Nights When Boredom Strikes

Drinking and Declarations

Sherlock looked over at John on the stool next to him at the bar. They were both laughing at something that had been long forgotten. He could tell that it was really time for John to go home before he got much more drunk. He was wobbling a little more than too much and his eyes were glassy, he couldn't get a whole lot of complete sentences out either. John had downed way more alcohol than Sherlock and was feeling very clumsy and everything looked a bit blurry, but he didn't care, or rather didn't have the focusing abilities to. Sherlock, however, had at least enough to where he felt a bit unsteady and a bit more than buzzed.

"John, I think it's best that we probably went back home now." Sherlock declared after catching his breath and getting John's partial attention by waving a hand in front of his face.

"Why? Let's just stay a bit longer." John pleaded, voice slurring and sounding just above a mumble. Sherlock didn't like this whole sentiment thing he felt towards John, it made him feel kind of bad for trying to make John leave, but he knew it was best so he didn't let it bother him.

"Come on, John, let's get you to bed." Sherlock said as he paid the tab and wrapped an arm around John's waist and helped him stand up, lending John his shoulders for support even though Sherlock wasn't at his most balanced.

"Fine then." John slurred and stumbled a bit on the way out of the pub, nearly pulling him and Sherlock both down.

Sherlock, with his free arm, hailed a cab, helped John in and then got into the seat next to him, and gave the cab driver the address to the flat. About two minutes into the cab ride, John had his head rested on Sherlock's shoulder and had fallen asleep. Sherlock didn't mind so he let them stay there and relaxed in silence, brain running over every important detail of everything for the next three minutes in the cab, at least, everything he could, until they finally pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock, being the more balanced of the two, got out of the cab and half-pulled half-dragged John out behind him. He supported the both of them as he made his way into the front door, hauling John like a big case of luggage with him.

John sort of realized, but not really comprehended, that Sherlock was nearly carrying him and felt a bit bad, but he didn't want to pull away either. Sherlock smelled so good, and his shoulder was extremely comfortable. John did the best he could to get to one of the chairs in the sitting room without removing himself from Sherlock, clinging to him like a young boy to his mother's side. Sherlock let go of John and John pouted a little, Sherlock saw his expression and smirked. Good God, John thought, he looks devastatingly gorgeous in that purple button up shirt... His thoughts trailed off because of his drunken state, but they always found their way back to Sherlock. John got up, stumbling a bit, and made his way into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sherlock followed closely behind, a little unsteady himself but still making sure that John didn't get hurt by anything in his path. Sherlock felt oddly protective of John, John was one of the only people he cared about, and Sherlock loved everything about him even though he knew John didn't share those feelings mutually. Sherlock leaned against the door frame that connected to the kitchen and quietly chuckled to himself as John clumsily made his water, surprisingly not dropping anything or making a mess. Probably the military training, Sherlock deduced, considering that even though most of John was unsteady, his hands were still. Sherlock studied John from the doorway, his blond hair tousled and in a mess, but still adorable to Sherlock, his drunken smirk, everything.

John turned, after he hastily downed the glass of water, to Sherlock. "What are you grinning about?" John asked, chuckling himself for no apparent reason.

Sherlock composed himself, "Nothing." He replied, even though if John were observing he would have known exactly Sherlock's reason for grinning, but Sherlock knew that John rarely observed, plus he was intoxicated. John walked, surprisingly more balanced than previously, towards Sherlock and looped his finger through Sherlock's belt loop, pulling their hips together abruptly and stretching onto his tiptoes to talk into Sherlock's ear.

"Do you know how alluring you look in that shirt, Sherlock?" John asked, breath ghosting across his cheek.

Sherlock's neck got goosebumps and he shivered at the feeling of warm breath on his skin. "I- I hadn't noticed." Sherlock replied, giving himself a once-over, wide eyed and a bit taken back. "What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked his own question, putting a few inches between himself and John, placing a hand on the nearest surface, John's finger still in his belt loop. John pulled Sherlock back into their previous position.

"What do you think I'm doing?" John answered, smiling seductively. He is drunk, he doesn't mean it, Sherlock. Don't listen to him, it's the alcohol talking, not your John. Sherlock thought to himself, highly conflicted at which action to take. John took his other hand and ran it up Sherlock's torso, then wrapping it over his shoulder.

Sherlock removed John's arm from his shoulder and held him arm's length away. "You're tired, you should probably go to bed, John." Sherlock looked at the clock and saw the bright red numbers, it was 2:13 a.m.

"Why? I don't have anything to do tomorrow. Sleep is overrated." John protested, sighing, almost whining to Sherlock. John stumbled a bit and Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist as he had done at the bar and began to pull him upstairs to his bedroom. "Sherlock, I said sleep was overrated-" John began.

"I said you need sleep." Sherlock replied, cutting him off.

"I'm the doctor." John said.

"You're also extremely intoxicated." Sherlock returned, raising his eyebrow. John gave up and let the consulting detective practically drag him into his bedroom.

Once they were both inside John's bedroom door, John got loose of Sherlock's grasp, turned around, and shut and locked the door behind him. Sherlock moved for the door handle, but John moved in front of it. Sherlock looked down at John, What is he doing? Sherlock thought to himself, though he was pretty sure of the answer.

"C'mon John, to bed you go, get some rest, it'll be good for you." Sherlock tried to convince John. John looked up at Sherlock, shaking his head in defiance and smiling a devious smirk.

"Nope." John replied.

"Fine then, whatever you want to do. John, I'm just trying to save you a headache." Sherlock continued, trying to budge John out of the way of the door handle. He could see that John wasn't moving.