Summer stopped with one hand on the doorframe, and turned around. “You just — apologised to me. What in the world.” She came over to him and put a hand on his forehead, checking for fever. “You don’t feel hot … “
He mentally swore to himself. He shouldn’t have tried to be nice to get her to leave. She would’ve left even if he hadn’t said anything. Summer placed a hand on his forehead, not finding a fever. His hand reached up to pull her hand off of him but he found himself grabbing her wrist and stroking the soft skin there. His blue irises looked up at her and for a moment, they were filled with lust before they became static. He removed his hand. “I’m fine,” he replied, turning to face away from her.
When Sherlock petted her hand, Summer stilled. He turned her loose and turned away, and she frowned. She wasn’t sure she liked what she was getting off him. It was abnormal as hell for him. “Sherlock?” she said softly. “I think you might be under a spell.”