The pub was incredibly loud, to say the least. Unknown music blasting bass tones from the speakers, rambunctious men chatting up girls or fighting each other, and glasses constantly being clinked together or thrown to the ground. John sat down at a stool right at the counter, Sherlock accompanying him on the side. The detective ordered them drinks, telling John that he had everything under control while secretly planning on getting him as drunk as possible for his own amusement. Having John wake up with a nasty hangover the next day would result in him lying in bed all day while Sherlock stayed beside him.
John folded his hands, placing them under his chin to support his head while the bartender gave them their drinks. Both men striked their glasses against each other before chugging down large gulps. The doctor, however, also had a plan in mind and didn't plan on being too intoxicated. It wouldn't have been much of a problem for him either, his system was used to more alcohol than Sherlock's, which allowed him to drink more without becoming too wasted. This was quickly demonstrated by the time they reached their third glasses.
"Sherlock, are you doing alright?" John asked, only feeling the slightest bit tipsy.
"Mmm? Hmmmyyeahhh Jawwn." The detective replied with half-shut eyes and a goofy grin.
John mentally high-fived himself.
"So, what were your plans for tonight anyways?"
"Getting waaaaaasted with yooou and having a mmhhhmm good timeyyy wimeyyy." The detective giggled.
The doctor tried to contain his laughter.
"Do you want to go back to the flat?"
"Nooooo! It's too eaaarrrllyyyy."
"It's past your bedtime."
"Awww, but I'm not sleepy at all!"
Sherlock pouted like a toddler as he spoke and soon lost his balance on the bar stool, starting to lean back to the point where it looked like he'd tip over onto the floor. John took this as a sign for them to get back home and carried his tall friend outside where he hailed a cab. They had reached Baker Street in no time.
Hopping out of the vehicle, the drunken Sherlock loosely grabbed John's shoulder, spinning his body back around to face him. The ridiculous smile had returned to his expression just before he began to lean closer to the doctor's face. John understood what he was doing, but saw that in such a state, he would lose his balance and collapse into the piles of snow. At just the right moment, the doctor caught his drunk partner and dragged him into the flat with heavy, labored breaths. Sherlock had seemingly sobered up enough to not slur his words together as much and thanked John.
"Yeah, can you stand?" The doctor asked with a streak of attitude in his voice.
"I believe so...stay nearby anyways, I don't want to hit my head on the edge of a stair."
"Don't worry I'm right here, Cheekbones."
Sherlock snickered at his new nickname to the point where his foot almost slipped off of the first step of the small staircase. This kind of banter was exactly what the detective had felt he wanted and longed for. Although partially sober, he still wasn't fully in control of his actions so his preposterously large smile graced his lips.
"Oh, what's so funny now, Holmes?"
"Nothing." He giggled as he got up the last step and into the living room where his body collapsed onto the quaint sofa.
"You know, you're interesting. You always appear so clever and make all these devious plans but around alcohol, you're an absolute mess. It's hilarious to me."
"Jawn, do you fancy me?" The intoxicated one's muffled voice spoke.
"What do you think?"
"Yeah...yeah, you fancy meeee...but I want you to tell me." His face had an aura of child-like dependency and cheer, innocent blue eyes paired with expenctantly raised eyebrows.
"You know you won't remember much of this, right?"
"Yes I will." His arms crossed over while his bottom lip stuck out in a fake frown.
"Fine. I fancy you, Sherlock. Happy now?"
"No. You didn't mean it."
"Yes, I did."
"I know you're lying."
"Ugh, why are you such a needy drunk? I fancy you very very much. You want more proof? I don't have a wife anymore and you're part of the reason why."
The room silenced as John finally realized something the moment it actually left his lips. He had never thought about it, so his unfiltered thought had no time to be processed in his mind and rang completely with truth. Soon enough, Sherlock's drunk side returned as he spoke between chuckles.
"I fancy you too, Jaaawwwn. You have pretty brown eyes...and you're comical. Like when you say smart-arse things or punch people for being rude even if you seem harmless as a hedgehog."
The tension faded into the air at the statement made by a wasted genius' brain. John burst out laughing a moment later because the aforementioned "genius" was passed out on the couch after his affectionate confession. His gaze remained on the figure of Sherlock, studying in further detail the less noticeable features of his face. The unusual curvature style of his mouth, his ivory skin tone, the concerned look he carried even through sleep, the length of his dark eyelashes, the intricate waving of his curly hair, and all other hardly visible details that were so ashamingly admireable to the doctor.
John's mind was confused about how he felt towards taking notice in such things and gave up on thinking within seconds. As his eyelids grew heavy and covered his eyes, John's breathing slowed to a more peaceful pace as he fell into a deep slumber. He didn't even have a single thought about what Mrs. Hudson would assume at seeing the inside of the room, as he normally would. There was no worry about it anymore since their plan on faking a relationship was in action so assumptions were welcome to be made. Little did John know about the full motives of Sherlock's plan, just the way it always was in the detective's schemes.
