He surprises everyone at the crime scene – probably himself, too – with a slew of deductions he seems to conjure from nowhere, and it’s like seeing fireworks for the first time after a dragging, dreary winter. He shines with the brilliance of before, as well as that of wisdom – the type that demands respect, not just dismisses those who don’t show it. He is positively incandescent.
I’ve never been more in love with him.
Where had that come from?
He faces me with the side of his second finger grazing his upper lip and I know it’s to obscure his smile. His gorgeous, maddening smile that scorches through me and explodes in a thousand technicolour sparks. It’s been so long that I’m powerless but to mirror it now.
That infectious glee he feels when the first few pieces of the puzzle start to fit together is practically dripping from his gaze. I slip off borrowed gloves to distract myself from how much I want to kiss him.
Lestrade is calling orders and there is a dead body not five feet away, but here I am, wanting to kiss my favourite madman. The world’s only consulting detective. He probably knows it, too.
I cough. “Where to, then?”
An answering grin, full-blown now.
Despite the biting November chill, I feel a fluttering warmth inside.