Fic: Inhale, Exhale 1/1
Title: Inhale, Exhale
Author: leopardseals
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: UNBETA-ED. It's also stupidly short.
Notes: My friend Lilithemm inspired me. The scent described is Breath Of God -- a lovely perfume.
The first time John noticed it was while they were working a case.
He had leaned in close to Sherlock, peering over at where he was pointing out a pinprick behind the victim's ear that had previously gone unnoticed. "31-gauge needle, cause of death: cardiac arrest, meperidine hydrochloride? No --" Sherlock mumbled to himself. "Potassium chloride."
Before John had time to process what he'd said, his brain was distracted by another stimulus. A light scent wafted from his friend's neck -- black pepper and dried orange peels was his first thought, but he couldn't quite tell -- it was an unusual smell, deep and decadent but with a bit of a bite.
Sherlock was gone by the time his eyes focused again. It was almost as if he'd faded into thin air, the blur of his dark coat and trousers a mere afterimage burned in John's retinas.
"He said to follow him," Molly said helpfully, looking at John with a quizzical expression. He blinked at her for another second before he mumbled out a thanks and walked out of the morgue.
The second time he noticed it was in bed.
After a celebratory drink of vintage Merlot (courtesy of Mycroft), they had stumbled up towards John's bedroom, exchanging heated kisses.
"It was the meperidine hydrochloride, John," Sherlock slurred, undoing his shirt buttons. "I knew it. It was that lawyer --"
John interrupted him, chuckling lightly. "Right, right. It was brilliant, Sherlock. I've told you that already. Now shut up."
He pushed his friend onto the bed and pressed his lips to his, climbing on top of him. He felt his head spin; their sudden rush up the stairs was making him dizzy, as was the wine. Thankfully he was in nowhere as bad of a shape as Sherlock, who had apparently forgotten to pace himself in his glee at having solved the case in record time.
He'd begun to kiss his way down Sherlock's neck when he smelled it again -- this time it was mingled with the scent of soap, and with the warm, familiar smell of Sherlock's skin. The citrus note from before had faded and a deeper resiny smell had taken over; it reminded John of the scent of a forest after a thunderstorm, earthy and wet.
He couldn't help but look up at Sherlock. "What's this?" he asked, taking another quick whiff at the side of his friend's pale neck. "I didn't think you wore cologne."
"Oh -- I found it the other day, it was a Christmas gift from Molly a couple years ago. I tested it and it didn't smell too offensive, so I left it on."
Sherlock had initially raised an eyebrow at the question, but his expression soon turned into a slightly more sinister one when he looked down at his friend. "Jealous, are we?"
John blinked, frowning. "Why would I be, exactly?"
"It's all over your face. I imagine you quite like the scent, judging from how you were sniffing at me right now -- and now you're jealous that it was Molly who'd gotten me the cologne."
All John could do was sigh at that. "...Well, it really does suit you."
The detective smiled, and before John could react, he'd been rolled over and pinned onto his back -- perhaps he was a bit more pissed than he'd cared to admit. Sherlock leaned in to kiss him, deep and long and hard, and John felt faint, again, as his senses were flooded with the taste of Merlot, the sound of his own soft moan, the feel of Sherlock's skin, hot against his, and that smell.
Christ, it was as if he was drowning.
Sherlock bit down gently on John's lower lip as he pulled away, leaving him breathless.
"There's no need for you to be jealous, John, you know that." Sherlock's voice was of a deeper timbre than usual; whether it was from lust or from the alcohol was uncertain to John, but he enjoyed the effect nonetheless. He couldn't hold back the shiver that ran up his spine.
"You love this, don't you?" John said, his breath hitching in his throat as Sherlock trailed a hand over his ribs. "--such an egomaniac..."
For once, Sherlock was silent, but the quirk at the corner of his lips, and his eyes -- dark and impossibly blue, told John everything he needed to know.
Author: leopardseals
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: UNBETA-ED. It's also stupidly short.
Notes: My friend Lilithemm inspired me. The scent described is Breath Of God -- a lovely perfume.
The first time John noticed it was while they were working a case.
He had leaned in close to Sherlock, peering over at where he was pointing out a pinprick behind the victim's ear that had previously gone unnoticed. "31-gauge needle, cause of death: cardiac arrest, meperidine hydrochloride? No --" Sherlock mumbled to himself. "Potassium chloride."
Before John had time to process what he'd said, his brain was distracted by another stimulus. A light scent wafted from his friend's neck -- black pepper and dried orange peels was his first thought, but he couldn't quite tell -- it was an unusual smell, deep and decadent but with a bit of a bite.
Sherlock was gone by the time his eyes focused again. It was almost as if he'd faded into thin air, the blur of his dark coat and trousers a mere afterimage burned in John's retinas.
"He said to follow him," Molly said helpfully, looking at John with a quizzical expression. He blinked at her for another second before he mumbled out a thanks and walked out of the morgue.
The second time he noticed it was in bed.
After a celebratory drink of vintage Merlot (courtesy of Mycroft), they had stumbled up towards John's bedroom, exchanging heated kisses.
"It was the meperidine hydrochloride, John," Sherlock slurred, undoing his shirt buttons. "I knew it. It was that lawyer --"
John interrupted him, chuckling lightly. "Right, right. It was brilliant, Sherlock. I've told you that already. Now shut up."
He pushed his friend onto the bed and pressed his lips to his, climbing on top of him. He felt his head spin; their sudden rush up the stairs was making him dizzy, as was the wine. Thankfully he was in nowhere as bad of a shape as Sherlock, who had apparently forgotten to pace himself in his glee at having solved the case in record time.
He'd begun to kiss his way down Sherlock's neck when he smelled it again -- this time it was mingled with the scent of soap, and with the warm, familiar smell of Sherlock's skin. The citrus note from before had faded and a deeper resiny smell had taken over; it reminded John of the scent of a forest after a thunderstorm, earthy and wet.
He couldn't help but look up at Sherlock. "What's this?" he asked, taking another quick whiff at the side of his friend's pale neck. "I didn't think you wore cologne."
"Oh -- I found it the other day, it was a Christmas gift from Molly a couple years ago. I tested it and it didn't smell too offensive, so I left it on."
Sherlock had initially raised an eyebrow at the question, but his expression soon turned into a slightly more sinister one when he looked down at his friend. "Jealous, are we?"
John blinked, frowning. "Why would I be, exactly?"
"It's all over your face. I imagine you quite like the scent, judging from how you were sniffing at me right now -- and now you're jealous that it was Molly who'd gotten me the cologne."
All John could do was sigh at that. "...Well, it really does suit you."
The detective smiled, and before John could react, he'd been rolled over and pinned onto his back -- perhaps he was a bit more pissed than he'd cared to admit. Sherlock leaned in to kiss him, deep and long and hard, and John felt faint, again, as his senses were flooded with the taste of Merlot, the sound of his own soft moan, the feel of Sherlock's skin, hot against his, and that smell.
Christ, it was as if he was drowning.
Sherlock bit down gently on John's lower lip as he pulled away, leaving him breathless.
"There's no need for you to be jealous, John, you know that." Sherlock's voice was of a deeper timbre than usual; whether it was from lust or from the alcohol was uncertain to John, but he enjoyed the effect nonetheless. He couldn't hold back the shiver that ran up his spine.
"You love this, don't you?" John said, his breath hitching in his throat as Sherlock trailed a hand over his ribs. "--such an egomaniac..."
For once, Sherlock was silent, but the quirk at the corner of his lips, and his eyes -- dark and impossibly blue, told John everything he needed to know.