Sherlock was jealous of Mycroft and the other John, it was the only option. He wasn't completely sure, as jealousy was one of those pointless things he'd deleted - or so he thought. Every time the other John shot Mycroft a look, Sherlock decided he wanted to be on the receiving end of that, even if just from a John clone.
Because the clone may have been exactly like John in every way, but it just wasn't John.
The clone didn't smell like John did - not that Sherlock had ever particularly cared not smell John, but he knew that he didn't smell like Mycroft and sex. God forbid the thought.
John's dismissal of Mycroft after leaving, the callous way his brother's name was spat from that mouth left Sherlock feeling quite peculiar, but nice, awful though that word was.
The jealousy was extremely confusing for Sherlock, not that he'd ever care to admit it. He wasn't in love with John, didn't even have any kind of basic animal urges to him, not really. Although he supposed the "not really" made all the difference there. And maybe it was just a case of not knowing what you've got until it's cloned and shagging your brother…
It would need thorough investigating.
And what did John smell like?
"John!" Sherlock figured it was best to find out as soon as possible.
"If you want me to hand you your phone again, just a warning, I may punch you."
"No, no. I want to smell you." John stepped back, seconds after his approach to Sherlock, who was sprawled across the sofa.
"Boundaries really aren't your strong point, are they?"
"Just shut up and bend over!"
"God, if anyone heard that, people would really talk." John protested, giving in to Sherlock's demands anyway, thinking that if he didn't comply he'd wake up with Sherlock leaning over him and smelling him, which wasn't completely an awful thought but anyway.
Sherlock leaned up and inhaled everything that was going to be filed under "How John smells" in his mind palace – yes, there was a category for everything, everything important anyway. Honey, soap, and raspberry jam. Chemicals, presumably from Barts. Latex, from the gloves he wears at work.
"You done?" John asked, awkwardly leaning over the gangly man on the sofa, with his head cocked at a weird angle.
"Yes." Sherlock replied, not making any move away from John's neck.
John nodded as he pulled away, shifting his body into a better, upright position.
"John?" Sherlock asked, quite quietly, and almost politely, enough to make John widen his eyes and lock them with Sherlock's.
"Yeah?" John asked, unsure as the look on Sherlock's face morphed into something animalistic and quite frankly odd.
"Can I taste you?"
Hi. It's just past midnight, and I'm due back and school tomorrow, and I just wanted to write something nice and slightly crazy that would see us into the next chapter, which I cannot wait to write. Apologies if it gets too batshit, I can never tell.