Chapter Text
“Yes, I know it was a nasty fall but you checked out fine. Nothing’s broken.” Joan rolled her eyes and stared out the window into the darkness. They had been waiting for the all-clear in the backseat of this squad car for what seemed like hours. She was tired of everything and everyone at this point.
He took off his watch and flexed his hand. “My wrist still throbs. It may not be broken but I believe I have sprained it and have possibly torn ligaments.” Sherlock sniffed his displeasure at her cavalier attitude and stared out his own window.
This wasn’t like him. She had dug a bullet out of his back with less complaining. Joan twisted towards him and watched his silhouette. He looked pained.
“What’s wrong, Sherlock?”
He talked to the window rather than look at her. “I’m just weary, Watson, as I’m sure you are as well. It seems we are forever tumbling with nary a pause …” Sherlock flicked his hand for emphasis and winced.
Joan grabbed his hand and pulled up at his sleeve, examining his wrist. “Show me where it hurts.”
“There.” Sherlock sullenly pointed to the spot and waited for her appraisal.
She rubbed a thumb over the childhood scar, obscured by the self-inscribed ink; nothing was physically wrong with his wrist. He was behaving like a toddler in need of attention. Joan cut her eyes to him, “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”
Sherlock tried to pull his hand out of her grasp, “Oh nice, now you are just mocking me! Your bedside manner is quite …” His indignant speech was cut short by the touch of her lips on his bared wrist. He stopped squirming.
The sensation of her warm breath and soft lips against his skin shocked Joan as much as it did Sherlock.
Joan rubbed the spot she kissed and lifted her eyes to his. “Better?” His face had lost it’s angered pout and looked more confused than pained. She softened at his wide-eyed befuddlement. "Where else does it hurt?“ Her tone was warm and soothing, no longer edged with sarcasm.
Sherlock sat still, focused on her lips and then her eyes, attempting to understand what just occurred. His body took over for his brain and his index finger rose and pointed to his jaw.
Joan leaned in and up, slowly lest the spell be broken, and placed a kiss on his stubbled jaw. He bowed his head towards hers, "Watson …”
Loud voices and the sudden opening of the squad car’s front door split them apart. The rookie cop called in to them, “Okay, crime scene is secure. Detective Bell says you can come on out.”
Joan and Sherlock didn’t dare look at each other until they were out of the vehicle. The pair then set their sights onto the crime scene and got on with their work.