[He tilts his head towards her mouth, a contented noise emanating from his throat, yet still lilted with amusement. Heavens, she is warm; and so is he, and he cannot completely attribute that to their sharing so close a space, even if he approaches all of this with an air of clinical levity.]

I think it would please me greatly.

[It would please many parts of him — his mind, always aching to unravel something. His fondness for her, as a friend. His ego, always in need of inflating. And yes, even his body. Sholmes is an eccentric man, but he is no automaton.]

Of course, that leads us to the inevitable question. [He gives her backside a little squeeze, simply because he can. Never any idle hands with this one. His lips quirk.] How comfortable are you conducting such investigations in an open grave?