AN: So this is my attempt at a 221B fic. Hopefully I managed to convey the right "vibe" in such a limited forte. I know that realistically Sherlock probably tastes like whatever he's recently eaten and toothpaste; however my poetic side couldn't resist the idea of portraying his character through this metaphorical avenue. Hope it works.

Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock: until he does so I don't own anything.

Gunpowder and wine.

That's what he imagines Sherlock tastes like.

Please don't ask why he is even contemplating this sort of thing. It's a funny little mystery that's kept him occupied for quite a while. Two and a half months,

to be specific; before he finally settled on a flavor that worked.

When it came to him, it seemed so obvious he couldn't believe it had taken him so long to figure it out.

It fit Sherlock rather well actually. That's why he's so convinced it's true.

Sherlock is sharp and explosive like gunpowder, with his brilliant deductions, volatile personality and keen verbal jabs.

Yet like wine, he has subtle undertones of sweetness.

John has witnessed these undertones, mainly directed at Ms. Hudson or himself.

Those warm smiles; veiled compliments and shared jokes.

Like wine he has a careless elegance; with his well coordinated clothes and confident, collected persona. Like wine his life had a certain richness; that had nothing to do with his brother's money.

Yet he was smoky and dingy like gunpowder; navigating the backstreets of London; and expertly concealing himself from the world.

Yes gunpowder and wine fit him perfectly.

A few weeks later when John had a chance to "test" his theory; he found he was right.

Sherlock tastes just as he imagined. Actually he tastes better.

If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.

KP