drwhitly | Closed to formersurgeon

It had been five days since she'd seen him, and it felt like forever. There was really no helping it...in the throes of a case there was barely time to eat and sleep, let alone time to slip away to her clandestine lover, who, by the way, was a serial killer everybody thought was dead. But they had caught their suspect, and there were a few hours of waiting while the bureaucratic wheels turned before they could put the button on the case. Time enough go out for dinner with a friend, or so she told Sherlock. Sherlock knew she was hiding something from him, but she had played it the way she played all her sexual relationships she didn't want him nosing in on, so she was pretty sure he didn't realize just how much she wasn't telling him.

Once she left the station she flagged a taxi and texted that she was on her way. She gave the driver an address that was two blocks from the building. She always did that, just in case someone ever tracked down the drivers and grilled them about where she was going. She walked those two blocks, went up to their apartment, unlocked the door with her key, and let herself in.

The food smelled amazing.

Martin was working on the mashed potatoes when he heard the door open. He didn’t look to see who it was because he felt confident that he already knew.

“Is this where I ask you how was traffic?” He jested listening to her approaching footsteps. “Or how your work day was?”

Edited 2020-05-06 19:21 (UTC)

She smiled as she shrugged off her coat and hung it up. "Traffic was decent," she said as she walked into the kitchen. "Work day is more like work week to be honest. I'm fairly certain today is Thursday, but it could be Wednesday or Friday and I wouldn't be surprised." She went over to him and kissed him, then smiled. "Hey. It smells amazing."

Martin leaned over and kissed her back, it felt so natural and normal. "I'm sorry, darling." He was far removed from having stressful long work weeks, but he certainly remembers the time when he did.

"I hope you're hungry for it because it'll be ready any moment." He added. "How long did you say you had to stick around for?"

"I don't mind...it's an interesting case. Just makes for a long week."

This did feel natural and normal, like they were your average married couple and not a consulting detective and a serial killer on the lam making a relationship work in the gaps.

"I should probably be back at the brownstone by ten. So we have about two hours. Would you like me to set the table?"

"You'll have to tell me about it," Because he adored solving the cases even if it did remind him of his son.

"Alright," he nodded slowly, grinning as he did, his eyes sliding over to her. "We can certainly work with two hours."

"That would be lovely, yes." he agreed, beginning to seek out the plates to prepare the servings. "And grab the wine from the pantry. I found us a good one."

"Gladly! You'll like this one." She enjoyed telling Martin about their cases. It was rare to be able to have an insightful conversation with someone who was interested in her work.

She noticed him checking her out with that grin and couldn't help but give him a sly, suggestive grin in return. She fetched some silverware then went to the pantry for the glasses and the wine. "Oh, this does look good!"

"Sometimes I think I should have just gone into criminal psychology and detective work," he muse was he divided the portions for them, picking up both plates after turning off the stove. "I would have been great at it. Sort of like that Dexter character." Which he really found to be a joke.

He added a wink when he got that grin back, plenty ready for what they'd do with that other hour and a half. Twenty years behind bars did not diminish his taste in fine wine. He set down the plates, pausing to assess the table and be certain that they had everything and didn't need to get up again. "Sit, darling, I want you to eat."

"You would have been," she agreed. "Do you think you would have been satisfied with only killing killers?" It was a discordant note to their "perfect" domesticity, a reminder of the dark depths below the placid surface.

She sat as she was bid, smiling up at him as she spread her napkin in her lap. "I can't wait!"

"Oh, of course not!" He laughed like it was an absolutely insane concept. "The majority of serial killers have a form of sexual gratification with their killing. Dexter was crap because they left that out for prime time ratings." He rolled his eyes as he sat down. "Killers don't really make me feel any which way other than they're sloppy and often make stupid mistakes."

He grinned a warm smile as he saw her prepare herself. "Bon Appetit!" he declared, raising his glass to toast her over their meal.

The answer made Joan realize she had hoped that he would say yes. That there was some way to fit him into an acceptable mold. But that wasn't Martin. His crimes were unapologetically horrendous. She had to reconcile that with her affection for him, and it wasn't easy.

Still, she answered that grin with a warm smile of her own, and raised her own glass to clink against his. "Cheers!"

She took a sip of wine. "Mmm! That is nice!"

The topic of Martin’s crimes really didn’t seem to come up as much as simply his status as a serial killer. They did, after all, happen over 20 years ago, in his mind. Although if she ever were to ask about them, he would have no reserves around sharing. It wasn't as if he hadn't already been charged and served the time for his crimes.

"I'm glad you like it." He said as he took his own sip. "Now try the steak-" he urged her. "I spent all afternoon in the kitchen." That wasn't entirely true, but he did put a good amount of time and energy into the meal. He'd never had a working partner before so he did plan to wine and dine her since he was now in a way a stay at home partner.

Joan was familiar with the details of each of Martin's confirmed victims, having researched them before they met for the first time. Someday she might ask him to tell her about them, but for the moment they mattered much less than the identity, the personality, that they were indicative of.

It was nice, having someone to cook for her. Especially someone who was so good at it. She cut herself a piece of the steak and put it in her mouth.

"Mmm," she hummed with approval as she chewed, closing her eyes for a moment as she savored the taste.

“I want you to enjoy it and savor it then,” he watched her eat as he began to cut his own meat. “But not for too long,” he eyed her with an attracted gaze. She was so alluring to him that it nearly impressed him that he had been able to keep his hand off of her. If not for the meal he had taken pride in making, he would have kept his word about things happening before the meal.

“So,” he began some causal conversation. “How is Sherlock?”

She smiled at his words and his gaze, and ate another piece of the steak. It was really nice, how attractive he clearly found her. Not that people didn't usually find her attractive, of course. But this was different. More intense. Really, with the way he was looking at her, she was almost surprised he hadn't just shoved her to the wall the minute she walked in and taken her right there.

The steak was really good, though. And he was clearly proud of his work.

He asked about Sherlock, and she swallowed her mouthful of food and sipped her wine. "Sherlock is well. He's happiest when he's working, so the past week has been very satisfying for him."

His attraction to her was intense. It had been years marinading while he was still in that tiny cell of his. She was what he had fantasized about on those late nights when all he had were words on a screen at best. To now endlessly have her made him want to savior those moments.

“Good!” Martin was pleased at a distracted Sherlock. He continued to eat his steak and take drinks of wine as he asked, “Tell me, has there ever been a case he could not crack?”

She had longed for him when they could only see each other for rare, stolen hours in the institution, but she knew it wasn't the same as being the one locked up and tethered.

"Mmm," she hummed, swallowing her mouthful. "Yes. Not lately, but yes. At one point he gave me a trunk full of files from the cases he couldn't solve, so that I could take a crack at them." She cut another piece of steak. "I've solved a couple. Some of them, though...still mysteries." She put the piece of steak in her mouth.

“Oh he must love it when you solve the ones he can not.” Martin muses, loving that she is such a smart woman. He may be a narcissist but it fuels his image of himself to have such a accomplished woman on his arm. “Do you ever compete to see who can figure it out first?”

Martin took his time trying to savior the meal he had made but with each passing moment he was prepared to cut the meal short, watching Joan as she ate, like a cat looking to pounce.

She loved his intellect, loved that he understood her and could keep up with her. Spending all her time with Sherlock made it hard for her to be with men who couldn't match wits. In that respect, Martin was perfect for her.

"Sherlock isn't really one for jealousy when it comes to cases," she noted. When it came to his partner? Yes. But with cases, the answer was the important thing, regardless of who arrived at it first. "So not quite a competition. But we do enjoy showing off for each other." Someone had once said they were members of a mutual admiration society, and they weren't far off. Joan and Sherlock admired and adored each other, a fact that Martin must have noticed.

Right now, though, he was clearly noticing other things. That look on his face suggested he was hungry for something that wasn't on his plate. She smiled slyly, and, looking in his eyes, slowly put another piece of steak in her mouth, then sighed with excessive pleasure as she chewed it.

“Well then I am glad he appreciates your talents.” Martin concluded. “Particularly your mind. He sounds smart but I think you’ve got some edge on him.” And Martin meant that.

“You know,” he casually spoke, continuing to use a steak knife to slice through his meal. “I’ve been thinking of you all day. It’s been quite...intrusive.” His eyes raised to meet hers, certain she caught his meaning. “I resisted relieving myself which has been quite a feat, I’ll tell you.”

"In some ways," she agreed with a smile. "Other ways he definitely has the upper hand." She shrugged a little. "We complement each other really well. It makes us a great team."

He remarked on having though of her all day, and Joan glanced down at that steak he was cutting, knife in hand...and the image of one of Martin's victims flashed in her mind, her skin artfully sliced by someone who was clearly quite knowledgeable about anatomy. She blinked and looked up, and smiled, looking perfectly at ease.

"It's mutual. Although it would have been a lot harder for me to 'relieve myself' on the job. Way too many people. The thought of finding a bathroom did cross my mind, though..."

Martin chuckled at her mental image. “Ah the luxury of when I used to wear scrubs all day.” He said in a dreamy way. Then paused to clarify. “As a surgeon. Not when at Claremont. Completely different scrubs.”

He took another bite of steak before looking to her, “Maybe we invest in one of those remote toys that go in your panties. I mean, I wouldn’t want to disturb your work...but it’d be fun to play with if say you couldn’t come by in the evening.” He was realistic about their meeting up. She had to go back to her place enough for appearances and he didn’t ask more from her than she could offer. They still had to be careful nearly every day.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "You liked wearing scrubs because it made it easier for you to pleasure yourself when you wanted to while on the job?" It wasn't entirely unheard of. Those clothes were designed to be easy to put on and easy to take off, a feature that had been utilized by doctors and nurses for secret trysts in supply closets from time immemorial. Not her. But others.

She took a bite and smiled at the suggestion. "That would be...interesting," she said. "I could wear it during the day and text you when I have a minute to myself and can't stop thinking of you."

“I mean it wasn’t that often!” He let out a laugh at what an image she may have been mustering in her head of him as a horny surgeon. “But every so often, things would get exciting after a particular operation.” He shrugged his shoulder casual as if this was a normal thing to be a roused from.

“Yes,” he grinned, his head tilting down to watch her, savoring that they were thinking exactly alike right then. “It’d be like I was the one pleasuring you.” Since technically he would be. “That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Oh.

She had been thinking of the "horny surgeon," looking right past the truth that should have been obvious.

"Operations aroused you," she said, with a tone of realization that wasn't quite shock. "I had always thought it was the murder itself that you found enticing. But it was more than that, wasn't it? What about the operations turned you on?"

They were definitely on the same page when it came to the use of a toy. "You would be the one pleasuring me," she pointed out with a smile. "It would be nice. Might even help me concentrate on my work, if whenever I'm all hot and bothered over you, you could satisfy me right away."

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