Work Text:
There were many different smells John associated with Sherlock. They were often unpleasant, like burnt rubber or decomposing flesh (that really was the worst one). Sometimes they were strangely nice, like the almond smell of cyanide but none of these scents were really him or what he actively chooses to smell like. Those smells were just side effects of whatever experiment or case he has been working on. On the one hand, John couldn’t imagine that Sherlock didn’t have a bottle of cologne somewhere or at least some deodorant and yet, he’d never seen it, or as far as he was aware, smelt it.
That was before this afternoon of course. Because now John was pressed very tightly against Sherlock’s back, in a space between two walls, that was barely big enough for one person. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, the extra close proximity was doing things to John. He had never openly discussed it or shown it, at least not before Sherlock but John knew he was bisexual and right now his body was reminding him of this fact.
Bending slightly, Sherlock was studying something on the wall. This didn’t help at all, as it meant his bum was pushing even more into John’s general ‘hello I’m taking an interest’ area. John instinctively coughed which, however, just got him an irritated 'shhhh’ from Sherlock.
John turned his head and tried very hard to think about something else. The brush of his chin on Sherlock’s suit clad shoulder, raised a familiar scent. It lingered and John concentrated on placing it. This seemed to take his mind off his 'interest’ until he realised it was sandalwood. John liked sandalwood. A lot. It was a base in any scent he liked and it really didn’t help this awkward situation. With nothing better, or at least more appropriate (he would revise that thought later), to do with his time, John sniffed the dark curls in front of his nose and did some analysing of his own.
Beneath the warm, slightly seductive (John tried to ignore that bit) scent of sandalwood, there were other layers to Sherlock’s smell. John leaned in just a little bit more. Space was so tight in here that it barely made any difference but his nose was now just hovering above the exposed skin at the back of Sherlock’s neck. Cedarwood, Oakmoss and a hint of something like Bergamot. John was quickly becoming lost in the heady, earthy fragrance, to which, there was an almost powdery, soapy undertone, that added a lighter note to the overall scent.
John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply just as Sherlock shuffled back, to give his knees some room. John’s nose, mouth and lips were suddenly pressed to the nape of Sherlock’s neck.
They both froze for a moment, uncertain of what was actually happening. John, mortified, thought for a moment on escape but he was pretty well wedged in. He sighed, admitted defeat to himself and decided to stay right where he was, if Sherlock didn’t object, breathing in that intoxicating scent.