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Ms. Hudson knew. They knew she knew. She knew they knew she knew. But not one word, not one innuendo, not even one small judgmental look ever passed her lips or crossed her countenance. If she were to remark in some manner, it would most likely be in resounding approval.
Cleaning the brownstone for what was now four years, more or less, Ms. Hudson knew the house and it's inhabitants pretty well. She was no detective but she had seen the clues - articles of clothing in an odd spots, beds too well slept in, the scent of a certain cologne or perfume where it really shouldn't be, the look on their faces, the way they stood as far apart from each other as they could in her presence... She smiled. Awkward as teen-agers, these two. It'd been going on sporadically for years and seemed to be happening with more frequency as of late. It was none of her business but she was happy for them.
Ms. Hudson made her way down to the kitchen. She was a little late this morning. She had knocked and when she got no response, let herself in assuming they were off on an investigation.
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Joan lay on his chest listening to his heart beat, slow and steady. His breathing deep, his body warm against hers, she felt calm, a sense of wholeness with the world. She wouldn't call it happiness; it was not a circumstantial elation, the kind that comes and goes on whim, but rock solid contentment, peace.
She picked up her head and watched him sleep. He never looked more beautiful than he did after they spent evenings together like this. The ticks and mannerisms, the crusty shell he wore to keep others from coming too close, the brain in constant overdrive, all stilled and disappeared, and he was just her Sherlock. Her head lowered and her lips placed the lightest of kisses onto his bare chest.
He opened his eyes and smiled that small thin lipped crooked smile that made her heart melt.
"Hi," his voice soft and tender.
"Hi," she answered. Their eyes held on to each other's taking in the wonder of the quiet moment.
Joan eased her body on top of his, leaning on her elbows, one on either side of his head and looked down on him, her own smile played upon her lips. His hands came to her waist and caressed her, long fingers soothingly moved up and down her back.
Joan wanted to say so many things to him at that moment but the words caught in her throat. The look in her eyes though was enough for him to understand. His hand came to her face and his fingertips traced a line from her cheek to her lips.
With eyes wide open, they exchanged several small kisses, airy light and playful ... One, two, three and the fourth became more solid, lingering, eyes still on each other.
Sherlock rolled his body to the side and took her with him so she lay beneath him. Her arms went round his neck pulling him tight to her. His mouth came to hers, open and waiting for him. As the surge of desire once more rose between them, they both heard it - the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. They froze. Joan mouthed the words, "Ms. Hudson?" Eyes widened and they scrambled to get up.
Sherlock jumped up and looked around for something to wear. Joan, scouring the room for her own clothes, found his sweatpants and tossed them to him.
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Odd, she thought. The door to Sherlock's bedroom was closed. Ms. Hudson wondered if he was still home. She knew his sleep habits included long stretches of sleepless days followed by sleep jags of monumental proportions. Just in case, she endeavored to keep her noise level down.
She was in the process of making coffee when the bedroom door opened. Sherlock emerged, looking rather crumpled. He carefully shut the door behind him and came to attention. "Good morning."
"I'm sorry. I didn't think you were home. Didn't mean to wake you." She flipped the switch on the coffee maker.
"No worries. I was awake." He stood rather oddly, she thought, by the room's door.
"Well, coffee should be ready soon." She reached into the cabinet for cups. "Is Joan here, too?"
"Joan?" He repeated with a glassy look in his eye. "Uhm, I don't know if Joan is here ... I was, you know ..." he pointed over his shoulder towards his bedroom, "... asleep." He swung his arms and smiled innocently at her.
"Ah," she said and put the cups down by the coffee maker. On his calling her "Joan" for the second time, Ms. Hudson understood. She had interrupted a little something.
"Oh, I just remembered, I have some errands to run." She checked her watch. "I probably won't be back for an hour or so. That should give you time to .... " she paused and smiled at him. "... to have your breakfast."
Ms. Hudson walked out of the kitchen leaving Sherlock standing in front of his bedroom door trying to process what had just happened. The door cracked open and a hand grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
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She hated to do it, but she'd forgotten her purse downstairs. Ms. Hudson tiptoed back into the kitchen. She checked; the bedroom door was closed. She headed for the counter, got her purse and as she turned to leave heard the inimitable sound of Joan's giggles followed by what she assumed was Sherlock's laugh and the creaking of the old futon bed.
"Ah, love," she thought. Perhaps she'd wait an extra hour before returning.