A/N: Sorry this was so late, I can't seem to get them done until past midnight! As always, thanks to my subscribers for this story, I appreciate it.

natalieashe: Definitely! Thank you so much!

NarutoRox: I'm glad you like the last chapter. Thank you for your continued support!

An faint, oddly sweet smell greeted John as he stepped into 221B after work. He sniffed the air, then his eyebrows knit together. It was familiar, something that was a vague memory in the back of his mind. John heard the water running in the bathroom and knew that Sherlock was taking a shower.

"Up to me to find the answer then." John muttered under his breath, and taking off his coat.

He sniffed around the flat, trying to gauge were the smell originated from. At time it was so strong that John was sure that he found it, and then was disappointed to see that it was not there. Why would Sherlock hide it?

Then he tried to think as Sherlock often did. Observe and deduce, John, Sherlock often said.

It was definitely feminine, and was a scent that was heavy in the air. The fragrance smelled slightly of Cinnamon, coupled with leather, and citrus. It almost made his head swim being so overpowering an odor. John searched high and low, but found no trace.

Finally, John came to the realization that smell could be masked by another scent, and went to the fridge, were a bloody head was residing, as well as a bag of thumbs. Lifting the disgusting bag of appendages, John found the bottle of perfume that was in a square bottle perched below it.

John fished it out and squirted some of the liquid into the air. No doubt, it was the same smell. Then it came to him, This is the perfume that Irene Adler wore.

"Is there any particular reason that you are sniffing the air like a canine, John?" came the voice of Sherlock Holmes behind him, causing him to jump. Sherlock was dressed in his pajamas, journal in hand.

"This was Irene Adler's perfume, wasn't it?" John asked abruptly, holding up the bottle.

At this, Sherlock's face clouded, "Your point, John?" Sherlock countered, his look becoming calm again.

"Why would you need to hide this from me?"

To this, Sherlock grabbed the bottle from his hand, threw open the window, and flung the bottle out of it. John stood, mouth gaping wide. Sherlock started to stalk towards his bedroom when John called out, "Wait, did you put your journal in the bathtub?" He nodded to the book. It too had the smell of perfume wafting from it.

The slamming of a door was his only answer.

I guess Sherlock Holmes does sentiment after all. John thought in wonderment.