Sherlock was pacing frantically around to sofa, hands tugging at his hair, muttering words that sounded like gibberish, but seemed to make sense to him. We were in the middle of a case, one that had been particularly difficult for him to grasp, and for two days now he had been stuck, frantically trying to coerce his brain into working the way he needed. He'd tried to explain his situation to me as being like when one is trying to find the right word, and it is on the tip of their tongue but they can't quite get it. Nothing had helped thus far, and after going through literally dozens of nicotine patches, he had deemed them useless and it was only thanks to my refusing to let him out of the flat that he didn't try to obtain something stronger.
I sat in my chair and observed him, faintly worried that he would harm himself if he didn't figure out this problem soon. He stopped and turned towards me, and his face lit up for a moment and he walked over to me, and I truly thought he had finally figured out his problem. That was not the case. Needless to say I was extremely surprised when, instead of announcing a brilliant explanation, Sherlock leaned in, grabbed my face, and proceeded to kiss me quite thoroughly.
I was surprised by how soft his mouth was. A mouth that can spit words more deadly than venom shouldn't be that soft. I suppose I should have made some attempt at removing myself from his embrace, however sometimes when an event so strange occurs, one can only go along with it. And thus, I found myself encouraging the kiss, and soon my tongue was battling his. I could feel the tension in his shoulders release under my hand, one of which was on his left shoulder, the other on the back of his neck holding him in place. Not one moment after the noticeable drop in tension occurred did Sherlock pull away from me.
His hair was tousled even more than usual, and his cupid's bow mouth was red and swollen. There was a light in his eyes even brighter than just before the kiss, and he had a look of triumph on his face that would scare even the most frightening of enemies into submission.
"Come along, John," he said, voice even deeper than usual and tossed me his phone. "We have a murderer to catch. Text Lestrade for me."
"Sherlock," I started, "What was...?" my voice trailed off and I gestured towards my mouth.
"Oh, that. Kissing reduces the stress hormone cortisol. Less stress, easier to think. I've got it sorted out now. Hurry up. We've only half an hour before her flight." He slipped into his coat and rushed down the stairs, me following closely behind.