smoke.

The first time Sherlock ever picked up a cigarette was when John offered him one. He had always figured the smoke would be bitter and something he didn't particularly enjoy.

But oh, he was wrong.

Inhale.

Almost like confection.

Exhale.

More and more wanting.

And then John had kissed him and bitten the soft piece of flesh between his neck and jaw. And for the first time in a long time, Sherlock felt important.

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