Sherlock strode into the room, settled himself on the sofa, and started talking about the current case (very simple, triple murder and a suicide, could solve it in his sleep). His non-stop, ridiculously fast stream of words and deductions went in one of John's ears and out the other as he sat in the armchair, typing out the previous case on his blog. Still talking, Sherlock leaned over and checked the title- oh, god- "The paper crane"? Really? Perhaps John should start writing children's novels, he thought sardonically.

Suddenly, John became aware of his presence and, stretching, got up out of the chair and walked towards the kitchen. Beginning to make tea, he said 'sorry, could you say all of that again? Funnily enough, I find it hard to type and listen to something completely different at the same time'

Sherlock huffed. 'I said that it was obvious by the state of the second man's socks that he was having an affair with the woman that committed suicide, and that the first man was obviously a jealous ex-lover of the hers, judging by the paint under his fingernails-'

'Sorry, what? Socks? Paint?' John said, incredulous, walking towards Sherlock with two mugs of tea.

'The paint was the same as the coating on the woman's house, he'd obviously been peeking through her windows, keep up, John-' Sherlock suddenly fell silent.

What was that smell? It was completely out of place in the apartment- he'd memorized every scent in the place. It was quite… intoxicating, actually. A mixture between freshly-baked bread and newly washed blankets, he thought to himself. If a smell could be comforting and calming, this would definitely be it.

It wasn't just a soothing smell, though.. it was addictive. Hardly as addictive as hard drugs, for example, but…

Sniffing the air, he quickly deduced the source.

John.

…Why was John smelling like that (not that he minded, not at all..) ? John, ordinary, unassuming John, who probably had a date with a new dull girl tonight, since he'd showered 10 minutes before he usually did- Aha.

'You've changed your shampoo'

'Wha- oh, yeah. The other one was finished and this was the cheapest one at the supermarket,' John confessed, running his hands through his hair. 'Does it smell bad or something?'

'Bad? No, quite the contrary. I'm sure…. Jane…. Janet.. will like it' Sherlock muttered, trying not to sniff the air too conspicuously.

'Her name's Jennifer, Sherlock..' John sighed. 'Actually, I'm not really sure this one will work out… I mean, she's nice and all, but-'

'I'm going down to the supermarket' Sherlock announced abruptly, wrapping his scarf around his neck and walking out.

—

Two days later, Sherlock was rather annoyed.

He'd tried everything to produce the same, infuriatingly good smell that surrounded John- he'd bought the shampoo, tried it on himself. Didn't work- just like normal shampoo. He'd taken it apart chemically, doing all sorts of tests- nothing.

He'd even slipped it into Mrs. Hudson's shampoo, for gods sake, just to prove that his nose wasn't failing him. Absolutely no results. He just couldn't get that bloody smell from anything but John! That was it. He'd had enough.

—-

Which is why, on Sunday morning, John awoke to a rather warm bed and a sleeping Sherlock- long, pale limbs tangled with his own, tanned shorter ones, and Sherlock's nose pressed into his hair.

John, after being initially surprised- he was fairly certain he'd gone to bed alone last night- grinned quietly to himself and rearranged the blankets before settling back to sleep.

Mission success.