“Yes, fine, now explain to me in your favourite condescending way what kind of spell it is and if you know how to break it.” She raised her eyebrows at him, doing her best to ignore the badly-suppressed desire rolling off him. It wasn’t real, she repeated to herself. Nobody here saw her like that, was ever /going/ to see her like that, no matter what she might want.
“I’d rather not…” he answered. His blue irises were locked on hers. He knew she could feel his emotions. He was surprised she didn’t realize it on her own. It honestly got on his nerves slightly, almost made him want to prove to her — no. Stop it Sherlock. You can’t fall to this! You’re better than this!!
Summer closed her eyes, drawing up a stronger shield between his feelings and her own. One hand rose, unconsciously, to the circled star pendant around her throat. “You don’t have much choice, Sherlock, I’m almost certainly the only witch you know. Which rather means you need my help, as galling as that must be for you.” Sternly, she added, “So get on with it.”