Do I Smell Good?

one shot

John returns home from the market, annoyed by having to do such a mundane task. He opens the door to their flat with an exhausted sigh.

"Sherl-" he begins to call out, to announce his arrival, but stops before he can utter another syllable.

John is shocked by the sight of his Consulting Detective flat mate. Sherlock is sprawled out on the couch, on his back, sleeping. His hair a tousled mess, his long, dark lashes more visible with his eyes closed. His shirt is slightly opened and on his chest rests John's tiny bundle of joy. Both her and Sherlock look so content and comfortable, however John just stands there alone, wishing he was snuggled up with them.

The thought of holding Rosie as he cuddles into Sherlock's chest makes him blush and feel warm and loved. Imagining holding the life he made as Sherlock's strong arms are wrapped around, holding, him, makes his knees weak.

He pushes the thoughts away knowing its just silly, he walks quietly to the kitchen and sits down the shopping. A minute later he comes back and gently removes Rosie from Sherlock's chest and carries her to her bed.

He returns to find Sherlock missing from the couch. After a moment of pondering John sits down were Sherlock was previously, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock's body heat that still resides there. He's so tired after that stressful market trip, all John wants to do is take a nap. He lays his head on the pillow, on the end of the couch, heavily breathing in a familiar, calming scent that he can't quite place.

Right as he figures it out, his eyes widen and he jerks his head up from the pillow just as he hear a questioning, "John?" from across the room.

"Eh ye- yes?" John answering keeping his eyes casted down on the floor: trying to hide his shame and crossing his fingers that Sherlock did not notice what he was just doing.

"Were you just sniffing my pillow?"

"Your pillow? When did we start claiming pillows in the living room?" John asks trying to play it cool but still not looking up.

"Do I smell good?" Sherlock asks, John can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Uh I- I don't know... I haven't sniffed you today..." He peaks up at his best mate, checking to see if his lies are being believed; however, the smirk on Sherlock's lips tells him they're not. Sherlock walks toward him.

"Stand up." He commands, John complies but with slight hesitation. "Do I smell good?" Sherlock asks again getting even closer to John, so close their chests are practically touching.

John turns his head away and laughs nervously "You want me to smell you?" He says jokingly.

"Yes." Sherlock replies with a serious face and complete confidence.

John's body freezes up, he turns his face to lock eyes with Sherlock. His eyes gaze over the man, looking for that single drop of humor the must be on the brunette's countenance, somewhere. He can't find it, he realises this must not be a joke, or if it is Sherlock really wants him to play along.

John know his face must be on fire, he can't imagine how ridiculous he must look. He takes a deep breath to calm himself then bring his face down to Sherlock's shoulder. His lips accidentally brush the taller man's shirt as John deeply inhales his scent.

His knees weaken again, so much so that Sherlock has to grab him before they completely give out.

With a chuckle the brunette asks, "Do I smell that good, John?"

Suddenly Sherlock sits down on the middle of the couch, pulling John onto his lap.

"Sherlock!?" John yells but before he can argue more Sherlock takes over his mouth. The detective kisses him passionately, nipping gently at the soldier's bottom lip.

John quickly forgets any plans of pulling away or escaping and begins to open his mouth a bit, allow Sherlock's tongue to come in and explore. John wraps his arms around his detective's neck and run his fingers through the curls as things continue heatedly.

"Ahh!" John let's out a loud moan that causes Sherlock growl in response. After the embarrassing noise was released Sherlock's hands gripped the shorter man's hips, causing their movement end and the grinding, that John was unaware of, against Sherlock's hard, clothed cock to stop.

"Shh, my darling, Rosie is sleeping." Sherlock says as he applies a soft kiss to John's forehead.