She's…interesting. Not fascinating, not like his John, but interesting. And, Sherlock reflects as he stares at the document on John's computer, not nearly as much of an intrusion or a nuisance as he had originally hypothesized.
She's a still-new variable. And the impulse to study her, to twist her and turn her and slot her into how she can be used as a factor, to dissect her, to find out what makes her tick and learn how to stop and start that ticking at will consumes. He has. Just like all but one member of the dull human race before her, she was easy to understand and to learn. But…
She's still keeping his attention, despite being just so obvious. There's something… off. It's not like his John, who keeps him sane within the noise that is his mind, is so reassuringly normal but understands too much to be boring. No, this is something unaccounted for. Something that makes him wary, but intrigues him far too much to end his observations.
Without looking, he curls his body tighter around his John protectively. He'll do what's necessary to protect his lover if…but in the end, he needs his experiments, as his John knows so well. He cannot regret it. He needs to know what will be learned when he breaks Devon Brannel.