His breaths are warm and cause my skin to tingle as they escape his cotton candy lips; our eyes lock, cautious yet admiring creases forming in between his eyebrows as they tug upwards, a smile twitching on the sides of his mouth. Our noses scrape against each other, at first accidently, but I think he nuzzles mine again just for the feel of my touch. We have had moments like this before: moments where we feel an undeniable, irrefutable connection, like our hearts rip through our chests and beat as one. Moments where we're so close to one another physically, but even emotionally closer. Moments where all the shame, stress, and fear vanishes, and it's just me and him.

Of course, the moments never last long.

Sherlock clears his throat and pulls himself away from me. He continues to speak, but his voice is distorted, and I feel rather dizzy. My fingers clench to a chair as his baritone voice rumbles sexy syllables that I can't even begin to recognize.

A voice echoes in my ear, repeating and folding over itself, controlling me and making my chest clench and my eyelids flutter.

"John?" he says.

My body stiffens as I realize that he's staring at me—and not in the way he just was—with his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed and his lips parted.

"Oh, yes. Yeah, what?" I stumble over my words.

He scoffs, and my hearts lowers in my chest. "Where you not listening?" he groans.

I squint at him and open my mouth to say something snide, but then my eyes take in glimpses of his perfect skin, pale and smooth, and his dark hair that ripples out of his scalp like a dark brown river and his angular body and his jagged fingernails and his height that dominates over me but still gives me urges to reach up and touch him, touch him and memorize him with my hands.

"Well?" he shouts, his voice strained.

"Uh, yeah, no," I mumble. "I-I wasn't listening. Sorry."

"I said it was the mistress," Sherlock repeats, annoyed. I gap my mouth to ask him how he knows of this, but he only rolls his eyes and begins to explain, waving the question (that hadn't even exited my mouth) away. "His shirt collar had a smudge of red lipstick. The wife that was murdered—beautiful girl, but she wore a light shade of pink, not red. To confirm my suspicion, I was able to rummage through her purse only to find a tube of what else but light pink lipstick. I suspected that the husband always promised the mistress that he'd leave his wife. The mistress grew impatient and took matters into her own hands. I called Lestrade and asked if he would ask the man for his address books—three names were found: his brother, his mother, and his mistress. She's been arrested and convicted."

My eyebrows lift, even though I'm not surprised Sherlock solved the case. "Wow," I say. "That's…. incredible."

He puckers his lips (which causes my heart to rattle inside of my ribcage) and tilts his head from side to side. "Not one of my best cases," he replies. "Rather simple. I couldn't believe you didn't notice."

I sigh and ignore the pulsating annoyance thudding in my temple. "What are you going to do now?" I ask.

"Find a new case," he says. "Or else I might take up shooting."

"Oh, God," I moan. "Please don't."

Sherlock gives me a wicked grin, and I feel my body stiffen. I run my hand through my hair.

"Sherlock, I'm going to go out, all right?" I say, grabbing my coat. My hand barely grazes door knob as I turn back for his response.

"Where are you going?" he questions. Oh, I was glad for that. I didn't sound very curious as to where I would go, but the fact that he actually remembered to ask had to mean something. Sherlock Holmes wasn't one to be polite if it wasn't needed.

"Out for a walk," I respond, twisting the knob with a flick of my wrist.

"When will you be back?" I turn back to see him with raised eyebrows and inquisitive eyes.

I smirk. "Half an hour."

His gaze lowers to the ground, and he nods, biting his lower lip. "I'll see you then, John."

I chuckle. "I suppose you will." I open the door and exit our flat. Once the door is closed behind me, vibrations emanate in my jean pocket. I read the text, and I grin at the sight of his name.

What the text said:

Come back soon. -SH