Title: Three Simple Words
Fandom: Elementary
Summary: A fluffy little fic about feelings, muffins & a pink apron. Joan x Sherlock

Word Count: 1,918

Disclaimer: I do not own Elementary.

Author's Note: I have revised this chapter slightly from when it was first posted, minor editing fixes here and there but none of the story was changed.

…

Joan liked to use her previous work with her previous clients as a reference for how to deal with Sherlock. But she quickly found out that there was no reference for how to deal with that man. He was an enigma through and through. How could she compare him to other men? She couldn't. She'd tried. She'd stayed up late at night thinking about it as she lay in bed over and over and over and still she found no answers.

She didn't know how much longer she could continue to work for the man. No... wait, where did that come from? She didn't work for him, certainly not. She was employed by his father in order to keep an eye on him. Joan swallowed nervously as she found her thoughts were beginning to concern her once more. She'd thought she had a hold on them lately but apparently not.

Standing from her perch on the edge of her bed she left her room and journeyed down the hall to their bathroom. His bathroom, she corrected herself.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror for a long second before reaching out for a hair tie and gingerly wrapping her hair up into a messy bun. She began splashing cold water from the faucet onto her face in an effort to snap out of whatever reverie her mind kept taking her into. When she was finished she moved back towards her temporary bedroom to get ready for the day.

It was extremely inappropriate to fall for your client. You are supposed to be making sure they are making healthy choices, staying clean and learning independence so that when you leave, and you will leave eventually, they are able to continue their lives just as before. How on earth is any of that possible if you start some sort of relationship with the person?

Joan cursed her own existence as she made up her bed. She sighed, already seeming to feel frustrated with a day that hadn't even begun yet.

Not to mention if she were to pursue some sort of romance crap with Sherlock that her family would look down on her even more so than they already seemed wont to do. They didn't respect her and they didn't respect her job. And if she were to begin dating one of her clients? Ha!

Although, Sherlock was quickly approaching the end of their time together... as a client. Soon he would be moving on to the next stage in his "treatment". No... she shook her head stubbornly. What was she thinking? She was going to be moving on to another client soon. Someone else needed her help and she had to move on. She wouldn't dwell on this any longer. She'd make arrangements for a new client and get ready to leave very soon no matter her feelings on the matter.

She was a professional, damn it. She wasn't in high school and she would not allow her silly little feelings to get in the way of doing her job the right way.

When she was done she made her way downstairs following her nose to the smell of... muffins?

Joan narrowed her eyes at the sight before her. Sherlock stood next to the stove muffin pan in hand wearing what appeared to be a light pink apron tied around his waist over his dark denim jeans. She was awake, right? This wasn't another one of those weird dreams she'd been having lately, right? He seemed too busy to notice her presence behind him as he gently set the pan on top of the stove and went about cleaning up the disorderly kitchen. It was only when he went to remove the bubbly apron that his eyes shot up and met her deep chestnut brown ones.

"Good morning!" he announced cheerfully as he folded up his apron and placed it inside the pantry.

"Um... good... good morning." she nodded and cleared her throat.

"Muffin?" he held out one of the blueberry baked goods to her and she couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, please. Thank you. I didn't know you were... a baker."

She busied herself with unwrapping the scrumptious smelling baked good in an effort to hide her smile.

"Well... not usually, no. I just thought I'd try my hand at it."

Joan watched him lift the other 11 blueberry muffins out of the muffin tin and onto a designated plate on the counter. She turned and eyed the pink smock that now lay in their pantry with an amused expression.

Sherlock leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms in that protective sort of way he does. "So... how is it?"

The surgeon quickly blanked her face into an impassive sort of look to hide the fact that she'd been eying the smock and nodded back towards the man. "It's delicious! Good job. Um... I do have one question, though."

"Oh?" his eyes flicked up to hers curiously and his smile seemed to dilute quite a bit.

"What's with the apron? I mean, pink? I'd think if you were going to own an apron at all it'd be something more... black." she supplied lamely seemingly to falter at her own words. She'd noticed he'd had that effect on her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her and pushed off the counter with ease wandering out towards the living room. "It's not mine... obviously."

She finished off the muffin and went about tossing it's wrapper in the nearby garbage can. She noted with amusement at how clean and pristine the kitchen now looked and wondered if he'd cleaned up simply because she had requested.

Joan turned and followed the man with her eyes as he meandered into the living room. He turned on his multiple T.V. sets and stood stock still in front of them seeming to decide now was a good time to begin his "work" for that day.

A time had come along when Sherlock had decided to trust Watson. Perhaps it was when he had admitted to her that Irene was in fact dead. Watson had been pressing the matter of who this Irene was and what she had meant to him on and on. So that night he finally decided to throw her a bone, a little tidbit of information and let her know the woman was no longer in this world. It was nothing too substantial as far as information goes but it still seemed to him at least that it was a big step in their relationship, admitting something of that nature to her.

He wasn't really sure just when he had decided he trusted her but he absolutely had at some point. At first, Sherlock hadn't wanted her there at all, hadn't wanted her aimlessly following him around like some sort of puppy and certainly did not want her living with him. He'd wanted nothing to do with the bloody infernal woman whatsoever. But she had grown on him and found a place in his heart somehow. He felt himself melting at her glances and feeling lightheaded at her simple touches. Joan Watson was perplexing to him. She was like... well, for lack of a better metaphor... she was like cocaine and he felt a compulsive need to be with her.

Joan approached him from behind.

"Thank you for cleaning up." she grinned at the back of his head and noticed that when he turned slightly to glance back at her his face looked carefully and conscientiously blank.

"I didn't."

She raised an arched eyebrow at him before glancing again towards the various screens. "It certainly looks like you did. That's the cleanest I've seen it in a while."

"Well... I might have tidied up a bit. Here and there." Sherlock responded staring carefully ahead appearing to focus on the T.V.s in front of them.

There was a brief silence between the two of them, the televisions having been muted so only the pictures captivated Sherlock's attention at the moment. He shifted from one foot to the other quietly, unwilling to let his emotions show. He remained silent and stony as best as he could muster given the circumstances.

"So... is it an ex-girlfriend's?"

Sherlock blinked and turned to face the woman standing behind him completely baffled at the question. "I'm sorry?"

Joan suddenly looked uncomfortable at her blurted question blinking rapidly and shifting her gaze away from the man. "Oh... uh, the... the uh, the apron."

The detective grinned at his flatmate all feelings of longing and embarrassment gone and shrugged at her. "Something like that. Why are you so interested?"

The air had changed between them. The game was seemingly back on.

The raven haired woman looked anywhere in the suddenly stuffy room, anywhere but his face. "I'm not... I'm... I was just curious."

Sherlock moved closer which only took a step or two seeing at how close in proximity they had already been standing. Joan seemed to snap to attention then, her chestnut brown eyes zeroing in on his face. She hoped he wasn't going to do that trick of his and "deduce" her or whatever the term was. She hoped he wouldn't of course because if he did it wouldn't take very long for him to notice the slight flush in her cheeks, her dilated pupils, the rapid breathing.

"Joan Watson... you are... " he murmured, his eyes glancing at her delicate face.

She blinked at him slowly and tried her best to meet his gaze levelly.

"I quite enjoy your company, my dear Watson." he finished, his smile turning into more of a relaxed and genuine one.

And, then it happened. All of her strong, imagined walls came down. She felt it happen all at once just then. Everything she had tried to block out, all of the thoughts, the feelings, the sensations she had felt since she had first stepped into the apartment. Everything she wanted so desperately to ignore about the man. Every thought that had kept her up at night. It hit her all like a tidal wave. She swallowed nervously while keeping her eyes fixed on his hazel ones.

A slow smile crept onto her face and the flush deepened in her cheeks. Heart pounding in her ears, Joan Watson smiled at the detective who somehow had managed to find a place in her heart. No matter how hard she tried to keep him out he had made his way in, made himself at home there. But maybe, that wasn't such a terrible thing after all.

They stood gazing at each other and it probably looked like they were just smiling like idiots to anyone who may happen upon them. Sherlock took a deep breath and turned away from her breaking their shared gaze finally. She tried not to feel disappointed.

He stepped quickly back into the kitchen and grabbed two muffins from the tiny plate. Joan spun around as he approached her once more and handed her one of the sweet treats before biting into his own with a look of sheer mirth.

"Thank you." she smiled back at him gratefully and decided that maybe she wouldn't try to bite back those smiles as often anymore. What could it hurt really?

"You're quite welcome." he returned her smile full force.

And there they stood in a quiet contentedness eating blueberry muffins and feeling really quite chipper.