Prickle

"You'll be fine now" he said quietly.

She was thinking. He could feel it. She was wondering why he came all the way to save her.

"You can ask" he muttered.

"I won't. I don't care…" she was lying of course.

Uncertain of what to do, he drew a long breath and with a faint reverence, he began the morose ritual of a formal farewell. He took a few steps back.

"Mr. Holmes…" she reached out to touch his arm. "Sherlock."

He looked down at her.

"Ms. Adler?"

Without previous warning she took a clumsy step forward. Her breath shook and a trembling left hand rose shyly against his neck.

He jolted back.

"P-please…please. Let me thank you."

He stared into her eyes with intrigue, still trying to find some puzzle to resolve. Some irregularity to spot out.

There was none. He did not object anymore.

The distance between them began to close. Her eyelids became heavy and so did his breath. Ears buzzing, she felt the skin of his mouth beginning to graze hers. She lingered painfully and with the slightest of efforts she pressed her lips onto his.

He stood there as a statue…but he stood.

The moment finished as soon as it began. He could barely remember what happened over the next three minutes… or three hours. Just the blurry image of a dark silhouette pacing away in a hijab.

All he could concentrate on was the faint prickle on his lips.