The Deodorant Problem

Summary: John tries new deodorants and Sherlock is inexplicably disturbed by them. 

Word Count: 2642

Sherlock was disturbed. Not by the case he was working on - that was simple enough; the victim's third and final lover had killed her and simple reverse psychology would pull a confession out of him, Lestrade had to be informed - but he was disturbed by John Watson.

John, who up till now had been a source of comforting familiarity, John who always stood out because he blended into Sherlock's life, John who Sherlock could always count on to never distract him while he was thinking... this John was the source of Sherlock's disturbance.

It all began yesterday morning. After three hours of playing the violin in front of his case files (well, wall of murder and mystery more like) John had finally woken up and trumped down the stairs to take a shower. His own bathtub had clogged up two days back and John didn't bother calling the plumber on it - for some reason he seemed unperturbed in using Sherlock's bathroom.

After the shower, John disappeared upstairs again and came back down thirteen minutes later, fully clothed. That was when a peculiar scent overwhelmed Sherlock's senses. A smell of almonds and grapes, slight alcohol, flowers...? It was not not appealing, per say, it just was -

Fake.

Sherlock lowered his violin, spun around on his heel and looked at John shrewdly. The man was wearing a red and grey jumper over his usual trousers. He stopped on his way to the kitchen and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Staring."

"John," said Sherlock in a forcibly conversational tone, "Are you wearing deodorant?"

John looked confused. "I always wear deodorant, what do you mean?"

"New deo," Sherlock snapped, as if that should have been obvious.

John scratched the back of his head, seemingly embarrassed (by what? Sherlock wondered). Losing patience, Sherlock approached John, violin and bow still in hand, and stuck his nose against John's clean-shaven chin.

"Sherlock, what - ?"

Sherlock took a whiff. Once again, that smell overwhelmed his senses, driving him up the wall. John took a step back, trying to look affronted, clenching his fists to stop his hands from shaking at the close proximity. "Sherlock, what the hell? Did you just... Did you smell me?"

Sherlock walked back to his position in front of the wall of murder and mystery, unfazed, and hoisted his violin against his collar bone once again. Rendered immobile by his roommate's peculiar behaviour, John stared at the detective who seemed deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled into a thin line. Just as John was going to file the incident under Things Sherlock Does When Functioning On Little To No Sleep, and proceed to the kitchen to make them their customary morning tea, John heard Sherlock mutter something under his breath.

"Sorry, did you say somethi - "

Louder, this time: "I said, John, don't ever wear this brand of body spray again, it doesn't suit you. Now, my phone's on the table, send a text to Lestrade - "

"Wait a minute," John cut in, fuming. "Are you telling me what I can and can not wear?"

"Of course not, John, if I did do that you'd be wearing freshly pressed shirts instead of those hideously outdated jumpers."

John looked down at his jumper, momentarily distracted, struggling to find why the item of clothing bugged Sherlock so much, and then reminded himself that he was angry with the man. "If you draw the line there, then you don't get to comment on the bloody sprays I decide to put on my bloody body."