Sherlock Sleepover

the Ninth Hour

"But get this," Moriarty said. He was sitting upside down on the couch, his legs dangling over the top and his head tipped back so that he saw the entire room upside down. He groped the air in front of him, trying to mime what he was saying. "When you clean a vacuum cleaner, you become a vacuum cleaner."

"What. The. Fuck," Sherlock said. He was laying on the floor a couple feet away, his head resting on John's shoes. He was sprawled out like a starfish, staring blankly at the ceiling. "John, I've been a vacuum cleaner."

John snorted, looking down at Sherlock with a dopey look in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe once."

"But gas stations," Mycroft added. "Are actually liquid stations."

"That's messed up," Donovan said, taking a sip of her drink. It was her third already, not good for the logical part of her mouth or mind. "Why are things so messed up in this world?"

"You can't actually make money," Lestrade said. "You can only convince people to give it to you."

"This is like a conspiracy theory," Anderson said. His head was on Donovan's lap, his glass of alcohol held loosely in his hand. "The entire world is a conspiracy theory."

"I knew it," Donavon whispered. "I fucking knew it."

"Why is everything a lie, John?" Sherlock asked. "I thought everything was so easy to deduce, but actually it's just an entire lie. I bet—I bet nothing is actually real. Everything here is a figment of my imagination."

"Well, that's egotistical," Mycroft said with a snort.

John slapped Sherlock. "Stop being such a pompous prick," he ordered. "We're all real."

"Unless life is pointless," Moriarty said.

No one had a response to his statement. The following silence was punctuated—and ended by—meows from both Sugartump and Lamb. They seemed to be getting restless in their cages, each turning in agitated circles, whipping their tails. Lamb let out another angry yowl, jarring everyone out of their sleep deprived stupor.

"I'm hungry," Mycroft stated bluntly. He looked over disinterestedly at the snack table that had been all but crushed during their games. The empty plates and crumpled biscuits packages looked pathetic sprinkled throughout the forest of empty alcohol bottles. Mycroft sighed forlornly, striking a dramatic pose with the back of his hand pressed against his forehead.

"Existential depression makes me hungry," he stated. "I want to go to Denny's."

"There are Denny's in the UK?" Lestrade asked, squinting in drunken confusion.

Mycroft nodded. "Of course," he said. "I own one."

"One," Sherlock repeated with a snort. "More like they're the main source of his income."

"It is not," Mycroft said as he pushed himself to his feet. He brushed off the front of his suit and started towards the door, waving a dismissive hand at Moriarty. "Leave the cats here if you want, I no longer care. The world is ending if you already have both."

Moriarty grinned like the cat that got the canary. "Oh?" he said, moving to follow Mycroft. "Does that mean I win?"

"No!" Sherlock said, hurrying to follow his sworn enemy and brother. "Mycroft may have given up but I haven't. John, come on?"

John rolled his eyes but dutifully followed. "Lestrade, you might want to supervise," he said.

"Ugh, why not?" Lestrade said, motioning for Donovan and Anderson to follow as well. "Maybe we'll hear more about the end of the world and how it's being caused by two cats."

"Sebby, darling," Moriarty shouted back into the room. "Watch the felines, would you? Make sure no one takes them."

Sebastian grunted and took a sentinel seat besides the two cages. He took out his gun and began cleaning it while he waited, whether for intimidation or for necessity it wasn't obvious.

And they all went to Denny's.

A/N: okay, I know you all probably want to hunt me down and sacrifice me to some unknown deity, but I figured this short chapter would be a teaser for the next, longer chapter. I talked with an Inside Source™ and they told me to post this and write a longer chapter for next time.

THANK YOU ALL FOR WAITING!!

Next time: Denny's.