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Amariah giggles as she stashes the refuse where Sherlock specified.

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Juliet is sufficiently surprised at being caught that her autopilot glitches and she scrapes her knuckles against a rough patch of stone landing from a midair twirl, and in spite of all her protections she splits her lip open against the edge of one of those stone coffin things. (Without them she'd have chipped a tooth too, and her hand would be much more open to the air.)

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."
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Laughing, he sits on the floor in front of her, picks up her hand, and kisses her knuckles with extravagant courtesy.

Extravagant courtesy, and then tongue.
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Juliet laughs softly.

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After a little while, he lets go of her hand and leans forward and kisses her on the mouth in much the same way.

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"Mmm -"

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.
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Amariah grins and decides to leave them be. She sneaks out of the crypt and flies back to Juliet's by herself.

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.
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"We have been left alone," Sherlock observes eventually.

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"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.

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He is more than happy to follow her lead.

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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."

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"Tragic," he agrees, grinning blissfully. "Shall we correct that?"

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"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."

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He attacks with blurring speed.

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His Bella can well and truly match it, and she's blessed and edited and in a fantastic mood. She blocks and dodges and collects what would be a nasty bruise on her shoulder sans bayleaf and she kicks and -

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.
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He melts.
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"Interesting," Juliet murmurs against his mouth, drawing back just enough to speak, and then she kisses him again.

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Point of interest: Sherlock does not, in fact, need to breathe. It is a luxury he can do without, if he has reason.

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Juliet has to breathe. But she's got a nose for that.

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And a delightful nose it is.

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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."

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"Perish the thought. Shall I walk you home?"

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"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.

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He takes her hand and hauls himself to his feet, laughing, then wanders off to retrieve his shirt and coat.

"The one way being your porch lights, and the other being your father's excellent aim?"
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"Aren't you clever?" she laughs, offering him her hand again once he's clothed and strolling out of the crypt.

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