John watched as Sherlock moved among the bookshelves, fingers lightly brushing the spines as he went, occasionally taking one and putting it in a pile next to John. At first, John thought he was pulling them out at random, but once he looked at some of them, he realised that they were all either one of a kind, or first editions.
'Our family are renowned for collecting knowledge,' Sherlock explained. 'A pastime I quite enjoy, though rarely get the time for.'
'And you can tell what kind of book you're looking for just by touching them?'
'Usually the texture of the cover, the inlay used for the title and the amount of gathered dust tells me all I need to know.'
'Really? Wow, that's amazing.'
Sherlock gave a small smile. 'You think so?'
'Definitely. Let's keep looking.'
They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search.
He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration.
John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.
Sherlock looked up at him. 'What are you staring at?' he frowned.
'Hmm?'
'I said, what are you staring at?'
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Goblet of Fire is now up and ready to read on my page, thanks for reading guys.