The pillow was too soft. Yes, the same pillow she had used for three months prior to this evening was suddenly too soft. She sat up and hit it, hard, and then again, harder. She shook it, she plumped it, she folded it in half; the poor pillow limply accepted its fate. Satisfied that it would now suit all her needs, the pillow was put back in place and her head plopped down upon it. Eyes wide open, Joan waited to find comfort. None. She waited for sleep. None. She tried not to think. Thoughts raced. This would not do. She flipped herself over on her side, dragging the covers with her, exposing her feet. No! Her feet needed to be covered. She sat up to throw the blanket over them, only to have the pillow rebelliously pop out of position and onto the floor.

"That's it!" Joan threw off all the covers. She swung her legs around and sat there holding on to the side of the bed, feet dangling. "I should never have moved back here," she muttered to herself. She'd been back for a couple of months but only lately was it proving to be a problem.

This bout of insomnia was the result of her stringent introspection, a vain attempt to ferret out what it was she truly wanted. Hours were wasted arguing with herself about Sherlock, about how she felt and what she felt for him, what did she want from life, from relationships, from her work. But try as she might, all thoughts tonight kept gyrating and twisting themselves back to ... him.

"Of course I love him, I'm not denying that," she told herself. "He's my friend. I love all my friends."

"Yeah, right, but when push came to shove..." the smug little voice inside her head would not let her be... "You didn't move in with Emily, or your mom, did you?"

Joan put her hand up to her forehead, "I'm here for the work. Our work comes first and Sherlock and I work best together." She took a breath and picked up the pillow from the floor.

"Uh huh," the voice mocked her, "You're here for the work... Riiiiight ... Not here to stare into his eyes like you were doing earlier tonight and wonder..."

"I did not stare!" Joan squelched the thought before it formulated. "This is stupid," she thought. "I'm arguing with myself over nothing. ... "

"What do you want Joan? What? ... You were fuming yesterday when he mentioned running into the Lynch twins..." The voice was slick as oil as it led her down the slippery path.

"I was mad because he was late and I thought something had happened ..."

"Yah, uh huh ... Something might have happened ... that's exactly why you were angry ..."

"No! Not like that. He's a grown man, free to ... free to ... " Joan abruptly stood up. "This is crazy. I'm losing my mind." She slid into her slippers and announced to no one, "I'm getting a glass of water."

Her feet grumpily hit the the first floor landing. She scowled. The brownstone was dark except for a light in a corner of the library. Joan peeked around.

Illuminated in the yellow glow, she found Sherlock, bare chested, hairy, tattooed and hanging upside down in that contraption he kept in the lock room. "This isn't fair," she whined softly to herself. It had been a cold winter and he'd kept his clothes on ... up to now. "Of all nights... " she whispered.

"Ah Watson, I thought you'd gone to bed." His voice reflected anticipatory pleasure at the prospect of her company at this late hour. "I've been reviewing one of the cold cases. Care to take a look." He pointed at the photos and documents taped to the wall.

A small smile pushed its way across her face as he slightly raised his torso, flexing well-defined ab muscles. He was beautiful. As a doctor, it was only natural she admire a human body, a well-toned, muscular, human body...

"Uh huh ... That's right Joan, you don't stare, not at all ..." her inner voiced drawled and mocked, snapping Joan to attention.

Joan folded her arms in front of her, and walked towards him casually. "How long have you've been hanging upside down?"

"Just started, approximately ..." He checked his watch, "four minutes ago. This increases blood flow to the brain, stimulating the ..." he kept talking but she stopped listening. Unsure of what she was doing or why, she kept moving closer to him. She watched his chest muscles flex as he gesticulated and talked. His arms looked more muscled than she remembered.

He stopped talking and observed her as she crossed the room. He'd gotten into this damn thing, hung himself upside down, because of her, because of thoughts and feelings about her that had no place in their relationship and needed to be obliterated from his psyche. Sherlock had been succeeding, too ...replacing thoughts of her freckled nose with the faces of mustachioed mobsters. And then there she stood before him ... in her pajama pants and small white tshirt, walking towards him ... ethereal ... the only word to describe her as she approached ... ethereal. Even upside down ... his Watson was perfection.

Joan came to a stop in front of him. She slowly knelt and sat back on her legs. Their positioning was odd, they were not quite face to face - his head hung a little lower than hers. She had to look down to look into his eyes and he looked up at her. A strange current of energy passed between them. The room was completely quiet except for their breathing.

Joan raised her eyes. "You have a new tattoo." Her hand started to reach out to touch it.

Sherlock looked up at her, wondering if she would breach the gap. He cleared his throat and waited before he spoke. "London ... I got it in London. It was a ... " The whisper of her touch at his side stopped him in mid sentence.

Joan looked down at his face, her fingers still lightly drawing across his inked skin. This was dangerous. She needed to stop and walk away. But she didn't. His eyes mesmerized her and drew her in.

Entranced by the look on her face, Sherlock tentatively raised his head. Joan's hand was quickly there, capturing and supporting his head while she bent down to his. Her lips moved to his forehead, placing an almost reverent kiss upon it. She held his head now with both hands as her lips kissed his cheeks and his closed eyes. Sherlock's hands found there way into her hair and helped guide her to him. Small, upside down kisses and gentle nuzzling grew steadily. What started out as soft touch turned into hungry need. She held him steady as she moved from his lips to his neck, scraping her face across his stubble. He too found himself at her neck, soft and warm, he buried himself in.

Joan continued trailing kisses down his chest as she moved up and he in turn down hers. His hands reached beneath her tshirt and stroked her back, pressing her closer. She reached his stomach and sunk in eliciting a groan of pleasure from him that reverberated through her.

Sherlock pulled his lips from her hip, his hands gently pushing her away, breathily the words passed from his lips, "Stop... Please, stop."

A startled Joan pulled away from him, stood and backed away. "My god what have I done, what have I done?" the phrase turned over and over in her head. Her hands covered her face, panicked that she had shown herself, had ruined a friendship forever by letting her heart lead for the first time in ages ... What had she done.

Sherlock wasted no time in flipping himself upright, taking a second to balance himself, not sure if the lightheadedness was the result of his position or Joan's effect on him. He looked up to see her standing, face covered and quickly surmised that she misunderstood what he had asked of her.

In one step, he was in front of her, pulling her hands gently from her face while she attempted to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me... I'm sorry."

He held her face in both his hands, his face close to hers, "Look at me... " She tried to pull herself together and be Watson before she looked him in the eye.

Sherlock couldn't articulate the words to soothe her, to let her know she'd done nothing wrong and everything right. "I was ... I was lightheaded ... Just needed to get down ... to get to you ..." His hands moved from her face to her neck and back to bring her closer; his forehead rested on hers. "You are perfection. Don't ever apologize for being ..." Their lips met in a small kiss. "... for being you."

Tears of relief flooded Joan's eyes and she put her head on his chest and let them flow. He held her even tighter. Not knowing how to proceed, but not wanting the moment to end, Sherlock reached for humor. "I think you need to try it, let's hang you upside down shall we?"

He could almost feel her smile against his bare chest. She pulled her head back, to look at him, wiping at the drops of tears she'd left on him. His eyes teased her. "No," she answered.

"No?" He shook his head at her in mock surprise. "Well, how about we go downstairs to my room ... if you want." His heart raced fearing her rejection. Sherlock's eyes grew large and his gaze intense as he waited for her answer.

Joan's own heart raced to match his. She stopped thinking and answered from her heart. "Yes. That is exactly what I want." The little voice inside her head shrieked in glee and vanished.

She smiled and his whole being lit up with happiness. Sherlock took Watson by the hand as they walked down the stairs.

"You should try to hang upside down at some point." He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "We could have a lot of fun ..."

Joan found herself giggling, "Perhaps later..."

"Yes! That's my girl." A very enthusiastic Sherlock hugged her closer as they walked down the dark staircase to the faint glow of light coming from his bedroom.