to do, so her only response was to shrug and nod.
Then his hands were replaced by his lips and Joan found herself biting get lips to stop a moan from coming out of her mouth. He was kissing her, kissing her body in the most sensual way possible, he was making her feel warm inside gradually as his lips trailed featherlike kisses on her wounded leg.
She sensed the arousal building inside her as he continued with his caresses and she couldn't help but feel silly at how he was making her feel with just one touch. She didn't want to stop to think what it would feel like to have his hands running up and down other parts of her body, just like he was doing right now at her leg.
But just suddenly and just as quickly as it all happened, it stopped. His hands left her body, his lips were no longer there and she suddenly felt empty. The phone on his pocket rang and even though he got distracted by it he refused to move, he was still very much into her personal space and she prayed for him not to walk away. But then it rang once, twice, three times and the sound was too much to ignore it. He pulled it out before it rang again and responded quickly. He spoke in a hurry, she was pretty sure he was as lost as she was with the conversation, his eyes said it all; they were on her lips and he refused to look away even when the person on the other line (she could distinguish the voice clearly; it was Alfredo) spoke nonstop.
Five minutes later he hang up, she wasn't sure if Alfredo knew Sherlock was not interested in him anymore, or if he was even aware the conversation had ended.
"Watson?"
"Yes?"
"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to kiss you now."
"Yeah, you better do that"
His lips crashed softly but firmly against her lips and her legs immediately parted to give him more room, her attention solely on the feeling on his lips on hers.
THE END!