"What happened to your hand, Molly?" Sherlock asked, his brows knit.
And before she could say a word, he had crossed the room and was standing next to her, holding her right hand, inspecting it. He was standing too close, and even after all this time, she could hardly breathe when he was that near.
"It's just a small burn," she said, trying to tug her hand away.
But, he held it fast in his. "Kitchen. Cupcakes. Chocolate?" he asked softly with a cocked eyebrow, whispering to her.
Wordlessly, she nodded, trying to focus on anything but his fingers on her wrist, his warm breath in her ear. "Elevated pulse. Dilated pupils. Rapid breathing," he continued. "You know what that means?" he asked rakishly.
"Mummy and Daddy are going to take a nap!" their three-year old announced proudly from across the room, chocolate frosting smeared on his face.
Molly rolled her eyes, rubbing her left thumb up her palm to her wedding ring in exasperation. "I cannot believe you taught him that!"