The Sniffing Thing

by ghostkerchief09

Because nothing is ever normal in Baker Street. "Could you please tell me what you're doing? Because this is starting to cross the weird, definitely weird bridge."

PART 1: THE SNIFFING THING

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Sherlock Holmes has a kink.

A kink.

Well…. Maybe not a kink, per se… But definitely something.

It all started out a few weeks prior. It was a simple act but nonetheless for some reason or another, definitely caught John's interest.

"Err—Sherlock? What are you doing?" John asked, trying desperately not to move while his flatmate hovered above him.

Sherlock sniffed, "I'm smelling you." He said as a matter of fact after which he continued to move from the top of John's head, going to his neck and continuing his trail downwards. John tried very hard not to move when he dipped even lower.

John frowned, "Yes… I can see that…" he trailed, "But why are you smelling me?"

"Where were you last?" Sherlock asked, starting to grimace as though smelling something vile. "Restaurant…" he surmised even before John can answer, "you ate fish and then had wine… There's also something sweet smelling…perfume?"

John's frown deepened some more. "A date Sherlock. I told you I was going out before I went this afternoon."

"Ahh…"

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock gave a final sniff before he straightened up. "Nothing John. Forget it." And then he proceeded to walk away.

At that time, John only chucked it up to his flatmate's weirdness. After all, it wasn't the first time his flatmate has been weird.

John thought about that. Nope, definitely not.

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The second time it happened, it was just after his customary pub night with Lestrade. The detective immediately strode towards John after he entered the flat, sniffed at him, grimaced then turned and went back to flop on the sofa.

"Sherlock?" John ventured tentatively to which he received no response. He followed Sherlock inside where he made his own deduction.

Sulking.

"Did you just smell me again?"

Sherlock turned to glare at him. "Alcohol." He shot acerbically as though the mere thought kills him. Maybe it did.

"Yes. Pub night with Lestrade remember?" John sat on his chair, trying to further assess the detective. He received no answer.

"Sherlock?" he tried again. "Are you sulking?"

No answer.

Yep, definitely sulking.

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It occurred a few more times during the course of the week. Either Sherlock would come striding up to him, sniffing or when John is feeling particularly irate, just casually brushing up to him, tilting his head as though to assess his mood then wisely going out of his way. It was oddly endearing if not just a bit weird… and disconcerting. But what was his flatmate if not a bit weird anyway so John let it go.

Occasionally though, when the detective seemed particularly pensive after smelling him, John's curiosity would peak.

On one such occasion that John tried to ask him about it, all he got was a confused, "What are you talking about John? Why would I sniff you? I'm not a dog!" After which the affronted detective walked away. It all left John a very baffled man. Finally he decided to ask him once and for all after one morning when said detective was doing one of his experiments in the kitchen. John continued to make his tea all the while noticing how Sherlock turned to lean towards him for a moment before returning to what he was doing.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back to him, "Yes, John?"

"Are you deleting things from your brain again?" John frowned. He would definitely never understand the need to delete things from his brain, must less the sheer improbability of it. But well, Sherlock has never been very normal.

"Of course John! Why would I want useless junk on my mind palace anyway?" Sherlock looked at him aghast and then turned back to what he was doing.

"Err-nothing?"

Sherlock scoffed at him. "Seriously John, you're repeating things you've already asked me before. Is this an early sign of old age?" There was a hint of a smirk on the detective's lips.

John stared at him incredulously. Deleting things, yes but then joking too? The world must be ending.

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John thought the whole episode was over when almost a week had passed without any hint of his flat mate sniffing at him. Of course, that might be due in part because of their relatively quiet week. No cases, no running around London, him working at Sarah's clinic, and the detective sulking big time.

Of course, they had both tried calling Lestrade, but short of them begging him or asking him to commit a crime all Greg could do was hand over a few cold cases.

All of which was immediately thrown and dubbed: Boring

John sighed for the nth time that day. He had no work and Sherlock had made it his life's work to annoy him to an early grave.

"For fuck's sake Sherlock! . . .Do? Commit a crime?" He asked, exasperated at the continuous litany of 'bored, bored and boring... JAWWWWWWWNNNNN do something!'.

Sherlock's eyes twinkled at that, abruptly sitting up from his fetal position at the sofa. "Can you make it exciting?"

John looked at him dubiously and then incredulously and then he shook his head "Are you serious?" He asked, his voice pitching higher than intended.

When Sherlock continued to stare at him, all he could do was storm out.

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John immediately regretted storming out of the flat. He should have expected that but that didn't stop the tick at the back of his head that says his flatmate definitely is not normal. He could almost imagine what Sherlock would reply to that, "Normal's boring." He would've said with a roll of his eyes. It almost made him smile at the thought.

Rolling his eyes, he proceeded to make his way to . Maybe Molly could be a better company at the moment. Oh, what was he thinking! Anyone would be better company at the moment. And unless a case turns up, John wasn't going home until the night is tired.

"John!" Molly greeted, looking shock at his appearance. "Sherlock's not with you?" she asked after looking behind him and not finding the detective.

John shrugged, "No case,"

"Ahh…" Molly nodded like the words explained everything. "Sulking?"

"Yep."

"Would you like some tea?"

John grinned at that, "Please…"

Molly went to get the tea while John surveyed the morgue. New bodies were laid out on the slabs looking like they just came in. "Are they new?" he asked Molly after receiving his cup. It looked pretty gruesome… the bodies not the tea of course.

Molly nodded, "Just came in. Pretty nasty business having their faces bashed in with no other source of identification." She grimaced while patting the foot of one of the corpses.

"How many have there been?"

Molly frowned assuming a thinking position. "Let's see… Two came yesterday, another two the day before yesterday and two again today… Looks like serial killing again." She commented offhandedly.

"And the police haven't identified any of them yet?"

"Not that I know of, no." Molly shook her head.

John frowned. "And Sherlock hasn't been called on the case?"

Molly shrugged.

He was about to call Lestrade when his phone pinged to alert him of a new text message.

We have a new case. SH

John grinned, looks like he was going early after all.

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"Ummm… What are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't answer but continued to circle him. John has just arrived in their flat when his flatmate accosted him, grimaced and then proceeded to circle him again, occasionally sniffing.

"Are you doing that sniffing…thing again?" John asked warily.

The detective still didn't deem it enough to answer, instead "You were at the morgue."

John frowned, "Yes… I was talking to Molly when you texted me."

"You had tea."

"Well… yes. She offered and I accepted." John answered slowly, having a hard time following the detective's train of thought.

"Why were you at the morgue?" Sherlock asked, "Did Lestrade tell you about the case before me?" he looked affronted at the thought.

John smiled wearily before shaking his head. "No Sherlock, I simply had a flatmate who continuously raises my temper up to the point of me having to find other company instead of strangling said flatmate."

"You want to strangle me?" Sherlock asked, becoming alert and backing up at the deemed immediate threat.

John grinned and then nodded, "Sometimes."

"But you're a doctor!"

John smiled at the repeat of one of their conversations. "I was a soldier too." He pointed out unnecessarily. "I had bad days."

Sherlock sniffed at that. "And I'm a consulting detective, I always have bad days. Dreadfully mind-numbing, skull breaking, death-of-me boring days."

John shook his head. He could see a small smirk gracing the detective's face. "Drama queen."

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John tried to suppress a smile as he watched Sherlock flitter and flutter and dash about the crime scene taking deductions seemingly out of thin air. Greg was already shaking his head in an almost fondly exasperated air while he waited for the consulting detective to grace them with his findings.

"Well?"

"Well what?" John looked at his friend with a questioning look.

Greg rolled his eyes before raising an eyebrow. "Is he still sniffing you?" he asked, trying to rein in a smile that was threatening to overwhelm his face. John almost regretted the moment of weakness wherein he told Greg about his flatmate's new habit.

"Yes."

"And?"

John shrugged. "And I still don't know why he does it. He also seems to be deleting it the moment he finishes because whenever I ask about it, he would answer me with a blank face… Kind of like his 'Are you stupid or something' face."

Greg chuckled at that. "Ahh… better ask him why though. Seems awfully weird to me."

"Yes… well unless he does something weirder, I find it alright not to mention it again. It's not as if he would plaster himself on me or something equally disturbing." John shrugged.

"John?" Sherlock looked at him, "I called for you three times."

"Oh, did you?"

Sherlock frowned. "Yes… Cause of death now."

John smiled, "Well…"

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John was sorry he ever opened his mouth.

Another week has passed after the Case of Stolen Identities (to which Sherlock scoffed at again while he was typing) and soon the detective was growing bored. One moment he would be sulking in the sofa, and another he would be ordering John around like a slave of his own.

It happened just after one of his errands wherein, once again, Mycroft deemed it fit to abduct him.

Again.

John can only heave a deep DEEP frustrated breath and go along with it. AGAIN it was something to do with one thing or another. ALWAYS Sherlock related. At the bright side, he was able to save cab fare on the way back. On another hand…

"What are you doing again?" He asked warily, trying very hard not to breathe in case someone had decided to exchange his flatmate for a madman and said madman tried to kill him…

"My fat brother has accosted you again." Sherlock commented disdainfully while grimacing.

"Yes…"

It all began with a hand on his arm.

"What did he want?"

Then the slow invasion of space.

"Nothing that requires this I'm sure…" John trailed off… He really wasn't sure what was going on. He wasn't even sure his flatmate wasn't trying to kill him.

"Mmmm, warehouse again." Sherlock continued without seeming to hear him.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please tell me what you're doing? Because this is starting to cross the weird, definitely weird bridge." John tried inching his way out only to be blocked.

"I'm doing an experiment."

John sighed, exasperation liberally coating his next words. Experiment, like that explains everything. "Ummm… just what kind of experiment entails you imitating an octopus?"

Yep, his flatmate would kill him. He might just die…maybe by strangulation.

Most probably by suffocation, the detective definitely had a vice grip on him.

"Scent-transfer, John." Sherlock told him in his most annoying Obviously! Voice.

Or he might just die of humiliation.

"Scent-transfer?"

"Yes."

"Is that perchance the reason why you were sniffing me days before?"

"Yes."

John could only stare at his friend uncomprehendingly.

"Err-Care to elaborate?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, I have recently found that you are a great scent conductor." He said this as though John should be proud of himself by this weird trait. "This experiment started the moment I noticed that your scent changes depending on where you had been or who you had relations to," this he said with a grimace "and who you simply talked to. Sometimes I can also smell what you ate depending on the quantity consumed and how recent it is."

"And that's also the reason why you're clinging to me like an octopus?" John asked, almost scared of the answer.

"Yes." And he really shouldn't have opened his mouth.

John cleared his throat. "So…Let see if I got this correct. You're trying to make me smell like you."

Sherlock beamed at him and with their very close proximity, let's just say John got almost blinded by it. "Yes!"

John's stomach seemed to plummet down at that. "Ummm… Why again?"

"Because I smell better that my brother."

Huh.

Somehow, John doubted that very much. He told Sherlock so.

"Fine." The detective rolled his eyes. "Because I find that I like my scent on you better than anything else."

…

…

"You are not a dog are you? I don't know… maybe an experiment by Mycroft gone wrong and now he's passing you up as his brother?"

Sherlock scowled.

"Just… you're sure?"

"John…"

"I—"

Sherlock's scowl deepened then a glare materialized on his face. "John…"

"Or maybe you read something again? How many times have I told you to leave the fanmade sites alone?" John grimaced at the things that came up once the consulting detective stumbled into fame. Half the things aren't even possible… Supernaturals? Vampires? Werewolves? M-Preg? He wasn't even GAY! "I mean… like a bloody octopus! Or maybe a dog.. or a cat… or maybe a wolf? You seem more like it." John continued and shrugged. Well, tried to shrug.

"It's an experiment." Sherlock lips threatened into a pout.

"And that explains everything?"

"Yes."

John shook his head. Weird, definitely weird. "Maybe I should put this on my blog?" He grinned. "Yes, I can even think of a title: The Sniffing Thing." John chortled while Sherlock frowned.

"How… quaint."

"Yep." John nodded. "The Sniffing Thing."

Then he laughed.

The detective just sighed and then slowly untangled his limbs from his doctor. He gave a final sniff and with seeming satisfaction, walked back to his experiments.

John could only smile with a fond exasperation.

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The fans.

The fans were ridiculous.

Just hours after posting the entry about "The Sniffing Thing", fan-based activities ramped up to the point that Mycroft, bloody British Government Mycroft, texted him and he cursed his curiosity.

It was a simple thing.

The text read, Omega-verse. –MH

Logically, he should've listened to the soldier instincts that were screaming at him not to search the word. But then, having a consulting detective for a bestfriend means that at one point, his latent curiosity would rub off on you. John was cursing the day Sherlock turned him into a man who wanted answers.

At first, his search led to its meaning but then remembering Mycroft and knowing that it might just have to do with him and his bestfriend, his search expanded further.

And how he wished he didn't.

The fans beamed.

The fans rejoiced.

The fans grinned manically and chuckled with pure evil.

And then they made drawings. Fan-art they called it.

And stories. Fanfiction, they said.

And worse of all, they made porn. Pure unbridled smut using the omega-verse theme and all it entailed, starring the both of them.

John thought his eyes would burn… while his body froze.

"Err—Sherlock?"

The detective must've noticed the uncharacteristic hitch on his voice. "Yes, John?"

John slowly came out of his frozen state. "Do you know omega-verse?"

Sherlock frowned and fully faced his flatmate. "Yes…?"

John's eyes bugged, "What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then explained, "Omega-verse was where I got the initial idea for the scent-transfer experiment. The fans were quite imaginative." He nodded thoughtfully, "though just a bit too imaginative I guess. They always seem to pair us off as a couple." He added almost as an afterthought. "Huh…"

"Huh…" Then another, "HA! I knew you were reading something done by the fans again! Sherlock? Aren't you even, I don't know, DISTURBED?" John was slowly ramping himself to a fury. "They're crazy! And for the record, I am not even GAY!" John huffed indignantly.

Sherlock only stared at him. "You were always telling me to ignore them." He said as a matter of fact. "They are just fans."

At that, John deflated. "Well—"

And then Sherlock beamed. John glanced at him warily. "Sherlock, what are you thinking?"

"Well—" Sherlock started, "They ARE quite imaginative…"

John frowned, "NO!"

Sherlock pouted.

"Still a no, Sherlock." John sighed as he turned back into his laptop. Omega-verse, indeed. Still a bit disturbing though… Alpha, Omega and the descriptions… God! John shook his head.

"But I'm BORED!"

"I will not be experimented on, Sherlock." He said without turning back to the detective.

"But John! There's this one curious thing that they said—"

"NO, Sherlock! For the final time, the answer is no." John rolled his eyes.

"Well—If you're sure…"

"I am."

Sherlock sighed.

Apparently appeased, John continued clicking away at his laptop, occasionally shaking his head and mumbling under his breath about bloody fans.

Because of this, John would not only regret posting such an intimate, if a bit weird, detail of their life but he would also regret not looking back at his flatmate.

His flatmate who was currently looking at him assessingly.

His flatmate who has a glint at his eyes like a madman.

A madman who was most definitely planning something.

Yep, John would rue the day the fame started and fans got out of control. Because now the detective isn't bored. Now he has a lot of ideas.

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Fin.

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AN/ Oh gossssssssssshhh! Please, please, PLEASE don't kill me! Hahaha. All I can say it that this is the result of reading too much fanfics and of course, omega-verse (I soooo love that trope). How I wish there were a lot of Sentinel-verse too. I lurve them too. But away from that, give me some love too?

If you noticed, it's "PART 1" meaning there's another part to this but it's still in the works. On the bright side, I know what I'm going to write about and this can be a stand-alone one shot for now. On another hand, I don't know when my little plot bunnies will wake from hibernation so I'll post this as complete for now.

Andddddddddddddd if you read all of that… please know that all mistakes are mine. You know the drill, click that little review button for me?

Virtual hugs and kisses everyone~