Disclaimer: I don't own, duh. A. N. I know, I know...this is totally random. And I know myself better than to promise regular updates from now on, because God knows what'll happen. But I needed an out from my current writing obsession, and my beta voted for this, so if you enjoy, thank Chrwythyn. If you hate, hate me.I deserve it (probably).
Sherlock rushed out, as usual. Ready to learn, to investigate, to distract his brain with all kinds of new knowledge to avoid what he still didn't feel equipped to handle. It had always worked for him before. At the first deep inhale, he found himself gagging. Ugh. he'd forgotten how overwhelming London's own cocktail could be...and he lived now, with proper sewers and at least some care for air quality.
He absolutely didn't whimper. The sound that happened was...someone else, surely. Or something else. There were people around. Pets in the vicinity, undoubtedly. Maybe someone's nervous chihuahua. Or an untrained puppy.
Then John was there, patting his back, and Sherlock didn't realise what he was doing until he'd already curled a little, to breathe him in. Fine. He was fine. He could breathe.
"Let's go...and small breaths, unless I tell you to, okay? Genius or not, even you will have learned to walk before you ran. Same principle. You're not analyzing a whole crowd at once, not on your first day. And if you need me, I'm always here," his companion huffed.
"I didn't mean," Sherlock blurted out.
"You can take advantage of me to clear your palate. I'm here to be used."
Sherlock didn't moan outright. Surely he should have received a medal for that.
Off they went, and if this time - for once - the detective was following...well, he was the student. It made sense. Besides, it made getting a whiff of John when needed both easier and less conspicuous.
They ended up walking behind a couple. Sherlock could see that they were very much in love, even just from body language - fingers interlaced, proximity - and almost wanted to overtake them. Surely, he wouldn't need to care about that on a case, and besides, these things tend to be obvious anyway. What he needed to recognize was anger, anxiety, fear, and...
But before he could finish that thought, John whispered to him, "Slightly deeper breath," emphasis on the first word, and he found himself obeying instinctively. Damn. That was annoying.
The data bursting across his nose, though, was...nice. Much, much sweeter than the rest of London's air.
And then John was chuckling at him and steering him away, to watch a...random shop window. He couldn't recall what was in it for his life. "Thought you needed a nice introduction to the game. Oxytocin, even second-hand, is always appreciated."
A moment later, John was looking suspiciously at him. "What have you been thinking?"
"Nothing important." Yes, he was defensive. But surely one was entitled to random, stupid ideas. He knew better than to actually entertain them, but not even he was in complete control of any stray thought.
If John had tried to pull that ordering about trick, in the hope that he would accidentally obey again, Sherlock would have been furious - and with good reason, he'd say. Instead, his flatmate used the other card that Sherlock has always, always been weak against, even as a full human. "Please, Sherlock?" All concerned, too.
The sleuth sighed. "Could you get high on it? A second-hand hit of the same hormones that, say, normal drugs activate... I am not planning to, or, or, anything. Just - scientific inquiry."
John shook his head. "You know what, I believe you. And - no, or at least, it never occurred to me that it could reach a significant threshold. There are first-hand ways to trigger pleasant hormones that involve exactly 0 drugs and make for a much nicer night for everyone involved."
"Of course you'd think that." Sherlock wasn't annoyed by John defaulting to fucking any willing (meaning sane, because who wouldn't) woman. He wasn't. "Anyway, important question: why did you feel the need to extract that random idea from me?"
"The sudden spike in your smell when you thought about that, of course," John replied, with a little smile. Oh well.
"Then can we make it the next one?"
"I mean, we could try. But it's not exactly a feeling that the average passersby on the street are likely to dwell on. Not enough to make their smell change significantly, at least. I'm sure we'll stumble on one or another eventually, but it wouldn't be easy." John shrugged.
"Why?" He couldn't help being a little snappish. He wasn't that weird, was he?
"Well, people mostly don't like to wallow in their shame when there's literally anything to distract them from it." John's voice was soft. Understanding.
Oh, right. Contemplating new possible addictions, specific to...inhuman creatures, had made that flare up. It was the very reason he'd wanted to keep it to himself in the first place.
"So what?" he huffed. "You absolutely needed to know what I fucked up?"
"I'm a doctor. Fixing things is kind of my calling, including ones people are often not keen to admit. If we call it professional bias, will you forgive me for it?"
"Forgive?" Sherlock echoed, baffled.
"Yeah, forgive. You have a right to be annoyed. I could have shut up. I just...well, you hate repetitions, so I'm trying not to make you any more pissed off at me."
They ended up chuckling together. Yeah, John had a point. Nice emotions were definitely better first-hand.
"So long as your concern, professional or not, doesn't ever lose control like Mycroft's, I won't hold it against you," Sherlock promised.
"You know, I think you're the only one who'd ever accuse your brother of being out of control." There was a lovely twinkle in his blogger's eyes. "And before you ask, no, I absolutely don't think you might be mistaken about it."
The detective chuckled. "So long as we're clear on that. Let's see what else the crowd actually offers then, huh?" If he took a swift sniff of John again, first...As his friend himself had said, clearing his palate. Surely for the best.
"Oh, you'll like this," John said, tugging him by the hand. As if he wouldn't have followed on his own...but the truth was, Sherlock found no reason to protest, aloud or not.
If John meant the taste, he was wrong. The sharp, bitter tang wasn't pleasant at all. But his friend was smarter than that, of course, and actually right, as ever. Because the man yelling at his cellphone? Anger. Possibly even aggression, if he had a chance to get his hands on the poor soul he was tearing a new one to. If the smell changed even one nanosecond before the rest of the clues appeared? It could make the difference between subduing a dangerous suspect and someone becoming a victim. "Is that how you are so good with people? I mean, it has to be easier to handle them when you know how they feel before they even open their mouth or move a muscle..." he asked.
John snorted. "You are already capable of manipulating anyone into pretty much anything, when it's worth it. If you wanted to, you'd be scarily good with people, and I fully mean that adverb. You just can't be bothered to."
"Point taken." Manipulating was effective, sure, but also tragically tiresome. Why would he put in the effort with his interactions with the likes of the police force? He was already needed. No further pressure needed to be applied.
And yes, he'd probably keep pissing people off, even now that he could smell it. He could endure an unpleasant scent, one didn't develop a deep interest in chemistry and the dead kind of biology with a weak stomach. He'd rather handle that than start tiptoeing around sensibilities.
His ruminations were interrupted by John. "Next level. This is actually kind of similar to one you already had, so let's see if you can define the differences."
Well, he couldn't back down from a challenge, could he? It was true, the young woman in front of them smelled almost like love. Possibly, if he'd been on his own and with no clues but her scent, he would have mistagged her at first. There was a definite difference, though, and considering the chemistry of love, and what other emotions would be in its range... "Joy?" He was pretty certain, but, after all, it was like learning deduction. The first times, it was always better to mention a hypothesis than accidentally spout the wrong idea with full confidence. Sure, John wasn't Mycroft, and would react differently to a mistake. Still.
"Brilliant," John said.
He couldn't know the way he himself smelled right now, but he was definitely somewhere on the dopamine spectrum too. And if he took a whiff of John now... He couldn't, because his blogger had just taken a step away. When he tried. After all his promises, too.
"I was just thinking... Maybe we should go back. We could go for another, well, lesson of sorts later. You don't need to rush through the whole range of human emotions at once. Besides, at night there will be different people out, different activities going on...it'll be easier to get different feelings, too. Let it settle for now. What do you think?"
He thought that it was slightly suspicious, but it made sense enough that he shrugged. "You're the expert." He took John's word on causes of death. He'd have to do so on...werewolf training, or whatever this was, too.