Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 25~ Deep down, There may be something.

-------John POV---------

I watch as Willow walks in with two bottles of alcohol. What is she doing?! Sherlock looks at Willow and then back at me with a scrunched face of questioning confusion.  I shrug in response. She runs and sits on the floor in front of us.

"Wanna play a game?" She grins, eyes wide like a child's. She seems to have phases. Some days she is more serious than Sherlock, which for me is very hard to believe. Then there are days when she is happy as a clam. I think she might be bipolar.

"What are you doing?" I say quickly as she opens the bottles. She stops for a second looking up at me.

"I'm opening intoxicating drinks, so we can play a game. I thought it was quite obvious." She states slightly serious. "Are you guys going to play?"

I roll my eyes and nod. I look at Sherlock to see his expression. He narrows his intent eyes on her.

"You might as well, Sherlock." Willow begins as she gets up to grab something. She walks into the kitchen. Sherlock's eyes follow.  "Loosen up a bit. We all have gone through a lot." She says persuasively. Willow up a cabinet grabbing a bowl and three glasses. As she comes back she grabs a notebook with a pen on the clutter topped counter.

Her light steps come back to the living room and she sits cross legged, opens the notebook and looks at us.

She tells us the rules, "We write random things before we get intoxicated, after being so said, we tape a paper on our heads and give each other hints on to what or who we are." She smirks. Grabs the notebook and hand it to me. "Write down ten things. Then give it to Sherlock." Willow looks at Sherlock. "And you will do the same." I write down random things. I had the paper to Sherlock. He smirks at the paper and starts to scribble things down.

"What happens when we guess what we are?" I ask Willow.

"Simple. You win. The last two race to guess as well. The person who can't guess loses that round." She says excited.

Willow stands up, grabbing paper, and walks to the fireplace. She pulls the matches from the mantelpiece.

-----Willow POV-------

I drag the box of matches from the mantel shelf above me. Pull them into hand and push the box open. Grab a small stick that could cause explosion just like that. With my other hand I shove a sheet of lined paper into the wood. Right in between the splintering brown and tan nature. With the match in my left hand, I grab the box with my right and strike the match once. It doesn't light. I strike again against the red sandpaper like material. The end of the stick bursts into flame. I hold the match into the creases of wood that is covered in soft paper. I watch as it slowly disintegrates into warm colors. The paper vanishes into the wood and fire. I watch as it grows into a monster, a large engulfing flame. I quickly shut the glass doors and stand up.

I turn back to the silent men. Sherlock tosses the notebook into my direction. The sudden object being thrusted at me is shocking. I react on time and catch it with one hand. Sherlock chucks the pen after. Surprisingly I catch it within my left hand. I flip open to a random page and scribble down things that come to mind.

"Willow you're left handed?" I hear John ask.

"Wow." I say walking to them. "Great deduction John." I say with sarcasm lacing my voice.

"I was just wondering." John scoffs. I walk to him and pour a glass. I hand one to John and Sherlock, then to myself. I rip all into pieces where you can only see one subject on each piece and put then put them into the bowl.

"Cheers!" I say laughing.

"Why are we even playing this?" I hear John mutter under his breath.

We laugh and drink for a little while. Sherlock doesn't speak until a half an hour or so.

"When are we going to start?" Sherlock asks his voice slightly slurred.

"Now." I say shoving my hand into the bowl, I rip put a piece of paper and smack it onto my forehead. Sherlock and John do the same. I look at John. His forehead says, 'Chocolate'. I look at Sherlock's forehead and have to cover my mouth from laughing. How is he ever going to guess?

'Zombies'

"Okay, so now we ask each other yes or no questions." I say prompting someone to go.

"Am I a person?" John asks emphasizing on the 'o' in person. Clearly drunk.

"No," Sherlock and I respond in unison.

"Am I a person?" Sherlock asks. John doesn't know what to say.

"Yes," I say pulling the glass of brandy to my lips. "How about me? Hmmm?" I ask sipping the potent drink.

"No, not a person." John says. He scrunches his face up. "At least I don't think." Oh fun, this means it's a difficult word to pronounce. "Okay, umm. Animal?" John asks.

I shake my head.

"Humane?" I hear Sherlock.

I shake my head again. Quite boring.

----------

After multiple rounds we begin to become tired of the game. Well, I have been enjoying it based on the fact that I am winning almost every single round. 

John, my goodness John. How is it mentally possible for you lose every single round. You were given easy medical words and you are a doctor. A doctor, John. A trained battlefield doctor. And yet you can complete a simple guess onto which word is what we exactly describe for you. 

 I exhale deeply and walk to the kitchen getting a glass of water. I sober quickly, at least that is how it seems. 

"I'm going to bed." I hear John announce as he slowly detaches from the couch. He walks past me into his room. 

It's silent.

Then I sense something, or someone behind me. I turn around to see Sherlock.

He pulls his hand to my hair. His other hand curling around my waist.

"Sherlock.." I say grabbing the hand that is wrapped around my waist. "You're intoxicated." 

Sherlock raises his eyebrows, "And." He smirks. I roll my eyes.

"And, that means that you are not thinking clearly. Also you have no idea what you are doing." I say keeping my grip on the glass of water. 

"Really? Hmm, I guess you're right." Sherlock says moving in closer. Before I can say he presses his lips against mine, gently.  I push him away. Sherlock frowns. I smile a wistful smile.

"You're drunk." I say my final statement, weaving around him and walking to my room. I set my glass down and plop onto my bed. 

I lay and stare at my ceiling. 

He was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing.

I tell myself over and over.