BBC SherlockxReader

Liquid Motivation (Sherlock x Reader)

 #28/Sherlock "How drunk was I?" from the journal tag requested by TheNerd0918 (on deviantart)

(a/n) I'm warning you now I didn't proof-read this

You stared at the blinking line, waiting for an idea to come to you. 10 pages wasn't that much...really...when you to down to it. It was hardly the longest requirement you'd had to reach. You'd practically written a book when you'd done your paper over the rise and fall of the Roman empire. In the end that one clocked in at over 20 pages. This was half that. Surely you could think of ten pages on the cultural significance of the Aztec encounters with the Spanish? Right?

You audibly groaned and dramatically threw yourself over your laptop. No one was there to witness your drama though. Sherlock and John were out running around Hyde park solving another murder. John had forbidden you to leave the flat until the paper was written. His stern tone told you not to argue with him on it.

You looked at your watch and groaned. You had 5 hours to come up with 8 more pages. You were about to throw another fit when something caught your eye across the kitchen. You strode over and picked up the glass bottle. The whiskey had been a gift for John from Mycroft but he had yet to touch it. You swished the amber liquid around before pouring yourself a glass.

You drank it down in a few gulps, hissing as it burned its way down your throat. You stood still for a minute, silently debating with yourself, before you poured another glass. You downed it just as fast as the first and sat back at your computer, bringing the bottle with you.

"Stupid finals," you muttered. You typed a few sentences before immediately erasing them. You decided to pour yourself another drink, either from discouragement or boredom you couldn't tell. After a few sips you began to feel the effects from the first drinks you'd taken. You shook out your hands before returning them to the keyboard. "1512. Hernando Cortez is victorious in his battle over the Aztecs in their capital city of Montezuma..."

.

.

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A bright light hit your eyes. You groaned and tried to roll over but something was holding your arm. You opened your eyes to see John sitting beside you and a blood pressure cuff on your arm.

"What are you doing?" you mumbled, wiping your eyes.

"Monitoring your vitals to make sure you don't go into shock." You looked around and were surprised to find that you were not in your own bedroom but in Sherlocks. "It's still lower than I want," John said, mostly to himself. "I'm gonna go grab you some more fluids." He left without further explanation.

You looked around confused. How did you end up here? You didn't remember going to sleep. You thought hard for a moment. The last thing you remembered was writing your paper...

You gasped heavily and bolted upright. "My paper!" you exclaimed. You jumped out of bed but only made it a few steps before your vision went black and spotty and your legs gave out. You fell to the floor but soon felt hands grip your arms and ease you back to the bed.

"You can thank your low blood pressure and heart rate for that," Sherlock explained as he tucked you back into bed.

"No Sherlock you don't understand," you said as you fought against him to try and leave. "I was supposed to turn my paper in my 8 o'clock last night and I don't even know if I finished it. I'm going to have to meet with my professor and beg to let him accept it late and-"

"You don't understand," Sherlock interrupted. "That wasn't last night, that was three days ago."

"Three days!?" you exclaimed. "What do you mean three days?!"

"When John and I came back you could barely stand and were rambling on about Aztecs and conquistadors, very incoherently I might add. You managed to drink almost that entire body of whiskey by the way. John thinks you might have had a mild case of alcohol poisoning because of your small stature."

"Oh no," you groaned. "I didn't send in a drunk paper, did I?"

"Not before you forced John and I to read it. You were convinced you'd get some award for it."

"You know what your opening line was?" John chuckled as he entered the room and handed you a gatorade.

"That laugh doesn't sound promising," you droned.

"You said, 'Take a seat bitches, cause I'm about to unload some dope as fuck knowledge on you that you won't be able to handle standing up.'" John could barely finish the line before he and Sherlock started laughing.

"I read the three pages you wrote," Sherlock began. "And after having to shuffle around some letters to understand them, I can confirm that it was in fact dope." He and John began laughing again as you buried yourself in the blankets on the verge of tears. Somewhere in the flat John's phone went off and he went to answer it, leaving you alone with Sherlock.

"We were just having a bit of fun (y/n) there's no need to cry," Sherlock told you.

"It's not that," you said with a wavering voice. "That paper counts for 40% of my grade. Getting a zero on it will mean I fail the class. My GPA is going to drop and I won't qualify for the trip to Peru. Only the top 10 students of the archeological college get to go. We were going to get to go and locate our own dig site to explore. Now I'm going to miss it because I was being stupid."

You openly began to cry and Sherlock rolled his eyes before shaking his head.

"Honestly, (y/n) do you really think I'd let that happen?"

"What?" you questioned. You rubbed the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. You looked so sad and helpless Sherlock couldn't help but laugh softly.

"I finished your paper."

".....Really?" You looked at Sherlock skeptically.

"Yes really. I fixed what you had already written and finished the rest of it. Took all of 10 minutes," he added nonchalantly. "Then I personally hand-delivered it to your professor and explained that you had managed to finish it despite having a severe case of food poisoning and that you apologized for not turning it in personally. He completely understood and sends his regards."

"Sherlock, you didn't." He produced a stack of papers from the nightstand and handed them to you.

"I did," he said with the smallest hint of a smile. You took the papers and flipped through them. Sherlock had managed to mimic your writing style perfectly. The margins were filled with the green ink of your professor's notes and compliments. On the last page there was a few sentences of final notes followed by a large encircled A. "You already received your letter confirming your placement for Peru trip. I made John fill out the paperwork for you."

You threw your arms around him, never more grateful for anything in your life.

"I owe you big time," you told him.

"Yes you do. And don't think I'm going to forget about this."

"I wouldn't expect you to." He laughed heartily before placing you back in the bed.

"Now get back to sleep and give your liver time to heal itself from the torment you subjected it too. I expect John will be back any minute to check on you."

"Fine fine," you said with yawn before closing your eyes. Sherlocks phone went off and he sent off a few textmessages before turning to leave. He was almost out the door when you called softly after him. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"You're very welcome, (y/n)."