Sherlock is usually very puncutal. He's only one minute late, but that's still not quite as punctual as usual. Bella peers out the window, not yet allowing herself outright concern.
Amariah giggles as she stashes the refuse where Sherlock specified.
She sits on the floor, and then she smirks and holds up her injured hand.
"If you want dessert," she says, "I won't begrudge."
Extravagant courtesy, and then tongue.
After a little while, he lets go of her hand and leans forward and kisses her on the mouth in much the same way.
Juliet didn't really expect that.
But she really should've. And she likes it anyway. And, ignoring the complaint from her split lip, she kisses him right back.
She wants peroxide for her next experiment in moving magic, and her cornucopia won't make that. Charlie's not home yet. She finds the spare key to the backdoor wedged in the mailbox (predictable, Charlie) and opens the back door to swipe some.
But there is Milliways instead.
Well, she can't reach them. Path can fly the key back to where it goes while she keeps the door open. She conjures up a little honey and writes going home! by the door, and she steps through.
"Noticed," grins Juliet. But why is he using his mouth for something other than kissing? That seems like a poor choice right now. She places one hand on each side of his head and redirects his attention.
Her lead goes in that direction for a while, and then she says, "Well, this will never do, it's nearly my bedtime and I still haven't flung you into even one wall."
"Yeah, do let's," she says, disentangling, turning, and somersaulting in such a way as to land on her feet. She grins at him and holds up her fists. "Surprise me."
Sherlock does not encounter a wall. He encounters the floor, face up, pinned in what is (if one thinks about it hard enough) really a very compromising position.
And he receives another kiss.
"Interesting," Juliet murmurs against his mouth, drawing back just enough to speak, and then she kisses him again.
Point of interest: Sherlock does not, in fact, need to breathe. It is a luxury he can do without, if he has reason.
It really is getting late. Bella eventually peels herself off of Sherlock. (In the process of so peeling a hand may just skim over the surface of a certain shirtless chest.) "I'd better get home," she says. "Or I won't be rested for my all-important English class."
"I think so, yes. But you probably don't want to try to kiss me goodnight on the porch. That could be hazardous to your health in more ways than one." She stands up and offers him her hand.
"The one way being your porch lights, and the other being your father's excellent aim?"
"Aren't you clever?" she laughs, offering him her hand again once he's clothed and strolling out of the crypt.