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Sherlock hopped out of the cab outside Club Diogenes, looking every bit the night-clubber in her black skinny jeans, silver vest, fitted dark purple jacket and nude heels. So hot she positively smouldered, she by-passed the queue with Joan scuttling behind, whispered into the bouncers ear and slipped into the club. As the pair approached the bar, Joan took the lead and ordered two alcopops for her and her companion.
‘So this is what ordinary people do on a Friday night?’ Sherlock asked Joan, while scanning the room for their target.
‘Not exactly, Sherlock. This place is a bit pricey for most people to get to every week. Pubs and smaller clubs are more my thing. Still, I’m happy to make the most of the night.’
Joan had made an effort this evening. They’d known since three in the afternoon that they’d be tracking their target at the club, so Joan had made her excuses, telling Sherlock she was going out for milk, and quickly headed into town. She knew she’d need something other than her usual jumper and jeans, and was delighted that she’d found a cute pale pink tee to wear with a soft suede mini-skirt and ankle boots. Even better it hadn’t broken the bank. Joan’s budget didn’t stretch to the designer outfits Sherlock seemed to favour. Though Joan was the first to admit to being puzzled by the quality of Sherlock’s wardrobe – she never seemed to shop.
‘He’s not here Joan’ Sherlock concluded as they reached the end of their drinks.
‘Come on Sherlock’ said Joan leaning in to Sherlock’s ear to make herself heard over the dance music playing at full volume. ‘Time to get on the dance floor’.
‘Why, Joan, would I want to do that?’.
‘Presumably not because it would be fun? Okay,’ Joan continued, ‘let’s call it research’. Or an experiment, thought Joan. Sherlock was of course familiar with ballroom dancing. The knowledge was tucked away in some ante-room in her mind palace, but the techniques could be retrieved at a moment’s notice simply by listening to the music and exercising her muscle memory. Club dancing would be an entirely different matter. Joan had no idea whether she’d had much exposure to this genre, although it seemed unlikely to imagine that Sherlock had spent much time strutting her stuff to Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’, or ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’.
Nevertheless Sherlock acceded to Joan’s suggestion, and the pair moved towards the dance floor.
The dance floor was crowded and Joan could read the displeasure on Sherlock’s face, but they found what little space they could and started to move to the music.
Joan looked up at Sherlock and around at the reaction she was getting from other clubbers. Sherlock was emulating the moves of other girls on the dance floor, but up-staging them in the process with her model looks and the self-assured disposition that comes from genuinely not caring about what others think.
As the DJ upped the ante, the girls around them got closer to each other, touching and flirting, all the time putting on a show for the men watching from the edges of the dance floor. Joan scoffed. You wouldn’t catch me and Sherlock behaving like that, she thought. If I want to flirt with a man, I’m quite capable of doing so without appealing to his ménage-a-trois fantasies.
A jolt of electricity ran through Joan bringing her thoughts to an abrupt halt. Sherlock had accidentally (on purpose?) brushed her hand with the back of her fingers. Joan felt herself blush. Get a grip, Joan remonstrated with herself, it’s just Sherlock. But when she looked over to Sherlock she saw a woman who was insanely hot, intelligent, attractive and vulnerable, in a way which made Joan feel incredibly protective of her.
Suddenly Joan became aware that she longed to hold Sherlock. She moved closer to her on the dance floor, putting an arm round her waist and whispering, or rather yelling in her ear above the incessant noise, ‘you’re doing great’ and giving her a warm smile and wink.
For a minute Joan’s arm stayed where it was, as she imagined sliding her hand down over Sherlock’s skinny but perfect butt and letting her mouth work over her shoulder.
As the track changed, Joan broke off quickly. Tempting as it was, she cared too much about her flatmate to push the experiment too far. Sherlock had previously indicated that she was married to her work, and, for that matter, Joan had made it clear to their colleagues and landlady on numerous occasions that she was not gay. Joan had never felt anything like this for another woman … until she’d met Sherlock.
‘Let’s go now’ Joan said …
Sherlock correctly judged that something was making Joan uneasy, but she couldn’t put her finger on it just yet.
They headed towards the ladies before getting ready to grab a cab home. On their way out Sherlock grabbed Joan by the wrist and pulled her back before she approached the cloakroom. ‘One last dance’ she said, taking Joan back to the dance floor for Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds’.
Sherlock moved close to Joan. She looked directly into Joan’s eyes, then cupped her hand behind her head and leaned in. ‘I’d like to ...’ she whispered and moved in to kiss Joan.
Shivers ran through Joan’s body as Sherlock’s lips met hers. In that moment she felt liberated by the realisation that Sherlock wanted this as much as she did. And Sherlock didn’t disappoint. Her lips were soft and inquisitive, and Joan responded by opening her mouth further to allow Sherlock’s tongue to explore.
Before they knew it, the track had changed and the moment was over. But Sherlock and Joan continued to hold each other.
‘Looks like I've pulled!’ said Joan, with a smile in her eyes.
‘So it would seem’ replied Sherlock as they walked towards the cloakroom. ‘I’m looking forward to experiencing the next part first-hand, rather than deducing the following day’ she continued, ‘although I do hope it doesn't end in the exchange of texts a few days later’ she grinned at Joan.