A/N: Joan Is Sexually Frustrated: The Epilogue

Sherlock was bouncing around a crime scene looking like a child on Christmas. Lestrade was shaking his head, having given up the speech about being careful and respecting the dead years ago. Instead, he moved over to Joan and asked, "What's it like, dating a Holmes?"

Joan was slightly taken aback. "Why do you want to know?"

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "Just curious, I guess." Joan fixed him with a look and he sighed and said, "Fine, I've been thinking of asking her brother out and I just wanted to know what to expect."

"You do realize they're different people, Greg," Joan commented, not letting her face show her surprise at this newfound side of Greg's sexuality.

"Yeah, I know, but-" Lestrade dragged a toe through the gravel they were standing on. "Alright, stop me if I'm getting too personal, but I really like him. I mean really like him. I haven't felt this way before and Christ I sound like a teenager again." Lestrade ran his hands over his face and he sighed. "I haven't felt this way before with anyone. Not even the ex and I was certain with her. I know that they're different people but their personalities are similar in some ways. If I cock it up once I don't think I would get a second chance with him and that would kill me. That is, assuming that I get a chance at all."

"Are you asking me how you go about asking another man out, because it really isn't all that different from asking a woman out," Joan asked.

"I've asked men out before," Lestrade confessed. "I was a bit of a slut back in the day, and I didn't discriminate depending on gender."

"We're in the same boat with that one," Joan smirked.

Lestrade laughed, clearly a bit more relaxed. "I'm rusty at asking anyone out, but that's something I can overcome. I just want to make sure that I don't say or do something that might put him off. You know how he always has that metaphorical wall around him? In the last few months he's started lifting it slowly around me, as if he were feeling me out. I don't want to fuck something up and have those walls drop back down again."

"You soppy bastard," Joan chuckled. "Has he told you what he likes doing in his spare time?"

"Somewhat," Lestrade said. "He's had me out for dinner a few times to discuss Her Majesty over there, but that conversation is usually really brief and we always end up talking about…" Greg trailed off. "Fuck. He's been trying to date me for months now, hasn't he?"

"I'm not aware of the courting patterns of the British Government, but I would say yes to that," Joan nodded. "Maybe you should extend the offer to him."

Sherlock had swanned over by this point and said, "Oh for fuck's sake, Lestrade, you're being a larger idiot than you normally are. If you asked him on a date my brother would say yes. Stop being such a child and grow a pair."

"Yes, thank you, Sherlock, I'll count on your extensive and expert dealings with other humans for sound advice, shall I?" Lestrade replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. As soon as he had said it, he clearly knew it was the wrong thing to say. Sherlock straightened a bit and her face went blank. "Fuck, Sherlock, I'm sorry-"

"Check to see if the sister has a handgun," Sherlock said coldly.

"She doesn't-"

"Check adoption records. You'll find twins who were split at birth. One went to a well-off family, the other didn't. Find the one who didn't and see if she had access to a handgun." With a swish of her coat, Sherlock strode out of the room, stepping over the body as she did so.

Lestrade sagged.

"Come by tomorrow and fix this," Joan said coldly, then she stalked away, making sure to steer clear of the body.

"Joan!" Lestrade called.

Joan turned.

"Tell her I'm really sorry, and thanks for the advice."

Joan nodded, and then she went to go chase after Sherlock.

Joan didn't have very far to go to catch up to Sherlock. Sherlock was waiting for her at the crosswalk, hands in her pockets and staring off towards the river.

"Sherlock," Joan said gently, approaching her slowly. "Sherlock what he said was wrong."

"No he wasn't," Sherlock answered quickly.

"Yes he-"

"No he wasn't Joan, and you know it!" Sherlock spat. "I know nothing about people or what they want or need. I know how their bodies work and what motivates them to do certain things, but I don't know anything about people."

"Well, what about me?" Joan asked, half-afraid of what the answer was going to be.

Sherlock turned to look at her. "You aren't a person. You're Joan, and that is much more than being a person. That's- that's-" Sherlock grunted, yanking at her curls. "That's something so much better that I don't have a word for. It's a locked door triple homicide. It's tea the way you make it. It's fresh honey from bees that have been raised in our backyard. "

Joan was frozen with her mouth open like an idiot. When she tried to say something monumental like Sherlock had just said, what came out was, "We don't have a backyard to raise bees in."

"Not now, idiot, when we retire to the home my parents are leaving me in Sussex," Sherlock scoffed, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "Now-"

She was cut off by Joan launching herself at Sherlock and wrapping her arms around her neck as she snogged her senseless. She didn't let up at the noise of protest Sherlock made and didn't stop until someone in a car honked at them.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked, red faced and disheveled.

"That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Sherlock," Joan replied, her voice thick.

Sherlock cocked her head. "I'm not nice."

Joan sniffed. "Yes you are, Sherlock. You're lovely and I want to go home and have sex with you right now. Hail a cab."

"Joan-"

"Sherlock Holmes hail a fucking cab," Joan growled.

Sherlock stuck out her arm quickly in a shocking display of obedience and a cab screeched up to them. The clambered in and someone said the address and then they were making out in the back of the cab. Joan drew Sherlock as close as she could to her and Sherlock cupped Joan's cheek. Their tongues twisted together gently until they broke apart, panting. Sherlock nudged her nose against Joan's and they both giggled like little children. They didn't make out at the intensity they were at a when they got into the cab, but they stayed in the same position, their foreheads pressed together and their lips occasionally pressed together in closed mouth kisses. They kissed gently until the cabbie cleared his throat, alerting them to the fact that they were a block from their flat. They righted their clothes and smoothed down their hair, and Sherlock threw a substantial amount of bills at the cabbie so he wouldn't shout something rude at them, then they raced to the front door and sprinted up the stairs to their flat ripping their clothes off along the way.

By the time they got to the bed, Joan only had her left sock and Sherlock's shirt was hanging on by one sleeve. Sherlock pushed Joan onto the bed and straddled above her with a predatory grin on her face. Before Joan could even make a move, Sherlock was kissing her again and her bones were turning into mush. She sank into the bed and suddenly Sherlock's lips weren't on hers anymore. Joan made a grunt of displeasure but before she could drag Sherlock back to her, Sherlock was attacking her neck with such ferocity that Joan could feel the beginnings of bruises forming.

"Sherlock," Joan panted, her body arched up into Sherlock's. She grabbed at Sherlock's shoulder blades and to push them together and she just needed more. She moaned and said, "Sherlock, I need you to touch me, I need you to touch me now."

Sherlock froze. "Joan, I can't. I can't hurt you again."

"Look at me, you consulting idiot," Joan demanded. Sherlock slowly tipped her head up and looked at her. "I trust you. You're allowed."

Sherlock heaved a large sigh and kissed Joan's nose. "If you're sure…"

"I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't sure. Put your bloody fingers in my cunt and frig me," Joan growled.

Sherlock tsked and said, "Such language" before swooping down and running the middle and index finger of her right hand from the bottom of Joan's slit to the top. Joan gasped, and then let out a moan like she was dying when Sherlock immediately stuck those two fingers inside of her. If anything, Sherlock was an incredibly fast learner and knew what to do from cataloguing what Joan had done to her and learning from her own mistakes. She twisted her fingers as she plunged them in and out of Joan's cunt and Joan felt as if she was being taken apart with every single thrust. Sherlock then moved her other finger down and teased her clit with light, fluttering touches until Joan pushed her hips down to get Sherlock further inside of her and to gain more friction against her clit. Sherlock got the message and applied more pressure, albeit light pressure, to her clit, and flipped her fingers up and made a "come hither" motion with her fingers. Joan's hands scratched against the sheets, desperate for something to cling onto, so Sherlock took mercy on her and moved up her body and kissed her, all the while keeping her fingers moving. Joan grabbed her back hard, and if she wasn't so close she would feel guilty about the bruises that were probably going to form from her fingers digging in so hard, but her world had narrowed down to Sherlock's fingers inside of her and Sherlock's lips on hers. She began to clench on her fingers and Joan knew that she was going to come in the next thirty seconds. Sherlock could sense this and pulled back with a bite to Joan's lower lip and then dipped her head down to lick the shell of Joan's ear and whisper:

"I love you."

That was it. Joan was dying. Surely this was what dying was like. Rapture, bliss, that perfect moment where your girlfriend made her come for the first time and told Joan what she already knew but still craved to hear.

It was gone soon, with small waves of pleasure crashing over her every once in a while as the last of the nerves Sherlock was touching told her neurons that yes, they were incredibly happy. She closed her eyes and panted, gasping desperately for breath as she lay prone in the middle of the bed. Joan felt Sherlock removing her fingers gently and sliding up the bed to lay on her side next to her. When she was able to move, she turned to see Sherlock looking at her and biting her lip almost nervously, as if she was worried that something had gone wrong and Joan had been crying out in intense pain and not pleasure.

"You are fantastic," Joan panted, tucking an errant curl of Sherlock's behind her head.

"I did it right?" Sherlock perked up. "Oh, fantastic! There are so many other things I want to explore!" She hopped up and repositioned herself in between Joan's still spread legs.

"Too sensitive, Sherlock," Joan sighed. "That will actually hurt."

"Oh." Sherlock sagged a bit, and Joan could practically hear her screaming at herself internally because she had done something wrong again.

"Come back up here," Joan sighed, flapping her arms somewhat uselessly because she still felt boneless. Sherlock stretched herself out on top of Joan's body. "You're learning, Sherlock. Don't worry about it. Thank you for what you just did. It was fantastic. Honestly."

Sherlock's pointy chin rested in between Joan's breasts, and Joan was so blissed out and well-fucked that she didn't even mind the slight pain it was causing. "I'm pleased you enjoyed it."

Joan laughed, her body shaking, which led to Sherlock shaking as well, which made her giggle. "You're a wonder, Sherlock." Sherlock's face went pink and she lowered her eyes. Joan scratched her head lazily and sighed, "I love you too."

At that, Sherlock full-on buried her face in Joan's cleavage. She stayed there for a few minutes, letting Joan scratch her head before Joan pulled her up more for a lazy snog. Soon after that began, Joan began to regain feeling in her limbs and had the ability to roll Sherlock over so she was laying on top of her.

Joan pulled back and Sherlock's eyes were widened in surprise. Joan crept backwards and said in her most sultry voice, "My turn…"

A/N:

The end!

I was trolling the femlock tag and I found this art and it is exactly how I have imagined John Watson in female form for about a year. It is gorgeous. Go to post/77223506078.

I fucking hate it when they say "I love you" especially during sex I'm really fucking sorry self for doing that.