Sherlock is over in seconds, putting the back of his hand to Jane's forehead.

"No change in temperature... though your skin's damper." Could be the fever. Could be the blanket. But he's probably feeling too chilled to abandon it.

And again, Sherlock's thumb skates across Jane's brow in the aftermath, fingers brushing through the very ends of curls. This time, it lingers just a bit longer.

"Bodies," he says, quietly derisive, after a moment of this. "Always looking for ways to betray us."