His Doctor~

Chapter 19

For the first time in... well, ever... Sherlock wanted something physical. Jo-Ann was right there, looking beautiful and not objecting to him being so close. Her lips read words that he never saw appear when he deduced anything, some being "soft", "warm", "teasing"... and "kissable". They were very kissable, just lying still and parted enough to let small breaths escape. Her lips, Jo-Ann's lips, just inches from his own. The temptation was getting to him for the first time in his life, making him gulp down whatever air was in his mouth. His face grew hot and his thoughts were yelling at his betraying body. What was it like to kiss? Truly kiss? Irene's entire personality and actions made the detective realize there was a whole world he was never a part of. He never felt the desire for touch... curiosity but not desire. After all, he never was close enough to anyone to want sentiment or physical contact. But Jo-Ann... she was the only person to ever grow so close to him... and actually want to be close. She was beautiful in his eyes, in every way possible. If he was going to love anyone, it was her... and she was just a few inches away.

Sherlock moved closer, carful to not wake the sleeping doctor by rustling the covers. Inches felt like yards and seconds felt like hours as he slowly brought his face closer to hers. The thought of her awaking didn't bother to cross his mind... nor did the thought that was actually about to kiss his flatmate, assistant, doctor, and best friend. He wanted her kiss. He wanted her.

He stopped moving, nearly a single centimeter away from Jo-Ann's face. Their noses would have touched if Sherlock didn't approach cautiously, turning just enough to keep his nose above hers. All he had to do was tilt his head up... and the surface of their lips would connect. His heartbeat was audible in his ears, beating faster and faster. It was an entirely new sensation, making him feel light and heavy at the same time due to the rush of blood to his head. He was careful not to breathe too heavily; if he did, Jo-Ann could wake up. He was going to do it, kiss the woman who captivated his Mind Palace Ballroom... his head began tilting, feeling her hot breath...

When the doorbell rang.

Sherlock exhaled sharply out of shock, closing his eyes in disappointment. Jo-Ann's nose scrunched, being tickled by one of her hairs that moved because of Sherlock's breath. He quickly moved his head away, almost hit by Jo-Ann's hand that itched her nose. She sighed comfortably, shifting in place and hugging her pillow. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was real, but he saw a smile grace her lips as she sighed once more. Sherlock sighed himself, saddened at the interruption of the doorbell that continued to ring. He grumbled, getting out of the warm bed and putting on his suit jacket. He straightened it out, buttoning it the way he normally did and glanced once more at Jo-Ann. She lied peacefully on the bed, in warm bliss of the comfortable plush. Her figure was outlined by the creases of the blanket, showing her sleeping position. Sherlock noticed that she wasn't taking up a lot of space, even when in deep sleep. That showed that the evening before, she was trying to give Sherlock as much room as possible. He smiled at her, his sleeping doctor, as he exited the room.

Sherlock swiftly jogged down the stairs, letting the slow realization of what he was about to do sink in. He was about to kiss her... letting emotion control his actions. He had always been able to suppress his feelings, not letting most of them reach the surface. He was Sherlock Holmes for goodness sake! An emotionless detective with the highest IQ this side of London. Never again would he let the temptation of physical desire take over his body. Emotions were one thing he could barely accept, but physical attraction? Poppycock.

But... in that moment with Jo-Ann so close... it was joyful.

Sherlock shook his head as he reached the first floor, ready to greet the annoying guest. Opening the door, he was slightly confused. No one stood there or anywhere near the door. He stepped out, looking for a car to be parked, but the normal traffic was only present. Sherlock began walking back inside, when something on the doorstep caught his eye. An envelope, addressed to "Mr. Sherlock Holmes", lied on the ground, the white color standing out from the grey gravel. He hesitantly picked it up, walking back into the flat and gently closing the door. He carefully examined the letter, holding it up to the light and at eye level. There were no indents or shapes that showed any sign of explosives. He rubbed his thumb across the surface, getting a feel of the texture. No oil from his fingers was visible along the very small ridges of paper, nor was anything visible inside by holding it up to light. Sherlock carried the letter up the stairs and into the living room. There was no sign of "the Woman" much to his relief. He walked over to the desk, turning on the desk lamp and grabbing the mail opener. Slicing through the top of the envelope, he confirmed the thickness in paper he suspected earlier. It was a standard business envelope, used in the field of government. The writing on the outside was hand written and done by a man who lived in Bedford, obviously. Carefully removing the paper out of the envelope, Sherlock saw that is was not a letter, but a plane ticket. The ticket was addressed to Sherlock Holmes, and due to depart at 6:30pm that night. Flight number... 007.