I love it when he is like this. It is inexplicably beautiful to watch him. He doesn't pay me any attention when he is in "case mode" and that's just fine. I know that is just how he is. The way his eyes flick back and forth scanning the air in front of him as if it's a screen, is a reminder of just how intelligent he really is. His eyes are always bright, but when he is on to something, they sparkle. They shine. They may even change color a little, his pupils dilating in excitement.
He rattles off words, clues and connections, at an alarming rate, never once getting tongue tied. It amazes me that anyone can think, let alone speak that fast. He is Sherlock after all. I particularly like it when he pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth while thinking quietly in between outbursts.
As he gets closer to the answer, he points enthusiastically to objects in the room and in his mind palace and easily pieces the puzzle together. He calls it observation and logic, nothing more. I tell him almost every day that it is simply amazing. That is why he is the only consulting detective in London. He says to observe and not just to look. However, I find it excruciatingly difficult to evaluate a crime scene or anything at all, when I am so captivated by him.
The best part is when he finally gets it; the climax and spectacular ending to the case. And everyone else in the room gets it because he has finally made us see what he sees. I think I've become addicted to this moment and it's what got me hooked on Sherlock. With those bright, wide and wild eyes he looks to me as he voices the final solution.
It's not that I forget to breathe when he finally turns his attention to me. It's hard to explain how it feels. My first reaction is to take a deep breath. I want to take the deepest breath that my lungs can possibly hold, but my rib cage constricts at the same time. Equal pressure both inwards and outwards leaves me in a weird sort of limbo. I can't breathe in. I can't breathe out. I remain breathless, listening to my own racing pulse, eyes locked on Sherlock's. I can always hear my own heart pounding in my ear, the whoosh of blood insanely loud without an accompanying breath. The adrenaline rushes throughout my body. It spreads everywhere, even to my toes. I can feel the neurotransmitter dilating my blood vessels all over, increasing the blood flow and making me feel tingly. After a short while, all my muscles relax.
If I called it holding my breath, I would say that the next step would be to exhale. But as the wave of tingles pass, I finish the deep breath that I meant to take the first time. I exhale slowly, smiling all the while. Sherlock is smiling too.
Yes, I am addicted to this high, this rush. At times, he may call me ordinary, dull or slow because I may not make the same incredible deductions as he does. he knows why I can't focus. I know that he is too smart and far too observant to not see my reaction when he looks my way. He knows that I am addicted to him.