A/N: a dear, VERY dear reviewer asked me to write more things, with every episode so I wrote this and if you like this I might write more.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and encouragement to do this, I love you all so much.

Don't forget to review.

Also spoilers if you haven't watched episode 1x06.

A/N2: I added an extra scene with Bells because of reasons.

Fran

She had forgotten how many times she had reminded him about his father's visit to town, about the dinner he wanted them to share and how eager she was with the whole idea. She had also forgotten how many times he had laughed in her face and called her silly.
Either way and no matter how many times Sherlock tried to convince her to forget the dinner plan because he knew his father; she never did, not even for a second.

She had abandoned the crime scene to prepare herself for meeting her boss (she avoided the term 'father in law' since her current 'not' boyfriend didn't want to level their relationship) to which he had refused to go. Something about 'being too busy' and 'having better things to do.'
When the time came, she kissed him goodbye (the kiss lasted several minutes; Sherlock had held her tightly and he was starting to lift her skirt when she had pulled away quickly) and walked away, her heart beating fast and her mind going on and on about all the questions she wanted to ask Mr. Holmes. Questions Sherlock had refused to answer.

When she arrived at the fancy restaurant a man was already waiting for her. He had books gathered around the table; he greeted her with a smile.

The conversation had progressed perfectly; she was happy with the stories Mr. Holmes was sharing with her and also because she was slowly but surely getting to know him better. He was a nice man; Joan couldn't understand why they didn't get along.

But then something changed quickly...

"How is the sex?" The man asked her casually, as if it was the most common question in the world.
Joan's heart stopped for a brief second. Could he tell without her saying anything at all? Had he been in contact with Sherlock without her knowing anything?

"I beg your pardon?" She responded, frowning and trying hard not to let her nervous demeanor show.

"The sex. The shagging. Is he enjoying it?" He asked again. "I was told that was the service you provided."

Then it hit her, hard. Like a bucket of cold water, like someone pinching her with a fork on her thigh. He had once again lied to her, avoided the truth, and played her like a fool. She had been an open book to him, trusted him with her deepest feelings and he disappointed her.

She was hurt and pissed.

"You're not Mr. Holmes, are you?"

The man before her broke into a laugh, amused at how his acting had been so well received.

"I'm sorry..." The man spoke between giggles, "if you'd seen your face."

"Who are you?" She asked him, her cheeks turning red with anger.

"Actor. Well, a struggling one at that," he explained. "Sherlock contacted me, said it wouldn't be a problem if I took his father's place tonight because his Dad..."

"...never shows," Joan interrupted.

She got up slowly, gathering her things as the man watched her, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. She turned around and left the restaurant without uttering another word, too wounded and too sad to say anything at all.

Surely he was waiting for her, sitting on his favorite chair by the fireplace, papers and folders from his previous case spread around him.

She had turned her back on him the minute he had greeted her. Her eyes hurt from all the tears, and she was afraid she would break down again any minute.

"Did you enjoy your time with dear old Dad?" he asked her. She didn't turn around, not even for a second, and remained quiet while she took off her jacket. "Oh come on Watson, show a little appreciation for a prank well played."

"A prank?" She suddenly snapped; by his reaction (a slight frown) she was certain the result he got were not the ones he expected. "Is this what all this means to you? A joke?"

"I did tell you he wouldn't show, didn't I?"

"You make me feel like a fool," she continued, fresh new tears of anger threatening to show any minute. "Do you have any idea how eager I was to meet your father?"

"I told you countless times; I know him. He's a liar. He makes promises he can't keep, like this one. Dinner with you and me? That was never going to happen, and surely never will." He spoke, getting up from his seat and walking towards where she was standing, near the stairs. "Why would you ever want to meet a man like him?"

"Because that would be the only way of me getting to know you better," she responded. He merely looked down at his feet, partially ashamed for playing her but also half proud of succeeding. "Because you never talk, because I have to guess your feelings, I have to assume I know you when in reality I don't."

"You should have trusted me," he whispered, "when I told you he wouldn't show"

"Trusted you? We've been together for weeks now, Sherlock. How am I supposed to trust you when you hide so many things from me?" She told him, "I'm your girlfriend, whether you want to share this with others or even accept it yourself, but that's what you've made me and if you can't be honest with something so precious as your feelings and personal stories, I don't know if this will work out at all"

"Are you breaking up with me?" He spoke softly, walking a few steps closer to her. His face showed shock and confusion; he probably didn't think the night would end like this.

"I'm telling you that you hurt me and you lied." She spoke, sighing heavily, "and quite frankly I'm not sure if you won't do that again."

She turned around and headed toward her room, closing the door behind her

.

.

.

Bell was watching him; he knew it, he could feel it. He eyed him once or twice as he drove, and it was making him nervous. Sherlock knew the interrogation hadn't gone so well because his mind was on something else (someone else), but the fact that Bell had been eying him afterwards was ticking him off.

"You alright man?" Bell finally asked.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you're quiet. At this time you'd usually be on and on about something and you haven't said a word since we left the man's house. Did something happen?"

"I...had an argument with Watson"

"Oh..."

"Don't 'oh' me, okay? The last thing I need is a lecture about romance and relationships."

"You have a relationship with Ms Watson?"

Sherlock's head fell back, closing his eyes tightly he sighed and shook his head. He had said too much, clearly.

"Yes. If you can call having sexual intercourse, occasional kissing, breakfast, lunch and dinner together, also going grocery shopping and something taking naps while we hold each other in a tight embrace a relationship, then yes. We are in a relationship," he responded, turning his head around enough to look at Bell.

"Exactly. So, what was the fight about? You being your annoying self?"

"She says I don't trust her," he explained, "that I keep things from her and avoid talking about my feelings."

"Do you?"

"I..." He sighed. Yes he did. He always hid things from her because he didn't know how to tell her, he never had someone who cared about him like she did. "Sometimes I don't know how to...tell her how I feel."

"Look, I've seen the way she sees you. The way she cares. She wouldn't be with you if she didn't. If she wants to know things about you, about your past or whatever you did, then I don't think you should be confused at all, not even scared." Bell spoke, eyes fixed on the road in front of him. "Relationships are based on trust; once you lose it then you're doomed. Don't let her lose her faith in you."

"I didn't know you were a relationship expert," Sherlock told him. Bell smiled back.

"I have my moments."

"Thank you," he spoke softly.

Bell nodded in response, partially surprised at Sherlock's words, being the first time he had showed gratitute towards him.

.

.

.

Joan was sitting by the fireplace, on his chair, when he walked in. His heart skipped a beat when she turned around and stared at him, he thought (for a minute) that she would walk away the minute he walked in, and thankfully she didn't. He stepped in closer, sitting on the floor next to her, his body barely touching her legs but still close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.

Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. Sherlock's eyes were transfixed in the movements of the flames, his body suddenly tired with all the rush of emotions from the previous days. Suddenly she reached out to him, her soft hands caressing his head, finger running through his hair until he felt so relaxed he threw his head to the side, resting on her lap. She continued her ministrations until he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry" he whispered. Joan's hand stopped moving for a tiny fraction of a second. "You know I'm not very open when it comes to my feelings. I'm a relationship retard when it comes to that. But it doesn't mean I should have done what I did, tricking you was awful and uncalled for and I apologize deeply."

"Sherlock, you know there's nothing I want more in this world to make this work and the only way for that to happen is for you to trust me, like I have."

"I know..." He whispered.

"Then trust me. Talk to me."

"I...I've never felt like this before. I know its cliché, I know this is something you might take from a cheap book, but it's the truth." He told her, "I like you Joan. I like this, us together. I like what you made me, I like how you keep me sane and grounded. I'm scared and confused and I don't know what to do with all this." His head lifted slowly towards her as he spoke, sitting on his knees so he was face to face with her. When he spoke, he felt a weight off his shoulder, like a relief. He felt lighter and happier. "I..." He swallowed hard, licking his lips as he thought about what he wanted to say. "I...I love you," he told her. "I love you and I don't want to lose you for having ridiculous trust issues when I know I could tell you every single bit of my life and you would never judge me. You're everything I ever wanted, Joan, everything and more."

She expected him to tell her about his addictions, his insecurities, even talk about his family issues. She never expected him to tell her he loved her and she had found herself lost at words, so she did the only thing her mind told her: kiss him.

Her lips crashed against his. Sherlock was caught off guard but he responded immediately, his hands gripping her waist to pull her as closer to his body as he could giving the position they were in. She moaned, tongues already engaged into a battle for dominance and hand caressing tenderly.

Eventually she pulled away when air was needed, a smile creeping on her lips.

"You have no idea for how long I waited for you to say that," she whispered.

"I know. I find myself as puzzled as you are. I was not expecting myself to say that at all. It doesn't mean I don't feel it, because I do. I just never thought it would be so...amazing."

"Well it is," she smiled.

"I haven't heard your response, though," he told her, "and I sort of need it."

"I love you too, Sherlock," she told him firmly, receiving a small peck on the lips.

"Good. I mean I'm glad we're clear about it," he spoke, getting up from his position in front of the fireplace, immediately pulling her as well. "Now I believe this deserve a celebration."

"Are you taking me somewhere?" She asked him, though she knew the answer and she quite liked it already.

"Maybe, but not tonight my dearest Joan. Tonight is just you and me."

He kissed her once more, this time his hand reached slowly for the hem of her black top, fingers barely touching her cold skin.

The end!

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