They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search. He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration. John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.