Taste
John: "Did you really just taste that?". Prompt by thescienceofjohnlock-otherblog."Did you really just taste that?" John asked, not doing very well to hide his own not-so-mild disgust.
Sherlock looked up from the shirt he held in his hands, a quizzical look on his face that betrayed confusion above all else. "It's an aquarium, John," he needlessly pointed out, dropping the shirt back down in a pile. "Salt content makes determining sweat from sea water by smell slightly less effective than by taste."
John held himself back as he eyed the discarded shirt. "And?"
"Definitely sweat."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," John exclaimed, taking a step back in revulsion to know Sherlock had just stuck someone's sweaty shirt in his mouth. He'd watched the man do a great many things but this--this was a new low. This was going to be the thing he thought about before bed while he brushed his teeth and the thing he thought about every time Sherlock offered him a sip of his drink or a bite of his now-neglected sandwich. Sherlock was now officially a sweat-sucker and nothing was going to get that idea out of his head save for something even more terrible than that.
Sherlock's eye-roll was a thing of legend as he let exasperation all but mutate him into its incarnate. "Oh, don't act like you haven't put worse in your mouth," he griped, ignoring the presence of Lestrade as easily as John had as they continued their tour around the crime scene.
"You sucked sweat out of a dead man's shirt," John defended.
"He wasn't dead at the time," Sherlock countered with ease. "Besides, given the number of women you've gone down on, do you really think you're one to judge on what I put my mouth on?"
It was a little harder to ignore the presence of other people with that statement so loudly proclaimed. John did his best not to color but felt his ears growing hot none the less. He wasn't going to even pretend to care about the natural progression of the argument which would include definitions of normal fluid ingestion and tongue exploration. He was ejecting himself from the conversation as fast as he could, not to look back, forget he said anything at all.
"Maybe see if he's got some mouthwash in the bathroom." he said, clearing his throat and hoping Sherlock would agree to just drop it from here.
Surprisingly, the detective pulled a toothbrush from his coat pocket, wiggling it tellingly in the air. "Please, I'm going to need to scrub my tongue after that," he proclaimed, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he dropped all airs and spun his way around the trashed room and towards a much needed sink.