I'm in the kitchen. I have to keep the promise for Sherlock. He expects a great meal.

I brought potatoes from the store. This will become a tasty oven dish.

Sherlock watches the telly. He is frustrated by the actors and every minute I hear a cry.

"Sherlock, if you do not like it, turn it off!" I throw a towel at him and without averting his gaze he catch it.

"What should I do? Watch your cooking skills?" He turns off the telly and he stands up. He rubs his hair and he throws his blanket on the seat. The first thing he does is biting a piece of the potato.

"You should-" Sherlock swallows. "What are you doing? This potato wasn't even washed." He ignores my remark.

"What did you want to say?" He asks politely.

"You could do something else. Playing violin for example. But you can look if you want." I react indifferently. I secretly long for his staring gaze to me. His eyes keep following me. His heart – and mine – is ponding and expects more.

"I'll keep looking." My heart jumps when he says.

"Welcome to cooking class 1. Today I learn how you make the best potato dish. First you bite a piece of a raw, unwashed potato. Top-full with vitamins." I joke. Sherlock laughs. Presumably he laughs at me, but he seems to appreciate my humour.

"Then I show how you pass out when you see a cadaver." He adds.

"I haven't fainted." I throw his potato in the garbage and stare at him.

"Almost. I heard you heart. Your heart was pumping loudly. I thought you was going to faint or had an heart attack." Does Sherlock think that really? According to him it was a fuss for the cadaver. Then he does not get the message. My feelings...

"Did you hear that?"

"I felt. I saw. I knew."

I'm trembling.

Sherlock stands up and he comes closer to me. He puts his arm around me.

No, Sherlock, don't.

"Keep calm, John, I'm here. You're safe with me." He embraces me sideways and firmer.

Please, Sherlock, stop it. You're getting it worse.

"This isn't normal. You should lie." I try to set free, but his is still embracing me firmly.

***

I hold John. He's totally in shock. He helped me when I was, so I never let him down. No we're even. That is not the only reason why I do it. I want to feel his nearness. I want to enjoy his warmth. He's the only one who can touch me, so why I should avoid it. I can support him with my loving embrace.

It doesn't help. It's getting worse. He tries to set free.

John, stay, I want you to be with me.

I suggest that he should lie. Not on the ground, but in the seat. I accompany him and he settles peacefully in the seat. I take the lead and I set free.

Regrettably.

***

Finally Sherlock let me go. My heart is relaxed and Sherlock guards the oven. That's the least he can do, he thinks. About an hour, he can take out the dish. I long to see how Sherlock burns himself.

After five minutes, Sherlock suddenly stands beside the seat. He wants to feel my pulse.

No, Sherlock, no.

My heart raves again. He felt my heart was quiet. What must he think now?

"Ow, John. I know what's going on." He recoils from me and he is trying to protect me from him.

Oh no, what did I do?