storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2015-02-05 08:39 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-02-05 08:39 pm
[Elementary] to kisskiss you and to kiss me (Sherlock/Joan)
Title: to kisskiss you and to kiss me
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 599 words
Prompt: Sherlock/Joan, kiss.
Pairing: Sherlock/Joan
Other: Set at some nebulous AU point after S2.
Excerpt: He is not very good at kissing, and somehow that's endearing. Oh, but she has gotten in way too deep with Sherlock Holmes. His teeth clack against hers and he mutters, "Sorry," before attacking her lips again. Joan shivers.
There are dozens of reasons that this is a bad idea but Joan closes her eyes and kisses him back. His scruff is scratchy on her face and a small part of her wishes that he'd shave, but the idea is almost disconcerting; he's never been that put together, and it's astonishing that he remembers to do it every few days. She clutches her hand in his coat and he doesn't stop kissing her like a drowning man gasping for air.
He is not very good at kissing, and somehow that's endearing. Oh, but she has gotten in way too deep with Sherlock Holmes. His teeth clack against hers and he mutters, "Sorry," before attacking her lips again. Joan shivers. They are standing in the doorway to the brownstone. She hasn't seen him in six months, since he disappeared back to Great Britain in a huff. The New York snow is already grimy on the step, and snowflakes are sliding into her hair with bursts of cold. She doesn't want to move.
"Joan," he says, "Joan, Joan..."
"You remembered," she says. His hand is on her hip and she slides his fingers into her pocket, because of course he isn't wearing any gloves. His other hand goes exploring in the other pocket, closes around a battered key. He's not an idiot; he'll know what lock this key fits. He'll know she didn't just intend to knock, now that she's heard he's back.
"I was afraid," he says, with the candor that sometimes emerges from his usually sarcastic mouth, a surprise every time. "Sex is one thing, sex is easy, but this is more than that, and I didn't think I had anything left to give. Not after her."
The referent is obvious; Joan doesn't mention it. For one, she knows that Irene will be back; prison won't hold her long. They will have to be ready for that. But if they're lucky, that time is not right now.
"There are a lot of things you have given me," Joan says. "I'm not looking for a knight in shining armor, Sherlock. You should know better than that. I want an equal partner. Whether that means we're co-workers, or friends, or something else... that depends."
"On what?" Sherlock asks. He tugs her closer to him under the stark light of the streetlamp. She bumps him with her hip.
"On a number of things, which includes how fast you can unlock the door, because it's freezing out here," Joan answers. He lets her go so swiftly that she'd doubt he'd ever touched her, except that he's holding her key. He probably left his own inside; he had a tendency to forget it. No one has broken into the brownstone as much as Sherlock has.
"I've got a fire going," Sherlock says, his back to her, "and I was going to pull out the files from 2005, I had a thought the other day..." He glances back over his shoulder at her. It's been a long time since she's seen him so uncertain.
"What case?" she asks, as the door opens. He turns back and goes in. She follows, kicking snow off her boots. She turns and he helps her take off her coat. He has done this dozens of times before, but it has never made her feel like this before; there's a certain wild anticipation in her. She doesn't know how deeply they will get into the case -- quite deeply, knowing them -- but at some point, she will kiss him again.
And after that, nothing will be the same.
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 599 words
Prompt: Sherlock/Joan, kiss.
Pairing: Sherlock/Joan
Other: Set at some nebulous AU point after S2.
Excerpt: He is not very good at kissing, and somehow that's endearing. Oh, but she has gotten in way too deep with Sherlock Holmes. His teeth clack against hers and he mutters, "Sorry," before attacking her lips again. Joan shivers.
There are dozens of reasons that this is a bad idea but Joan closes her eyes and kisses him back. His scruff is scratchy on her face and a small part of her wishes that he'd shave, but the idea is almost disconcerting; he's never been that put together, and it's astonishing that he remembers to do it every few days. She clutches her hand in his coat and he doesn't stop kissing her like a drowning man gasping for air.
He is not very good at kissing, and somehow that's endearing. Oh, but she has gotten in way too deep with Sherlock Holmes. His teeth clack against hers and he mutters, "Sorry," before attacking her lips again. Joan shivers. They are standing in the doorway to the brownstone. She hasn't seen him in six months, since he disappeared back to Great Britain in a huff. The New York snow is already grimy on the step, and snowflakes are sliding into her hair with bursts of cold. She doesn't want to move.
"Joan," he says, "Joan, Joan..."
"You remembered," she says. His hand is on her hip and she slides his fingers into her pocket, because of course he isn't wearing any gloves. His other hand goes exploring in the other pocket, closes around a battered key. He's not an idiot; he'll know what lock this key fits. He'll know she didn't just intend to knock, now that she's heard he's back.
"I was afraid," he says, with the candor that sometimes emerges from his usually sarcastic mouth, a surprise every time. "Sex is one thing, sex is easy, but this is more than that, and I didn't think I had anything left to give. Not after her."
The referent is obvious; Joan doesn't mention it. For one, she knows that Irene will be back; prison won't hold her long. They will have to be ready for that. But if they're lucky, that time is not right now.
"There are a lot of things you have given me," Joan says. "I'm not looking for a knight in shining armor, Sherlock. You should know better than that. I want an equal partner. Whether that means we're co-workers, or friends, or something else... that depends."
"On what?" Sherlock asks. He tugs her closer to him under the stark light of the streetlamp. She bumps him with her hip.
"On a number of things, which includes how fast you can unlock the door, because it's freezing out here," Joan answers. He lets her go so swiftly that she'd doubt he'd ever touched her, except that he's holding her key. He probably left his own inside; he had a tendency to forget it. No one has broken into the brownstone as much as Sherlock has.
"I've got a fire going," Sherlock says, his back to her, "and I was going to pull out the files from 2005, I had a thought the other day..." He glances back over his shoulder at her. It's been a long time since she's seen him so uncertain.
"What case?" she asks, as the door opens. He turns back and goes in. She follows, kicking snow off her boots. She turns and he helps her take off her coat. He has done this dozens of times before, but it has never made her feel like this before; there's a certain wild anticipation in her. She doesn't know how deeply they will get into the case -- quite deeply, knowing them -- but at some point, she will kiss him again.
And after that, nothing will be the same.