Sherlock had you in his lap, your legs straddling his hips as he worked silently on a case of his, his hands wrapped around one of your hips and gripping the other.

His fingertips reach down onto your thigh, massaging the top of it beneath the slightly moved skirt, skin showing from your position. He pulled you closer, your chest smushing into his.

Could you grab me a pencil? He asks, knowing you’d have to reach behind him, which would just smush your chest more.