Intimacy

Chapter 9

By phaedraphelan

Word count: 2,451

Summary: Sherlock and Joan deal with their grief at the death of their friend Alistair and they learn even more about what it means to support each other in good times and bad.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS and no infringement is intended.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room totally frustrated and in turmoil at the death of his friend, Alistair. He walked to the sideboard and snatched a plate and flung it to the floor, shattering it into pieces. Joan stood staring at him in disbelief and then she marched to the kitchen, picked up a plate and likewise threw it to the floor, breaking it as well, much to the amazement of Sherlock.

"So did that make it better?" Joan said quietly.

"Please forgive my . . . tantrum, Joan. I . . . I just can't . . . my mood is not good."

Sherlock's face crumpled in anguish as he stumbled backward toward the sofa and Joan reached out for him, taking him into her arms where he broke down into sobs upon her, his face buried in her bosom.

"It's all right, Sherlock, all right. I'm here for you," she crooned softly as they held each other.

"I just don't understand it. He was sober for more than 30 years and then to relapse just like that. Is that what is going to happen to me? I want to be worthy of you . . . to be strong enough for you, but as you said just a couple of minutes ago, I am an addict. That is the truth and I cannot change that. I just want to be worthy of you. I don't want to go along for awhile and then come face to face with some trigger that will bring my life and yours to ruin."

"You are strong, Sherlock. You are just overwhelmed with sadness now. But I believe in you. You know that I do. I would not be here holding you in my arms if I did not believe in you."

Sherlock lifted his head to look into her eyes and saw her love for him and then he kissed her tenderly. Joan's eyes had filled and spilled over and their tears were mingling as they held each other. Sherlock pushed up the tank top that Joan was wearing so that he could find the comfort of her breasts and immediately began to suckle, seeking the consolation that he found there and Joan cherished him there in her bosom as he embraced her and suckled like a hungry child.

"Yes, comfort me, luv. Give me suck, Joan."

"Suckle to your hearts content, Sherlock. I do love you so."

"Warmly I felt (your) bosom thrill. (I) pressed it closer closer still," murmured Sherlock, paraphrasing the words of another favorite Thomas Moore poem.

Suddenly they were perfectly matched lovers again as Sherlock found his place in the cradle of her hips and groaned her name.

"Joan . . . I need you tonight, Joan . . . in the worst way. Please comfort my flesh and my spirit, luv. Joan . . ."

"Yes, Sherlock, yes!" Joan murmured as she gave herself to him, graciously accepting him. "I will give you whatever you want tonight."

"That's why I love you so, Joan. You never deny me. Oh, God! Yes!"

They rocked together slowly, clinging to each other, kissing each other fervently over and over, the essence of their mouths and their tears mingling as they climbed together and shared their ecstasy as the flashing bright lights of the climax exploded in their brains.

"Joan . . . Please don't ever leave me . . . Please," Sherlock gasped at the surge in his loins that presaged his release and then he shuddered and groaned out loud when it happened for him.

"God! Dear God! Joan!"

"Sherlock . . . yes . . . yes," Joan sighed in surrender. "Oh, Sherlock!"

They clung together, not wanting the supreme moments to ever end, and then they collapsed together in fervent whispers of relief and pleasure.

As soon as he had recovered sufficiently, Sherlock picked Joan up in his arms and carried her upstairs to her bed and lay down beside her there. Joan was exhausted physically and emotionally and immediately began to drift off to sleep, but Sherlock continued to talk to her, trying to work through his grief for Alistair till finally he heard her softly snoring and realized that he had worn Joan out completely. He kissed her tenderly and then just held her in his arms.

It had been a very rough day for both of them and Sherlock was quick to realize the stress that he sometimes placed upon Joan and just as quickly he would work to relieve that stress. Sherlock's eyes filled again as he drew Joan closer even and reflected on the comfort he had drawn from Joan as he suffered in his grief over Alistair's death from heroin overdose. It had been such an unsettling thing to him and mainly because it seemed to reveal how ephemeral, how delicate his own sobriety really could be. He still found it difficult to comprehend how he had come so close to dying from overdose when he was using. How could he lose track of how much he had taken? What evil self-destructive thing took over when he took that first hit? How could he not have the intelligence to self-monitor his use of something that he well knew could kill him? He knew now that he wanted to live and mainly because Joan had given him a reason to want to live. He loved her and he knew it. It was an emotion that permeated his whole being. And her love was not simply the thing that kept him from relapsing. Her love for him was everything to Sherlock. It was the thing that had grounded him, made him a better person in every way. He could not imagine his life without Joan. He finally fell asleep with his arms around Joan.

Before dawn broke, Sherlock wakened. He always wakened wanting Joan, but he tried to ignore the excitement in his flesh and allow Joan to continue to sleep. The previous day had been especially stressful for both of them. Sherlock eased from their bed and pulled on a comfortable pair of sweat pants along with his old woolen robe and went up to the roof of the brownstone. He loved to come up there and use the early morning hours to think . . . to meditate. It was cool and the sun had not risen so the city was still covered in the light darkness of the predawn hours. The bees were quiet, the sound of them from the hive barely audible.

Joan wakened when her bed went cold and she got up, wrapped her own warm robe around her body and went looking for Sherlock. It seemed now that she only slept well when Sherlock was in her bed. Even though Sherlock would come and go in her bed because of his erratic sleeping habits, the warmth of his body next to her was something that she now craved as she never craved the closeness of another human.

Sherlock looked toward her as she came onto the roof and beckoned for her to come to him and sit on his lap. George, their Lab followed on her heels and flopped down beside them. Sherlock's deep melancholy had eased, but he still was very reflective as he sat on his roof in the early morning coolness.

Joan snuggled close to him in his embrace.

"I miss the warmth of your body. You know that, don't you?"

Sherlock smiled down at her and held her tighter in his embrace, kissing her gently on her forehead and cheeks and then tracing her features with his slender fingertip.

"The light that lies in woman's eyes," he said echoing the words of the Thomas Moore poem in the Derry accent that he loved. "You have certainly been my undoing, luv," he said. "I'm glad you came up here, Joan. I was thinking about you, about how much I depend upon you . . . need you these days. You brought me much comfort last night, and I am grateful to you."

Joan lifted her lips to Sherlock's and they kissed, at first tenderly and then they both felt their passions heating as the kiss intensified and Sherlock fell to murmuring the soft unintelligible sounds that simply meant that he needed her, wanted her. Sherlock's mouth was searching, demanding more as his male nature asserted itself powerfully, his free hand finding its way inside Joan's robe, touching and caressing her.

"Please, Sherlock, don't make me cry out and disturb the neighbors," Joan begged him, but that is all that she could do as she succumbed to his caresses with a passionate moan.

Sherlock's nostrils flared, Joan's scent seducing him completely as he became a man on a single mission. Sherlock drew Joan across him so that she was straddling him and he penetrated her in one swift thrust.

"Joan . . . my sweet Joan . . . Joan, luv . . ."

Sherlock held her by her hips as Joan moved rhythmically upon him murmuring his name over and over while he frantically possessed her mouth, opening it and tasting all of her as they made love in the predawn darkness.

When Joan began to tremble helplessly on him in ecstasy, Sherlock lost control completely.

"Oh, dear God!" Sherlock groaned out loud.

"Sherlock, the neighbors . . ." Joan murmured the warning.

"I don't give a damn!" Sherlock gasped as Joan caressed his stubbled cheeks, seeking unsuccessfully to calm him.

"Oh, Sherlock . . . Sherlock . . . baby"

Sherlock picked Joan up with her legs wrapped around his hips and, still joined, he carried her to the steps to take her downstairs into the house. George scampered out of the way and went on down the stairs but Sherlock and Joan ended up lying on the landing at the top of the stairs, unable to go any farther. Sherlock grunted and snorted and Joan lost all inhibition as she finally cried Sherlock's name out loud in ecstasy as they climbed to the summit of passion together.

"Joan . . . luv . . . I think we got carried away," Sherlock said as they came around to themselves again on the landing floor.

"Sherlock . . . you are very . . . totally . . . irresistible," Joan whispered softly as Sherlock kissed her neck and her breasts over and over.

They were still joined as they trembled gently, caught up in the passion they excited in each other, unable to let it go till they had had another round together there on the landing of the steps to the roof.

Later as they showered and dressed together, Sherlock became very serious as he spoke to Joan.

"Would you accompany me to the cemetery today? I need to pay my respects to Alistair."

"Of course, Sherlock," Joan said. "I want to do that."

They made breakfast and sat down to eat together, Sherlock with his cereal and Joan with a glass of her favorite smoothie along with their morning coffee.

"I want to thank you for being willing to put up with me, Joan, in that terrible state I found myself in last night. It was abominable of me to throw that plate on the floor last night. I came down and swept up all the pieces of glass. I don't think that you or George are in danger of cutting your feet, but be careful. I didn't want to frighten you in my moment of frustration."

"I wasn't frightened of you, Sherlock. I have never feared being with you. You have always shown the greatest restraint toward me even when I have angered you. That is one of the things that I love about you."

"I knew from the beginning that you were not afraid of me, of my weakness, my addiction, even when my behavior was abominable. I have never wanted to hurt any woman, Joan, least of all you. I cherish you in every way. You knew that I would never harm you from the beginning, didn't you?"

"Yes," Joan said simply. "I would not have stayed one night in this house with you in a room without even a lock on the door if I had been in fear of you."

"You have always brought out the best part of me, Joan."

"That is what Alistair said. He said that he hoped that we would eventually be 'together' because it would be good for you. I was flattered, of course, but I wanted nothing but good for you, Sherlock. I think that Alistair recognized that."

"I am glad that you and Alistair had the opportunity to get to know each other. He was an amazing and unique individual."

"And he had a father-like love for you. I understand why you miss him. for your own sake I wish that you had been able to know what led up to his relapsing. It is probably possible for you to find out with your powers of deduction, but do you really want to know?"

"I don't know. I know that he left his wife and Jeremy when he became involved with Ian. That had to be a major trauma for Jeremy at a time when he was very vulnerable. Did Jeremy finally have to confront him about the whole matter? I do not know. I do not know if it would help me to know that. It's perhaps a matter of his privacy. As you know, I am trying to learn to respect privacy."

Joan smiled at Sherlock tenderly. She loved him most when he was so open with her, when he revealed exactly what was in his heart, holding nothing back. That's when she knew how much he loved her almost as much as when he was panting on her, spilling his seed into her.

They left the brownstone and drove to Queens to the cemetery where Alistair had been laid to rest.

As they drove up the quiet road to the section of the cemetery where Alistair was buried, Sherlock was completely and uncharacteristically quiet. They sat looking at each other after Joan had parked the car.

"I think that you should go to spend your last moments with Alistair alone. I want you to have your privacy, Sherlock. I'll go with you to his grave the next time."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed Joan on her cheek and nodded in agreement with her before getting out of the car to go share a few last words with his friend Alistair at his graveside.