"I'm just going out for a while. I'll be back soon," Sherlock had told John nearly four hours earlier. Trying fruitlessly to take his mind off his flat mate, John then started blogging, watching crap telly, and drinking tea. He couldn't help himself though, and eventually gave in to the thoughts and feelings in his head.
"Damn it!" He cursed. "Why can't I stop thinking about him? He's an arrogant, blind, absolute arse, with perfect marble white skin, blue-green-gold eyes, his hair is always disheveled in the best possible way, and his cupids bow lips... Damn it!" He rose and started pacing.
"Okay, Watson," He told himself. "If Sherlock isn't home in an hour, then... I'll go find him myself."
Right then, however, the door flew open and then got shut quickly. Sherlock staggered in, off balance, and his face brilliantly flushed.
"I'm back John! Did you miss me?" He giggled in a drunken fashion, then walked over and embraced John. It was more like he leaned on John and hoped John would support their weight.
"You are absolutely drunk Sherlock! What did you do?"
"I had a drink and then came back here, John. Because the only time I can tell people what I feel is when I'm drunk."
"Okay. Off to bed for you! Sleep it off, you'll feel loads better in the morning."
"No, John. Come here."
Slowly, John walked over to him, a little nervous of Sherlock. He'd never gotten himself that drunk before and it worried John.
"There." Sherlock whispered in John's ear. "Close enough."
They were standing very, very close to one another. Close enough to hear each others heart beat elevate and see their pupils dilate.
"You too?" John asked.
Sherlock didn't answer. He just grabbed the neck of John's jumper and smashed their lips together.
John stood shocked for a moment, then he felt Sherlock's tongue graze his bottom lip, asking for entry. John groaned, and the other took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Tongues exploring each others mouths, it was pure heaven for them both. Unfortunately, they also have to breathe, so eventually, they broke apart.
"You're not going to remember any of this, are you?"
"Who said I can't pretend to be drunk? Fooled you, didn't I?" A warm smile crinkled his face as Sherlock stared into John's eyes.
"Oh, you bastard." John said staring back up at him. "You weren't drunk at all?"
"Nope. Now shut up." Sherlock stooped down for a long sweet kiss.
"Sherlock," John asked.
"Yes?"
"Where do we go from here? From this?"
Sherlock grabbed his hand. "My room is upstairs," He suggested slyly.
"Oh god, yes."
