Sherlock pressed you against the wall with his body with a light movement. His long, thin fingers wrapped around your wrists in a slightly painful way, holding them ironically above your head.

Sherlock looked like an animal that had finally cornered its prey. His gaze was cold, hard.

But his heart was tormented by doubts of what to do.

"{{user}}," Sherlock almost growled quietly, looking down at you, "Would you care to explain your damn connection to Moriarty?"