“Joan look at this. It says full body waxing kit for Sensitive skin. But this other one has almond oil. Perhaps with your dry patches... hmmm... Oh this one, this one is good—“
To say that Dr. Joan H. Watson was regretting having ever agreed to let Sherlock W. S. Holmes accompany her to the nearest Boots would not just be stating the obvious but rather understating her current ire.
Wait let’s clarify that - she actually hadn’t agreed. She just hadn’t been able to stop Sherlock from joining her. That is more accurately what happened.
It was like this- Joan has never shaved her legs or waxed them. NEVER. She never saw the point (still doesn't). The hair on her shins is a bit darker and thicker than the rest of her body and she saw no reason to go through either slow torture (waxing) or stubble on knee (shaving). Not to mention the tremendous time either would waste. Her upper lip had been mostly very fine and very light hair and hence no wax or thread had ever touched it. (yes dear male specie, women have hair on their bodies too! I know shocking. GET THE FUCK USED TO IT)
But then she’d met the lovely luscious Sylvana who is so impeccably put together that she makes even Anthea’s manicure look shoddy (hey Joan's over that crush ok).
Sylvana was a dream and tomorrow was their “third date”.
You got it lovelies. Joan was sure the rather hot kisses they’d shared in the cab last time weren’t going to be enough this time. She had smirked to herself as she drained the pasta at what passed for their kitchen and Sherlock had pounced.
“Third date, Dr. Three Continents?”
“Piss off, Sherlock.”
“Hmmmm. Dr Sylvana Lorenz is definitely amenable to sex afterwards.”
Joan just huffed in irritation. Bloody git! She wouldn’t let him spoil her anticipation. At all.
“You’ll of course make sure you wear your John Lewis underwear and not the Tesco ones.” Joan grit her teeth and plonked the canned tomatoes in the pan.
“Do you want to come to Ted’s tomorrow? He’s been hankering after giving you a haircut ever since he glimpsed the strands of silver on your head.”
“Will you please leave it. Yes I know I’m graying.”
“No need to get so petulant. I’m just trying to help. Isn’t that what friends do?” Joan rolled her eyes even as Sherlock continued to be on a roll. “And it’s not as if I enquired about the hair on your toes.”
“Whaaa... what hair? Just because you bathe in gallons of hair removing cream doesn’t mea—“
“I do not. Depilatory creams do not come in gallons and I only use them for my jaw. Shaving is tiresome as your legs can testify.”
Joan readily confesses that at this point she added more paprika to the sauce than a certain sweet-toothed detective was accustomed to. She was practically immune to it after two years rooming with Vietnamese and Mexican students followed by having an Indian cook at the mess.
But later it had gotten to her, especially when she recalled her date’s impeccable grooming.
Perhaps a bit of effort wouldn’t go amiss.
But her thrifty nature refused to allow her to go to a salon.
Instead she decided on DIY waxing.
Of course she made the stupidest of all mistakes and googled the how and what and why of waxing which led to Sherlock beaming at her saying, “I’ll help you. I’ve never purchased body wax either!” (yeah with his thick brows but smooth chest he definitely waxed- his chest and possibly butt as well- as some of the Palace staff could testify. Snigger snigger)
Joan’s grumbles and protests against wanting company for the expedition had of course been royally ignored and so here she was. Or rather here they were.
But now she was ready to just about to forget the whole damned thing and walk out of the shop and let the bloody hair on her body be.
Then two horrible things happened at once.
One, the door opened again with a jangle and she turned to look out of habit only to see Dr. Sarah (aka her perpetual crush) walk in.
Two, Sherlock exclaimed loudly and gleefully, “This ones safe for pubic hair!”