Sherlock: Smells Like Teen Spirit
MMM ficlet. Prompt: How about something focused around Sherlock's amazing sense of smell?
No beta yet, so feel free to point out mistakes.
~800 words
Sherlock/John
“What is it?”
“Hm?” Sherlock asks distractedly, without looking up from the file he's reading.
John sets his laptop down on the coffee table and rolls his shoulders. Cracking sounds, it's getting late. Maybe Sherlock should get him to make tea. “This is the second long-suffering sigh from you since you started to read that report. Is it Anderson's?”
Sherlock cracks a smile. “It's this witness,” he says irritably. “She says there was a 'chemical' smell. Two times. And the questioning officer didn't seem to find that a bit too vague.”
“Maybe she couldn't describe it any better,” John yawns. Sherlock can tell he isn't very focused, his head heavy on the backrest and his eyes only half open.
“'Chemical' isn't a description at all,” Sherlock grouses. “Chemistry is a field of science, you could just as well say something smells philosophical or economical. It doesn't make sense.”
John looks at him now with his fondly amused 'I like it when you're weird' smile, but Sherlock is really not in the mood to find it anything but patronizing. “I think what she meant was 'smelling of chemicals'.”
Sherlock groans. “Yes thank you, doctor. That leaves us exactly with everything as possible source of the smell. We'll just put that down when someone gets stabbed the next time: Dead due to metallic chemicals in the heart region. A bit unspecific, but apt enough for the Yard apparently. I had hoped that a man of the medical profession had at least a vague concept of how the sense of smell works.”
John, damn the man, looks even more amused than before. “Chemically?” he drawls.
Sherlock glares at him. “You're making fun of me.”
He gets an unapologetic shrug in return. “It's what you do with people ranting about their pet peeves.”
“This is not my- Is it too much to ask that people use their senses?”
“You don't have to get all misanthropic about it,” John says and his smile softens a bit. “You have to admit that your sense of smell is extraordinary, you can't expect-”
“It is not,” Sherlock interrupts him. “Don't be ridiculous, John, I've been a heavy smoker for more than eight years, my sense of smell is slowly recovering at the very best.”
“Oh.” John looks surprised, though he knew about the smoking. “I just assumed, because you always go on about smells.”
“I do?”
“Yes, that and you sniff everything. Our first case for example, you could tell Anderson and Donovan had an affair by smelling their deodorant.”
And really, the enthusiasm John shows for the most elementary bits of deduction. Sherlock can't help the warm feeling, but it surely is exaggerated praise on John's part. Sherlock just hopes he'll never realize.
“Deodorants are produced explicitly for the human nose,” he points out reluctantly. “Everyone can smell them.”
“Not everyone can distinguish them.”
Sherlock fights against a smug smile. “Well, I can identify some of the most popular, but for your particular example it was just a question of telling that two people use the same and draw the right conclusions.”
“I see.” John gives a self-depreciating smile. “It's the difference between seeing and observing again.”
Sherlock nods. “Which brings us back to the question why people don't use their senses.”
John doesn't seem inclined to answer it, which is fine as it was largely rhetorical anyway. “But that reminds me: the corpse-sniffing you do. Is it really necessary?”
“Corpse-sniffing?” Sherlock asks with raised eyebrows. “What kind of word is that?”
“It's the act of sniffing a corpse, you grammar nazi. One of those things people find creepy at crime scenes.”
“You should be aware,” Sherlock points out, “that a number of poisons and diseases can be indicated by a specific smell.”
John nods. “I am. Doesn't quite explain you sniffing beheaded people.”
“It should be possible to get a more accurate time of death estimation by including the strength of the smell, but I'm still compiling data on this one. If the results are conclusive I will write a paper about it.”
And now John is so obviously not-laughing that Sherlock doesn't know why he even bothers.
“Sounds like fascinating reading,” he says eventually.
Sherlock narrows his eyes. “It will be.”
“Doubtless,” John says innocently. He is standing up. Will make tea, Sherlock can tell from the swift look to the kitchen. He leans over and trails a reconciling finger down the side of Sherlock's neck in passing. “I'll read it.”
Sherlock catches his hand and pulls him in for a swift kiss. John laughs. “What?” Sherlock asks against his lips.
“You're sniffing me, too. For deductive reasons, I'm sure,” he adds teasingly.
“Wrong.” The tea can wait a moment, Sherlock decides, as he tugs John further down to bury his face in the crook of his neck. “You get sniffed because you smell good.”
.
No beta yet, so feel free to point out mistakes.
~800 words
Sherlock/John
“What is it?”
“Hm?” Sherlock asks distractedly, without looking up from the file he's reading.
John sets his laptop down on the coffee table and rolls his shoulders. Cracking sounds, it's getting late. Maybe Sherlock should get him to make tea. “This is the second long-suffering sigh from you since you started to read that report. Is it Anderson's?”
Sherlock cracks a smile. “It's this witness,” he says irritably. “She says there was a 'chemical' smell. Two times. And the questioning officer didn't seem to find that a bit too vague.”
“Maybe she couldn't describe it any better,” John yawns. Sherlock can tell he isn't very focused, his head heavy on the backrest and his eyes only half open.
“'Chemical' isn't a description at all,” Sherlock grouses. “Chemistry is a field of science, you could just as well say something smells philosophical or economical. It doesn't make sense.”
John looks at him now with his fondly amused 'I like it when you're weird' smile, but Sherlock is really not in the mood to find it anything but patronizing. “I think what she meant was 'smelling of chemicals'.”
Sherlock groans. “Yes thank you, doctor. That leaves us exactly with everything as possible source of the smell. We'll just put that down when someone gets stabbed the next time: Dead due to metallic chemicals in the heart region. A bit unspecific, but apt enough for the Yard apparently. I had hoped that a man of the medical profession had at least a vague concept of how the sense of smell works.”
John, damn the man, looks even more amused than before. “Chemically?” he drawls.
Sherlock glares at him. “You're making fun of me.”
He gets an unapologetic shrug in return. “It's what you do with people ranting about their pet peeves.”
“This is not my- Is it too much to ask that people use their senses?”
“You don't have to get all misanthropic about it,” John says and his smile softens a bit. “You have to admit that your sense of smell is extraordinary, you can't expect-”
“It is not,” Sherlock interrupts him. “Don't be ridiculous, John, I've been a heavy smoker for more than eight years, my sense of smell is slowly recovering at the very best.”
“Oh.” John looks surprised, though he knew about the smoking. “I just assumed, because you always go on about smells.”
“I do?”
“Yes, that and you sniff everything. Our first case for example, you could tell Anderson and Donovan had an affair by smelling their deodorant.”
And really, the enthusiasm John shows for the most elementary bits of deduction. Sherlock can't help the warm feeling, but it surely is exaggerated praise on John's part. Sherlock just hopes he'll never realize.
“Deodorants are produced explicitly for the human nose,” he points out reluctantly. “Everyone can smell them.”
“Not everyone can distinguish them.”
Sherlock fights against a smug smile. “Well, I can identify some of the most popular, but for your particular example it was just a question of telling that two people use the same and draw the right conclusions.”
“I see.” John gives a self-depreciating smile. “It's the difference between seeing and observing again.”
Sherlock nods. “Which brings us back to the question why people don't use their senses.”
John doesn't seem inclined to answer it, which is fine as it was largely rhetorical anyway. “But that reminds me: the corpse-sniffing you do. Is it really necessary?”
“Corpse-sniffing?” Sherlock asks with raised eyebrows. “What kind of word is that?”
“It's the act of sniffing a corpse, you grammar nazi. One of those things people find creepy at crime scenes.”
“You should be aware,” Sherlock points out, “that a number of poisons and diseases can be indicated by a specific smell.”
John nods. “I am. Doesn't quite explain you sniffing beheaded people.”
“It should be possible to get a more accurate time of death estimation by including the strength of the smell, but I'm still compiling data on this one. If the results are conclusive I will write a paper about it.”
And now John is so obviously not-laughing that Sherlock doesn't know why he even bothers.
“Sounds like fascinating reading,” he says eventually.
Sherlock narrows his eyes. “It will be.”
“Doubtless,” John says innocently. He is standing up. Will make tea, Sherlock can tell from the swift look to the kitchen. He leans over and trails a reconciling finger down the side of Sherlock's neck in passing. “I'll read it.”
Sherlock catches his hand and pulls him in for a swift kiss. John laughs. “What?” Sherlock asks against his lips.
“You're sniffing me, too. For deductive reasons, I'm sure,” he adds teasingly.
“Wrong.” The tea can wait a moment, Sherlock decides, as he tugs John further down to bury his face in the crook of his neck. “You get sniffed because you smell good.”
.