This began as a dirty fluff fic for tumblr, but the last part isn't as fluffy, so I figured I'd post it here. Relatively canon, except for the obvious… no spoilers as far as I know.
Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or Stephen Moffat/Mark Gatiss, for which I am eternally grateful
I volunteered to stay with my aunt; she needed minor surgery and wanted someone to look after her house, and tenants. I met the tenants, Sherlock and John, who seemed lovely. John was sweet and chatty, whereas Sherlock was a bit abrupt but attractive in a strange magnetic way.
The days passed and I visited my aunt, watching her amazing cheerfulness brighten everyone's mood, and her health improve rapidly. Sherlock called me up to their apartment a couple of times, each time more bizarre than the last.
One of the first times, he had texted me asking for some paper, I'd left my number in case I was at work and they needed something. I arrived upstairs to find him lounging on the sofa.
"Here's the paper" I smiled, placing half a packet of printer paper on the table next to him, getting no response I began to clear up the empty cups.
"You work with poisons" he said randomly, sounding more like a statement than a question. He stood and walked over to his microscope, fiddled with a few slides and looked up to beckon me over.
I went and looked down the lens, examining the slide "degraded corpuscles and slight discolouration, looks like hemlock poisoning" I said, waiting for a response but getting nothing but silence. I looked up to see if Sherlock had become distracted and saw him staring at the back of my head. When he noticed, he reached for another slide, and placed it onto the microscope.
Again I looked through the lens, "hyper-coagulant, wasting of the muscle cells, probably solanine," when I finished speaking I sensed he was much closer, and heard him sniff. I turned to see his head inches from mine, smelling me.
I stood from the microscope and backed up, collecting the cups I had been putting on a tray, he looked at me with a warm smile, but confusion in his eyes.
The next day I bumped into John in the corridor at the hospital, "Sherlock has been a bit distracted, mumbled something about your perfume" he said, looking at me curiously.
"I don't wear perfume" I told him, utterly baffled.
"I'm sure it'll all become clear eventually, I told you he was an interesting case-study" he smiled. I laughed and told him I'd catch up with him later, if anything became clearer, he said he'd be out most of that night and I should take some tea up to the apartment.
I arrived home and lay my work out on the table, made tea, and wandered up to see what Sherlock was up to, I found him staring out of the window.
"Hey, I brought tea, how's the case going?" I smiled, placing a cup near him and hugged my own.
"Dull, there are no inventive criminals out there anymore" he replied without turning around, "There is something I wanted to ask you about."
"Sure, what's on your mind?" I said, putting my cup down and preparing for another strange test.
He turned and walked towards me, invading my personal space. I backed up until I hit the wall near the front door, Sherlock stopping less than a foot from me.
"What effect do pheromones have on the brain?" he asked, a question I was sure he would know the answer to.
"A perceived quickening of the heart and respiration, nervous thought or clouding of the mind and a compulsion for contact" I said, watching as he raised his hand to push some hair from my face. "I should leave you to your work…"
"I've tried to resolve this… problem" he said, ignoring my comments, "but I can't clear my thoughts… I can't…" he stumbled over his words, not usual from what I had heard about him.
His hand was still lingering by the side of my face, and then he took a small step forwards and sniffed at my neck, revealing his problem as it pressed into my hip. I looked into the eyes of this fragile, brilliant man, as he lowered his head again and his warm soft lips brushed against mine. I felt his free hand take hold of my waist, and the kiss became more urgent.
Suddenly a voice from the doorway broke us apart, "Sherlock… what?"
It was John, frozen in shock, staring at the unbelievable sight before him. Sherlock took a step back, and I took the opportunity to slide out of his grip, "I should… be somewhere" I stammered, then dashed out of the door and almost ran down the stairs.