This is my first fanfiction, so I am extremely nervous.

My interest in dreams inspired to write a story about it and cooperate with the show Elementary. I have never watch the full episode of Elementary, but I have seen the short clips of the show on YouTube. So I only have a general idea about the plot and characters. ( I only watched Sherlock Holmes on Netflix. I need to watch Elementary...)

Originally, I wanted to create a short story, but this story kept expanding. So the process to write this was difficult, especially trying to make Sherlock and Joan in character.

I updated it and revised it a couples of time. But this is my final revision. I am so sorry if this bother you...:( I will make sure this won't happen again.

I apologized if you see any bad grammar in this story. I am embarrassed to say this because English is my first language.

I don't own Elementary.

Summary: Joan woke up in the middle of the night from an unexpected dream. Then she began to reflect on her relationship with Sherlock, but she didn't want to admit that she had feelings for him. When she went downstairs to grab a drink, she realized that she wasn't one who was still awake...Unexpected dreams can lead to unexpected results.

The city of New York was filled with the crackling sound of fireworks, exploding and shimmering in the night sky. The gun shots of the fireworks brought excitement to Joan's eardrums. She tried to persuade Sherlock to go to Time Square to watch the famous ball drop. She thought it would be a nice way to spend time together outside of the brownstone. However, Sherlock, a person with full stubborn ideas and opinions, never have understood the importance of celebrating holidays. He rather focused on training his mind than taking a break.

Right now, he was watching multiple programs on different TV screens.

"Watson," Sherlock explained without looking at her, "Don't even try to entertain me with your preposterous reasons on why we should sit in traffic for hours to watch some chaotic and earsplitting fireworks on New Year's Eve. It will take a hell a lot more than some garish explosions to keep me entertained."

He continued, "I will give you another option instead: watch it on television. Watching fireworks on television can give you the same entertainment as watching fireworks outside. Besides..."

Tired of hearing Sherlock's annoying lecture, Joan snatched the remote controller from his hand and turned off the televisions. She walked to stand in front of him, trying to prevent herself from hitting the back of his head.

"I will give you another option instead," Joan said. "Since we cannot leave the brownstone, we are going to the rooftop to watch the fireworks whatever you like it or not. She smiled, "Besides, you said you would pay me back after I helped you to solve the last case."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Instead of arguing with her, Sherlock followed her to the rooftop.

.

.

Joan was surprised that there were a lot of people, young and old, on the rooftop staring at fireworks, but no one seemed to notice their presence. Joan found an unoccupied bench at the back, which was isolated from the spectators, and sat on it. Sherlock followed suit, but sat far away from her. Joan could deduce that he was mad at her, but she didn't care less about his feelings. She was happy that they were here together.

Joan began to stare at the beautiful night sky, which was splashed with bright fireworks. She could hear the sounds of children saying 'ohhh' and 'ahhh' after a new and larger firework exploded in the sky.

Unfortunately, Sherlock distracted her.

"Watson, I want to leave NOW. There are so many practical activities I can engage in than watching these tedious, repetitive, and deafening explosions. Do you want to know what are these made of, the chemistry behind it? It contains an oxidizing agent, a reducing agent, a coloring agent, binders and regulators. These ingredients make up the basic firework..."

The moment he started to talk, anger and annoyance have flared above her chest. It was not only because he was attempting to lecture on the basic chemistry of firework, but it was because he couldn't simply enjoy the spectacles before them. He couldn't keep his mouth shut; he has to speak everything out from his mind. Could he keep his mouth shut for at least another minute? Could he try to consider other people's feelings? Could he at least consider her feelings? Her heart started to beat rapidly, her hands were getting sweaty, and her head was beating so hard that she couldn't take it anymore. The bomb was clicking in seconds before it was about to explode.

"SHERLOCK!" she yelled, jumping from her seat.

Everyone, including Sherlock, flinched from her sudden outburst, but she couldn't care less. She would not allow Sherlock to pester her.

Suddenly felt a little embarrassed, she slowly settled herself down. Even though she tried to keep her demeanor still, she could feel her body shaking and her heart beating. The uncontrolled emotions were still present, she deduced. She could feel a tear trying to push out of her eyes.

"If you don't want to stay here," she spoke, staring down at Sherlock's brown boots, "you can leave." With those last three words, she looked straight into his eyes, indicating that she was serious and she didn't want to make any further conversation with him. She turned away from Sherlock and stared at the sky that was covered with fireworks. She wished she could find an exit sign in this vast sky. She wanted to be away from here, away from this rooftop, away from all of these people and especially away from Sherlock.

"Watson?"

Please don't call me, Joan begged. She instantly shut her eyes, hoping the voice could go away.

But it didn't.

"Joan?"

She opened her eyes, as if his voice gave her a shock, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. Did he just call her by her first name? His voice sounds so gentle, so kind. Still, for some reason, she wanted to ignore him. She didn't want to yield to his calling. She lowered her gaze away from Sherlock, gripping the bench tightly with both hands to control her emotions.

She felt a tear trailing down her cheek.

"From reading your body language, your hands and legs shaking, your lips trembling, and your eyes closing longer than a blink, I know that you are frustrated or even angry. It is a survival mechanism to prevent the brain from processing any undesirable and threatened events." Sherlock explained.

Her face started to flush when she felt Sherlock's hands snaked behind her waist, pushing her body closer to his. She felt her body relaxed in his embrace. How did he move so quickly?

He buried his head in her hair and whispered, "I am sorry." His breath tickled her ear. "Being around with you should be a constant reminder that I need to show respect for other people's feelings, including yours, but sometimes I forget. I forget everyone around me," he paused before continuing, "I appreciate that you have pushed me to see the fireworks; you care about me and I respect you for that.

"I don't know if you will understand, but sometimes I really want to hug you like this." When she felt him squeezing her, she felt her heart pushing forward to her chest. All of the resentment she had against him disappeared. She felt comfort and love from him. This feeling being so close together felt right, she thought.

Then her thoughts ended abruptly when she felt his hand lifting her chin. She was forced to focus on his visage. His face was covered with stubbles, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes…. they were beautiful. They were glimmering like sapphire under the light.

She could see him glancing at her lips before looking at her eyes.

"You're all I think about," Sherlock whispered. He pulled her gently toward him. He came so close that her vision blurred and she closed her eyes. She felt his lips brushed against hers, but in moments, he kissed her lips roughly. His hand that was holding her chin was moved against the side of her neck and he held her there. She couldn't help it and responded to the same desperation, wrapping her hands around his neck.

"Joan," he purred against her lips.

Then in seconds, everything started to turn black.

Joan suddenly woke up from the dream. She felt her hearting pounding and her face flushing. Was I dreaming? She lifted herself up and looked around the dark room. Seeing everything was in the same place before she had slept, she was relief it was just a dream.

Sometimes dreams like this leave you speechless for a long moment of time. You can't find the words to describe it. You don't know what to feel. This is how dreams are; they leave you with these odd feelings. They make you feel like you are placed in another dimension, an incomprehensible time. It is rather an uncomfortable feeling and this is how Joan felt about her dream.

Joan brought her leg up and wrapped it around with her arms, trying to calm herself down. She closed her eyes and tried to pull the sections of the dream she could remember, placing them in order before she had a general idea what just took place. It was New Years' Eve. Wait, is today New Years' Eve? She turned her body quickly and pushed herself out of her bed. She sprinted to her ebony dresser and checked on her phone for the date and time. It read 1: 36 AM and Saturday, Jan 11. 2015. That was a relief, she said.

She leaned back on her dresser, trying to remember her last thought about the dream. Oh yeah. It was New Years' Eve and she wanted to take Sherlock to Time Square. But of course, Sherlock was reluctant to go. This didn't surprise her, she smiled. Then she pushed him to see the fireworks on the rooftop. Then Sherlock was complaining again. She became furious with him and told him that he could leave. Sherlock was completely shock and he called out her name. Then he hugged her, trying to comfort her, and he kissed her.

He kissed her.

Thinking about that last thought again made her stomach fluttered. Did she enjoy it? Well if she didn't, she wouldn't kiss him back. But she did. Ok, she did like it. She did enjoy it. Maybe loved it. No, that was wrong. This was lust for sexual intimacy. That didn't mean that she loved him. Right? She didn't want that to intervene into their relationship. That seemed wrong.

Then she began to reflect about her relationship with Sherlock.

The transition from being Sherlock's sober companion to his consulting detective was a huge adventure for her. She loved spending years living and solving cases with him. Fighting criminals, chasing them down, and putting them in jail were more exciting than performing surgery on patients. Yes, the tasks were stressful and nearly unbearable, but it in the end, it was rewarding. Besides, standing with one of the most brilliant detective made it more exciting and unpredictable….

She was suddenly shivering by the cold temperature in this room, distracting her from her train of thoughts. She went to the closet and grabbed a light multi-colored sweater and to put it over her tank top. She pulled her hair out and looked down her cotton black legging. Satisfied and warm, she decided that she would wash her face and drink a glass of water. She opened the door slowly and tip-toed to the bathroom, hopefully not to wake Sherlock.

If he is ever sleeping, she thought.

After she finished washing her face, she thought about the dream again. She was somewhat grateful for having that dream. It rekindled her love for Sherlock. Sure sometimes he irritated her, but there were more times when he amazed and surprised her and those were times that she really appreciated him. The way he was expressing his gratitude in her dream gave her hope that their relationship can still work out and maybe it could go somewhere deeper…

Wait, does she have feelings for Sherlock?

Joan tried to avoid answering that question, fearing to face the truth she had all along.

..

She headed downstairs. From the corner of her eyes, she caught a bright light coming from the "multiple-television room." Once she caught the light, she forgot to grab a glass of water. She reached to the threshold of the room and she saw Sherlock sitting on the floor, his back facing her, with a table lamp in front of him. It looked like Sherlock was writing something on a thin paperback book. Then to her right, she saw two piles of paperback books next to him. The book on the smaller pile read Simon & Schuster Crossword Puzzle Book. The book from the larger pile read Sudoku Brain Buster Edition.

Strange, what is he doing with these with books?

She also noticed two shopping bags peeking out from the darkness of the room. She could distinguish board games inside the shopping bag like scrabbles, jigsaw puzzles, and chess. Before Joan could ask him questions, Sherlock answered.

"Watson, I am training my brain by exercising my intelligence, strengthen my memory, and enhancing mathematical ability with these puzzles books. I also brought some strategy broad games we can play, if you dare to challenge me," Sherlock chuckled.

"Sherlock-"

"Watson," Sherlock interrupted. "Don't even tell me to report to bed. Besides, at least I am making use of my time unlike you." After that, he remained silent and continued on his activity. Not once he turned to face at her while he was speaking.

Instead of arguing with him, Joan sat next to him, on the opposite side of the piles of puzzle books. She looked and realized that he was doing crossword puzzles. Then she took a closer look at his strange outfit; he was wearing yellow black ankle socks, green pants and a white long sleeved Christmas sweater. Typical Sherlock Holmes.

"I won't stop you," Joan said, " I am actually impressed." She leaned on his shoulders and slowly closed her eyes. As much as he irritated and annoyed her (just like in her dream), she enjoyed working with him and being with him. Him and her alone in this semi-dark room felt like the continuation of the dream. Even though they were not hugging and kissing, but this close intimacy felt just as nice as the dream. Some people would crave to go back to the dream because sometimes the chances are that you would never have the same dream again.

"Are you ok, Watson?" Sherlock asked out of the blues. Joan opened her eyes and looked at Sherlock, who was concentrating on his last page of puzzle crossword edition. He looked at her briefly before continuing, "I am not bothered that you are leaning on me. I am wondering: Did you have a nightmare? Was I your worst nightmare?" he chuckled.

Was her dream a nightmare? If Sherlock had not apologized to her, her dream could turn out to be a terrible one or maybe a nightmare. But it didn't...

Instead she said, "Why do you ask?"

"I heard you screaming 'Sherlock' exactly thirty five minutes ago."

She was surprised, "You did?"

"Yes, and then I ran upstairs to check to see if you were alright, but you went back to sleep," he said. He glanced at her face before continuing his work, "I was afraid to wake you up, assuming that you were going to attack me. So I went back down stairs to resume my activities. Now that you woke up and not planning to go back to sleep might be a sign of a nightmare. In a nightmare, sufferers usually awaken in a state of distress and may be unable to return to sleep for a prolonged period of time. I can tell you have tried to calm yourself, assuring yourself that it was only a dream. For example, I noticed that the collar of your sweater wet, meaning that you were trying to cool yourself."

He finished the last page of the book and placed it on the smaller pile and grabbed the Sudoku Brain Buster Edition. "Am I right?" he asked.

"I guess." Joan sighed and relaxed on Sherlock's shoulder again.

"I also deduced in your dream you were either screaming for my help because you were captured by one of the most wanted criminals or you were having huge disagreement with me?"

Joan felt her heart jumped when she heard his second theory.

But Sherlock didn't miss it. "Your pulse, deriving from your neck, increased when I mention my second idea. It is the second one, right?"

She did not want to talk about her dream, especially with him. So she answered simply, "Yep."

At least he didn't figure out there was something more to her dream. Well, not yet.

After a moment of silence, Sherlock asked, "Can I give you a cup of cold water?"

"Sure," she said. Wait, she forgot to grab some water. How did he know? Then she moved away from Sherlock, giving him room to stand up. He walked quickly out of the room and then he came back holding a plastic cup of water. Sherlock sat back down and handed it to her. She grabbed the cup and held it as if it was a diamond. Without a second thought, she drank all the water in from the cup. She felt quenched and thank him after she had finished drinking it. Then she realized how close they were sitting, their toes nearly touched each other with their legs crossed in Indian style.

"How did you know-"

"I knew that you were dehydrated," he answered, "It is usually a custom to drink after waking up. I knew that you washed your face, so I thought you drank water too. Then I remembered I didn't hear you walking to the kitchen; you stop at the threshold of this room, probably distracted by the light coming from the table lamp."

Sherlock always has excellent deductive skills, Joan smiled, looking at the table lamp.

Then she felt Sherlock's hands covering hers, which were holding the glass cup. Feeling the warmth of his hands, shivers ran down her spine. Their hands had touched each other before, so why did she feel so nervous?

She slowly looked at Sherlock.

"Watson, please don't allow the dream to change the way you see me," Sherlock urged. "I know I am a difficult person, but let me tell you this," he leaned closer to her face, "I am entirely grateful to have you as my partner and friend. I never thought I would have ever share a deep and profound connection with you."

Joan made a close observation on the portrait of Sherlock, like she was an artist analyzing a painting. His face was struck by the dazzling light, making himself the dominant element in this semi-darkroom. On emotional level, warm colors of the light that lit his face gave her the feeling of warmth and comfort. By his words, that she could see that Sherlock deeply care for her despite the times he might be rude and inconsiderate. She could see his faced soften, his warm eyes glued on hers, and his hands massaging hers, assuring that what he said was the truth. This felt like she has experience it before...

She was in her dream again, in the part when Sherlock was consoling her. This was the face he made before he kissed her….

Thinking about that thought, she blushed furiously and she looked down at their hands, as if she felt guilty for harboring forbidden thoughts.

She felt him leaning back and he took the cup from her hands and set it next to the piles of puzzle books.

"Watson," Sherlock whispered, which sounded demanding.

Joan looked at Sherlock, pleading to not show any sign of nervousness.

Sherlock grabbed the same small edition of Sudoku Brain Buster Edition and placed it on his lap. "If you don't want to talk about the dream now, it is fine with me. I will respect your privacy, but for only this time," he gave her an evil smile after he emphasized the last three words, indicating to her that he will still pry into her other businesses.

Joan responded with a hint of sarcasm, " Oh thank you, Sherlock. I couldn't ask for more."

Sherlock smirked her response, but quickly rotated his body to face the table lamp. He opened the book and stared at the grid, which contained digits in random boxes. After analyzing the numbers and their placements, he started to write numbers in different places with confidence, as if he had already known the answers. I would have look at the back of the book for answers, Joan chuckled.

Then she sat back and stared at the boarding games in the shopping bags. "When did you buy the board games and the puzzles books?" she asked.

"Yesterday, while you were hanging out with your friends," he simply answered without looking at her, "I was so bored that I was walking around the block-"

"Wait. Sherlock, you can't just walk out without-"

"And," he raised his voice, shutting her mouth, "I found two men, surrounded by small crowd, playing chess in a small coffee shop. It caught my attention. In fact, my father used to play chess with his friends and my older brother, but he never wanted to give me lessons. So I took this as an opportunity and I joined them. I asked players if they could teach me how to play chess. One of players, named Dave, offered to be my teacher. As you know, I am a fast-learner. So I challenged Dave to play against me, to test my skills, and I managed to beat him. Everyone was surprise, but Dave said, 'That was just beginner's luck.' He ended up challenging against me four times and lost to each one. Feeling humiliated, he told me that I was cheating the whole time. Then we got into a huge disagreement and we almost engage into a physical fight, including his friends against me, until the owner of the shop kicked me out."

Then he sighed, "So remind me to not go to the coffee shop for at least seven months." The way Sherlock explained it contradicted the situation; he told her in details as if it was nothing to him. But she knew that this bothered him; he has a good way to hide it.

"I'm sorry," Joan responded.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, "After that, I went to a store and asked a worker to show me any good strategy games, which is how I brought these board games. Then on my way to the cash register, I saw piles and piles of puzzle books editions in a huge bucket. So I brought nearly all of them. You should have seen the customers' faces," he chuckled.

"Wait, Sherlock, "she interrupted. "How much did you spend on buying books and board games? You know you could have print copies of the puzzles from the computer and play different board games online or download-"

Sherlock growled and flung the book across the room, causing Joan to flinch. It hit one of the television screens and luckily, the television screen didn't crack. "See," Sherlock turned to face her and pointed his finger at her, "That is why I brought them without telling you. I knew that you were about to complain. In case you found out earlier, I shred the receipt into small pieces and threw them out. So, it is my win and your lost."

Joan chuckled and rolled her eyes, "Well, you made yourself lucky this time. That was just beginner's luck." She smirked at him, bringing up the same statement he had said earlier. She heard Sherlock chuckled in her response.

Doing a small favor for him, she stood up and went across the room to pick up the copy of Sudoku he had thrown. Then she opened the curtains, allowing the city lights to filter the room. She looked through the window and saw a beautiful sight of winter, thick snowflakes gently falling from the sky. Look how much the snow had piled up! It seemed like the entire city was swallowed by the cold season.

Then she started to yawn. How long have they been talking?

"What time is it, Sherlock?" Joan asked when she sat next to him. She handed him the puzzle book and he placed it on his lap. She noticed that he didn't bother to open it.

"From the amount of time we have been talking it, it is now 2:20 am," he responded. He looked at his watch and showed it to Joan to prove he was right. Joan realized it was almost an hour since they talked.

"We should go back to sleep, so we can give our body few hours to rest." Joan suggested as she stretched her arms.

"Like I said before, I am not going back to sleep," Sherlock retorted. "I had been enjoying myself before you came."

"Well, giving your body the opportunity to rest is healthy," she responded. Then she thought about her sleep, "Besides, you are allowing your dreams to manifest right before your eyes and it is quite an experience."

"Like your nightmare?" Sherlock mentioned.

"Yes," she admitted, "but you can gain a better understanding about your dream. You will gain a clearer view about yourself, your personal relationships, and…"she took a deep breath and said the words that didn't give her comfort, "you're real feelings."

To her surprise, Sherlock didn't seem comfortable what she had said. Was it the last part she said? He tightened his jaw and avoided making eye contact with her. He rotated his body and faced the table lamp again.

Sherlock spoke, "Sometimes, I abhor dreams, which is one of the reasons why I avoid getting sleep. They constantly repeat my personal and haunted memories over and over again. Sadly, I understand that these dreams reflected unresolved issues…"

Joan thought that he was still harboring his feelings of resentment, especially toward Irene and his father. She didn't say anything to him. Instead she moved closer to Sherlock and linked her hands with his. She felt electricity tingling when their hand intertwined, and Sherlock must have felt it too, but she didn't care. A friendly touch could provide the greatest comfort to someone in need, especially Sherlock.

After a moment of peace and quiet, Joan asked, "Are the dreams that haunting that you avoid getting sleep?"

Sherlock turned to face her. He thought for a moment before he answered, "Not exactly. Some dreams are actually pleasant, especially when you are with someone that makes you feel content." He looked at their hands linked together. "But when you wake up, it can be so painful, especially it is with a amazing person you thought you couldn't get with."

Joan stared at Sherlock with confusion.

"Until now."

Sherlock stopped her before she could processed what he was trying to say.

"You are-," Sherlock raised his voice. Then he paused for a moment, almost stopped breathing, as if he was choking by his own words. Before she realized, he shoved her roughly and stood up, almost tumbled on the piles of puzzles books. He violently kicked them away, including the cup, the table lamp, and the board games, until they were close to either side of the room, leaving a wide path between him and her. He stood at the far end of the room, almost hitting himself against the wall.

At the same time, Joan hit her head against the floor. With both hands, she held the back of her head and bit her lips to prevent herself from screaming in pain. Sympathy was quickly replaced with indignation. She was deeply furious that Sherlock had shove her so violently.

She stood up boldly and cried, "WHAT THE HELL-"

"You!" he yelled. "You are the person that I dream about." This statement froze Joan, almost uncomfortably.

"You're all I think about," Sherlock whispered. He pulled her gently toward him. He came so close that her vision blurred and she closed her eyes. She felt his lips brushed against hers…..

She settled her unstable thoughts to listen what Sherlock was going to say. She knew that this will be one of those few moments, once in a blue moon, that Sherlock will be completely vulnerable to her. So she remained silent, which was her cue for him to continue.

"After the incidents with Irene, I fell into deep grief. I placed barriers around me in order protect myself from getting hurt again. I hired prostitutes because they were easy to get; they could make me feel that I am important." Sherlock walked a few steps toward her, his eyes locked on hers. "I knew it would only hurt me in the end, but I couldn't help it. I craved to be loved." Sherlock walked another few steps until he was an arm away from her.

Then he lowered his voice, "Until I meant you, you became the happiest moment in my life. At first, I couldn't figure out why. But as our relationship progressed, I found my answer in the most unusual way. I started to have beautiful and intimate dreams about us; we were sharing a strong connection that was beyond what could anyone comprehend. " Sherlock walked until his face was inches away from hers.

He held her wrist, as if he feared that she would try to pull away. "This made me realized that I am in love with you. "

He loved her.

His words hit her like a physical blow. She could only stand there and look at him. She almost did not want to believe him, but the intensity of his words proved her otherwise.

At the same time, she could feel her heart jumping for joy.

Why did she feel so pleased to hear it?

Before she could say anything, moved his head to the side of her cheek, brushed his lips against it and breathed into her warm skin. She could feel herself flushing and smiling…

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm..?"

"Thank you…"

She could feel him nuzzling her skin.

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something…."

Sherlock whispered in her ear, "Tell me Watson…" He moved away from her cheek and stared into her eyes.

She heard three powerful words resonating in her mind. It spoke so loud that it almost frightened her.

She loved him.

She released her hand from his and gave him a tight hug. " I love you, too." Everything she felt about him was out of love, pure love. As much she could try to deny it, it was the truth. This was what her dream told her.

"Watson…"

He managed to wriggle from her hug and he pushed her back against the wall, gripping her shoulders. From the look of his face, she could tell that he was scare to kiss her. It has been the longest time since he was in a relationship and the last time was with Irene, the one who made him heartbroken.

He swallowed hard and tentatively leaned closer to her face, moving his hands to her neck. She closed her eyes and felt his soft lips against hers. He gave her a gentle kiss on her lips, which made her shiver, and he pressed his lips on the top of her head.

She realized that this kiss wasn't as passionate as one she had in her dream. But she loved it because it came from the real Sherlock. A kiss coming from Sherlock, a person who repressed his sentimentality, demonstrated his effort to show his affection toward her.

"I'm sorry, Watson," Sherlock breathed on top of her head, "This kiss is not what you have envision."

"It doesn't matter," Joan replied softly, "You don't need a make-out session to show how much you love another person."

Sherlock chuckled a bit, moving himself back to look at her face, "You're right. But, I must be also right that this kiss wasn't as passionate as the one in your 'nightmare'."

"You're right," Joan agreed. Then she realized what Sherlock had said, "Wait, you knew about the dream….."

Sherlock sighed and moved away from her and sat against the wall. She had a feeling that he would give her a long lecture. So Joan sat next to him.

Sherlock stared across the room. "Earlier, I really thought you just had a nightmare. But when I held your hands, I saw something else." He turned to face her. "Your cheeks turned scarlet, your pulse increasing, and your eyes dilating. I saw I fear in your eyes. Then I thought why would you be fearful of me when you have lived with me for years? What could have influence you to see me in a different light? Then I realized it had something to do with your dream. Well, I had already figured out that you dream about us. So something else must have happen at the end of your dream, after you have screamed, that made you slightly uncomfortable, pondering about your relationship with me. I deduced it was a physical contact similar to when I held your hands… You reluctantly said that your dream releases your true feelings, so I knew that you had feelings for me but you were afraid to show it or consciously acknowledge it."

Joan was surprise to see how much he knew about her dream and her feelings within a short period of time.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," Joan said. "I wish I had told you about dream." Joan sighed, "You are right. I was scare to admit these feelings and I thought-"

Sherlock nodded his head and interrupted her, "Watson, you don't have to apologize. I was in the same position with you when I had these dreams, until I realized that I couldn't avoid what I felt about you."

Sherlock pulled Joan closer to him and placed her between his legs. He whispered in her ear, "As I said before, you don't have to tell me about your dream. What I know is enough for me." He leaned his head on wall and said, "I am just glad that you feel the same way about me." Joan leaned back on him and closed her eyes.

Silence had fallen in the room, but in a matter of time, Joan opened her eyes and began to yawn.

"We need to go to bed," Joan said as she stood away from Sherlock. She stretched and walked a few steps forward but her arm dropped when she saw the mess he had made. Luckily, they were pushed at either side of the room so she didn't have to hop over them.

"We could clean this mess after we wake up," Joan suggested. "Right now, I am tired." She turned her head slightly on her shoulder to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes, got up on his feet, and he walked a couple of steps ahead of Joan.

"Actually I want to throw them all out, including the ones that I hid in my room," he grinned.

Joan was stunned. "What! You just brought them."

"I know, but I realized how easy it was to solve the puzzles." He groaned, "Now I can imagine how easy it will be to beat you on one of these board games…"

Before Sherlock could have time to dodge, Joan picked up a puzzle book that was the closest to her and threw it right on his forehead.

"Ouch!"

Joan said, "Now all the money went down the drain since you threw out the receipt." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms underneath her chest, "In spite on your intelligence, you act like idiot sometimes."

Sherlock gave her a half-smile, "I guess that is the reason why I have you."

Joan chuckled and walked to the threshold of the room. Realizing that Sherlock wasn't following her, she turned to face him, who was standing in the same spot.

"Are you coming?"

"I didn't make an agreement with you," Sherlock responded, approaching her. "Besides," Sherlock turned her around and pushed her toward the stairway, ignoring her reactions, "You need to rest more than I do. I will wake you in two hours and fifteen minutes from now for training and if you are wondering about the time, it is 3:45 am."

When they reached for the doorway of her room, Sherlock said, "I will be with you after I throw out the puzzle books and the board games."

"You can call me by my first name since we are now a couple."

Sherlock ignored her suggestion. "Watson, I hope you will have a nice rest." Then he headed downstairs. She shook her head as she headed for the door.

Her fingers had barely touched the doorknob when she heard Sherlock's footsteps ascending on the stairway.

"Sherlock?" She turned and walked toward him, who was standing on the top of the stairway.

He lowered his head and placed his hands in his pockets. "I want to apologize for my brutal behavior earlier this morning." Then he took a deep breath and looked at Joan with concern, "I hope I didn't leave any scars physically or mentally…"

Joan touched his arm, "You didn't Sherlock. It was your way to discharge your feelings." Then she paused, trying to think what to say next, "Just promise me to not make the same mistake again-"

"Thank goodness!" Sherlock was suddenly beaming with joy, which made her flinched. "Don't worry, I will make it up to you."

He moved his face dangerously close to hers. "Sweet dreams, my dear Watson."

Before Joan could respond, Sherlock brushed his lips against her cheek and headed downstairs again.

Joan smiled and opened the door to her room. She walked to her bed and covered herself with the sheets.

Her body felt exhausted and her eyes were heavy; they were pushing her to sleep. But her mind was still running, with the mixture of feeling excited, surprise, and happy.

Through this experience, she realized that dreams are not something one should disregard because they are the answers to the questions we haven't figure out yet.

With that last thought, she settled her mind. She slowly closed her eyes, and went fast asleep.

Don't trash your dreams. Follow your dreams and take any opportunity to make it possible. That's what Sherlock did!

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it.

I know it doesn't seem possible to remember every part of your dream, but I made this as an exception if it is alright to you.