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Current Music: for headofapin but OTA because he would do it to anyone

(no subject)

[Broke into your home. So what?]

[He's in one of her cupboards. Yes, really. Damn her for coming home early; it's cramped in here. Still, he has done worse things for curiosity's sake- much worse- and crouching in a cupboard while a woman summons a book is-

-what?

Sherlock's mind is instantly flicking through hows and whys. Pulley- harness- magnets- she must know he's there or she wouldn't bother. Either that or it's a practice for something. No. No, too casual, as if she were flicking on a light.

It happened. It did. He will not doubt his eyes. (Cocaine, he reminds himself, is not a hallucinogen). He will not doubt his mind. Never. She won't leave the house for a while yet, if his observations are correct, and they always are. He could wait for her to leave the room, but leaving would mean getting to the door unseen. That borders on the impossible, at least until tomorrow, and that's if he's not caught before that. The moment replays- and then he gives in, opens the doors properly and snatches her book with little other introduction and possibly more anger than the situation requires.] Explain. [Hands already feeling over the book, smoothing over the cover, rubbing the pages, taking a close look at the ink.]

What the hell are you doing?!

[He is shockingly flexible. And no, it wasn't comfortable, but he would undergo worse.

The book's still in his hand, now being shaken in case there's something between the pages, a look of irritation mixed with hungry interest on his face.] I said explain.

[Because obviously, you're the one in the wrong here.]

There's nothing to explain!

Ah- [He blocks the attack with an arm and then snatches the book from her again, glaring furiously down at her.] How shockingly mature of you. Explain what just happened.

You broke into my house like a freakin' creep. That's what happened! Why are you in my apartment? What do you want? There is nothing for me to explain. You've just clearly lost your mind.

A what, sorry? Good Lord, spare me from Americanisms. I'm in your apartment because it's a good way of learning more about you and my mind is far sounder than yours has ever been.

Why do you want to learn about me? You could just...ask, you know. I liked you. Before. I'd have gladly spent time with you.

Ugh, no thanks. Terribly boring. Not my thing. [He tosses her the book and goes to inspect the bookshelf, frowning deeply.]

Get out of my apartment.

Uhhhm... [His voice is mock thoughtful as he ransacks her bookshelf.] No.

I'm going to call the police now.

Are you? Good. I could do with some fun. [He tosses a book over his shoulder, pushing them off the shelves to inspect things more fully.] Explain!

What do you want me to explain?

[He's not too happy either, but at least he's got a problem to solve, his mind clicking through logical processes at incredible speed. He sniffs the pages of the book she'd made fly through the air, tears off a glove with his teeth to stroke over the back cover again, and then spins on his heel to narrow his eyes at her.] The book. Explain what you just did to the book.

What I did with...oh. It's just...something I've picked up.

Something...you've picked up. [He watches, transfixed, and tries as hard as he can to trust his eyes.]

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