Sherlock's mind is similarly occupied: he's imagining what kinds of surprise and arousal and pleasure will cross her face, what they'll look like when he's looking up at her from between her thighs, what her face must look like right now as she fingers her clit in his bed.

It's a damn good thing he's got a very strong case for his phone, because he's gripping it so hard his knuckles have gone white.

"I want to know what you taste like when you come," he almost growls.