arcane [johnlock]

The Sign of Three

Sherlock had perfectly prepared a stag night for John in which they would be able to both have fun and remember the night. He had spent the past week in secrecy, mapping the night out down to a T - he was confident that this would be the best night of their lives.

After all, who doesn't love bars that remind them of murders?

~~

Unfortunately, the plan did not work out how they had expected. Sherlock had underestimated the exact volume of drink both men could handle, and they had arrived home - wait, how did they arrive home?

Nevertheless, the duo were now playing a simple game of "who am I?" whilst sloppily drinking whiskey.

"Am I a woman?"
No, but you sure act like one.

Sherlock snorted into his drink, looking over at John with drooped eyes.

"Yes."

"Am I pretty?"
Very.

"Vvery," He slurred, filling up his glass with slippery hands. "You're very pretty, John Wwatson."

The grip on John's drink loosened, the glass falling to the floor and the contents spilling. He leaned over to pick it up, accidentally stumbling to the floor as a result of his head hitting his best friend's.

Sherlock looked down at the man, who was now on his knees, and smirked. He parted his lips, attempting to focus on just one of the Johns in front of him.

"Your turn." He gulped as Sherlock filled up the glass in John's hands. He was certainly going to need another drink.

"Am I making you nervous?"
It was a question, wasn't it?
Sherlock had already deduced the answer anyway.

John closed his eyes, a pointless attempt at sobering up. He set his drink on the floor, wiping his palms on his thighs before standing up slowly.

The room began to spin around him, he couldn't tell if it was from anxiety or the fact he was the drunkest he'd ever been.

A hand sunk into his shoulder as the men navigated their surroundings together. They laughed, stumbling around the room like idiots. It took a while before they realised they were both in each other's arms - Sherlock's hands on John's waist.

"Yyes." John replied.

Sherlock chuckled, biting his lip. He felt John's warmth beneath him, his pupils dilated a significant amount. Hell, he could practically hear the man's heart beat.

Sherlock's lips grazed against John's, "Good." He whispered, his breath ragged.

John violently crashed his lips into Sherlock's as if he'd been starved his whole life. His kiss was hungry, passionate, fast. It told a story of longing, of desperation, and was far more addicting than any drug. Perhaps it was the drink, or perhaps it was the fact he'd waited long enough. The constant teasing, the denial, the passing comments had all lead up to this.

Sherlock cleared the desk with one arm free, not wanting to let go of the man in his arms, and lifted John onto it. He pulled him close as John's hands flew to Sherlock's hair, messing and pulling. The taste of whiskey passed between the two was a drug in itself, the high only fuelling their kiss even more.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson said I could just-"

The client froze.

Sherlock pulled away, his arms still held tightly around John's waist. Their lips were bright red, sore from passion and eyelids drunkenly drooped. They looked towards the door, attempting to register what on earth was happening.

John gestured for her to sit down, of which she politely refused with a puzzled look.

"You were saying?" Sherlock mumbled, his words merging into one. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, refusing to move from his position.

"Mrs Hudson told me to come upstairs, said you were just playing a game. Erm, I can come back later?" She began to close the door.

"No- NO! The game John, the game is..." Sherlock jumped away, falling into the designated client chair on his way to the door.

"ON!!" John shouted after him, attempting to stand up. He leaned against the desk, dazed, smiling drunkly to himself.

It certainly was the best night of his life.

[A/N- I'm sure this will be the first of many the sign of three chapters LMAO]