[The grim satisfaction of actually shutting Mitch up is quickly replaced by a sharp feeling of disorientation. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be given much to work with, but he isn't entirely sure how to proceed himself. He frowns against Mitch's lips as they almost suction his into place.
It's almost funny, really. Mitch isn't the only one of them to be accused of being a machine, and yet here they were placed, expected to do something entirely human. Maybe autopilot would be best, he thinks, for two automata programmed to simulate affection they didn't feel.
He tilts his head, more to free his own lips than to give Mitch any leverage. Sherlock doubts he'd do much with it.]
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It's almost funny, really. Mitch isn't the only one of them to be accused of being a machine, and yet here they were placed, expected to do something entirely human. Maybe autopilot would be best, he thinks, for two automata programmed to simulate affection they didn't feel.
He tilts his head, more to free his own lips than to give Mitch any leverage. Sherlock doubts he'd do much with it.]