I couldn't make eye contact, so I pretended to pout. Maybe he'd see right through me, but maybe I could get away with it. Either way, it was better than giving in right away. I did my best to tame my thoughts to what he and Kaitlyn could have been doing in that room, hoping the thought would help with my cause. Instead, I found myself composing a number of situations involving murder discussions. I really didn't know what to think. Maybe the meeting was for something else- No... I knew better. Sherlock was definitely involved in the killings. He would gladly jump at the chance for something so 'interesting'. That's just how he was. I held my breath as he slugged about behind me, prayed he wouldn't see through my façade.
"Kaitlyn came on a business call John." he began, "We only went into my room because it seemed a more private place to discuss things. Don't let your mind wander too far." Completely casual.
Success.
"I'm not jealous." I replied.
"hmm?" He turned to me, stalking along side slowly.
His mouth was to my ear, "You're not jealous in the least?" He whispered, ghosting breath onto my cheek.
I shuddered, "N-no..."
As if my mind hadn't been in the gutter enough as it was, Sherlock had to go about messing with my body like- like some bloody power crazed sadist. I tried to still my heart as a bony hand slithered its way down my chest, his curls tickling my ear as he leaned in just a litter closer. Agonizingly close. What was he trying to do? Give me a heart attack?
"Sherlock..." His name came out as more of a moan then a complaint, much to my dismay. He'd circled the chair before I understood what was happening, "What're you?-"
My sentence was put to an end when he slid his hands up the arms of my seat. On instinct, I raised my arms defensively, tucking them at the elbow. My cheeks were hot and I could feel my heart beating wildly in my head. Throbbing more then anything as he inched closer. It felt like he was teasing me, sneaking a knee in between my legs as his arms towered over me, resting at the top of the chair's back. I was trapped, and... didn't... dislike it. In fact, I was starting to feel impatient-
"Sherlock? Sorry, but do you have my- oh..." Kaitlyn stood in the doorway, taking in the scene, "Sorry for interrupting, but I'm missing some of my 'paperwork'."
I think I gasped after realizing that it had completely slipped my mind. I'm not necessarily sure if it was to myself, or loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but he cocked his head in an irritated manor. The detective pulled away and my breathing tried it's best to steady. He started poking around the tables. I tried to remain calm, but thankfully I was in such an unstable state because of Sherlock it was hard to distinguish which expression disguised what.
Think John, "W-hat are you looking for? I could help-"
"No, no thanks. It shouldn't be too hard to find." The brunette exclaimed, smiling politely.
"This place is a mess, surely it'd be quicker with three-"
"I said no thank you." she snapped.
I stilled, probably should've thought it through a bit more. Of course they wouldn't want me helping to find any of it. "I'm sorry..." she started, "I'm just really tense with work stress and such."
"Ahh." Act casual, you don't know anything, "I understand. What kind of work are you in?" Idiot.
Once more she smiled, "Culinary."
I did my best to keep a straight face, "Oh? Any good?"
"I should hope so. Although, I really want to be a writer. I've been told I'm a bloody good one too."
"What do you write?"
Her obligatory grin had morphed into a genuine one. She really did have a passion in her voice when she talked about writing, "Murder mysteries mostly. Some romance and such, but I love the agony portrayed-"
"Alright." Sherlock interjected, "I think you must have just left it at home. It's not here."
"If you keep looking I'm sure you'll-"
"Goodnight." he retorted sharply, slamming her pack to her chest as he escorted Kaitlyn to the door.
I readied myself for him to come onto me again, my fingers playing with themselves as I stood near the chair nervously. Sherlock however, didn't seem to have the same ideas. He walked briskly past me, stomping into his bedroom and slamming the door behind. We didn't talk the rest of the night, and all I kept asking myself was if I'd done something wrong.
