PROSE: The Shining Man [Ch. 21, 28]

And the flowers. They clustered around the roots of the trees, every colour of the rainbow, and a few she had never seen before. Vivid, stunning colours that made her eyes ache. But that was nothing compared to the smell. She could never understand why people insisted on sniffing flowers. They'd always made her sneeze, full of sweet, saccharine perfume. Here it was worse. It stuck to the back of her throat, thick and cloying. She was going to be sick.

[---]

He was about to answer when he stopped, frowning. He turned, looking away from her, and, holding his head back, inhaled noisily.
'What are you doing?'
He sniffed again, looking puzzled. 'Something's not right.'
She put her hands on her hips. 'Just the one thing?'
He faced her, his eyes narrowed 'Can't you smell it?'
'Doctor, I can barely smell anything. The entire place stinks of rotting sugar.'
'This way,' he said, setting off to the left.

[...]

It didn't take long to catch up with the Doctor, who was still following his nose.
'If this works, we should employ you as a bloodhound,' she muttered, feeling slightly ridiculous for pinning her hopes on one man's olfactory passages.
'Through here,' he said, changing direction without warning and pushing his way through a cluster of tightly packed trees to the right.

[...]

A camper van was parked in the middle of the clearing, and, if its state was anything to go by, had been for quite some time. The bodywork was badly eaten up by the rust, the last vestiges of yellow paint peeling away. Grass grew long around the base, bindweed wrapped around the wheel arches and tarnished bumpers.
And yet the Doctor was approaching the van as if it was an old friend. 'Velma, Velma, Velma,' he said, putting. 'What has happened to you?'
'You recognise this thing?' Schofield said, peering through the windows that were caked in grime.
'She belonged to a friend of mine. Well, an acquaintance really. You met. Charlotte Sadler, aka Cryptogal-UK.'

[...]

He tapped a button on the side of the eyeglass. It beeped, and whirred and then sparked furiously. The Doctor stood up sharply, the lens dropping from his face. It landed in the grass next to his feet, and smoked furiously, the smell of burning electrics only just noticeable, almost lost in the sickly reek of the forest.