A/N Okay, so this is my first fic I'm actually posting here. *nervous* Obviously, I love Sherlock which is why it's my first. :3 :D I am American, so please excuse any American words, phrases, slang, or ways in here. And foreign people, if you could point them out and perhaps tell me the foreign equivalent, that would actually be lovely, and very much appreciated. :)

Thanks to my wonderful MissTomorrow for the title, but YOU STILL NEED TO ACTUALLY WATCH SHERLOCK! *glares*

And thanks to CowMow for encouraging me to actually post something! :D

So. Yeah, John got drunk, and needs Sherlock to come and save him! Johnlock fluff, probably won't get any more severe than said fluff.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Read and Review! Constructive criticism is always nice. You don't have to be gushing like I always am in my reviews. But, I suppose feel free to anyway. ;) :D

Well, ENJOY!

SHERLOOOCK! Nooo come bakkkk Sherlokk

John. Put. Down. That. Bottle.

at bottle

Do you need me to come get you?

I dont hve a bottle~~

No, John, of course you don't.

Seeee?

But John, put down that drink. Which pub are you at? I'll come and fetch you.

y shold i tll youuu?

Because, John. You want to tell me.

noo i dontt

Now, John, you don't want to become like your sister, do you? Think of poor Harry.

...but im not gayyy

No, John, of course not.

shirleyyyyy

I am not a female, John

i love u thoughhh

Of course, John. Now if you tell me which pub you're at, you can tell me in person, and prove that you love me.

i'm at the black horsee inn shirleyy

Okay, John. I'll be there in a minute.

John, where are you?

i'm in th pub shirley

"John, there you are!" Sherlock exclaimed as he reached his friend. "Come on, we're leaving. Now," he continued as he grabbed his friend by the arm, and left a quid on the counter for John's latest drink.

John was dazed and confused, not sure how Sherlock found him, but then again, he was Sherlock. "Sher..?" He could barely speak, as his mind was worn from the drink.

Sherlock dragged his in coherent friend by the arm out of the car, and plunked himself and his flatmate into the cab he had wait for them. "221B Baker Street," he called to the cabby.

John flopped into the cab, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder as he sat, "Sherlock..." He murmured, tired and confused.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock began, slightly uncomfortable with his friend's bony head on his shoulder, but allowing him to stay, nonetheless, "as soon as we get home, you can go to bed."

"Sherlock..lov..you.." John's speech was slurred and muddled, making it hard to understand.

"I know, John. I know. Now sleep. I'll just... carry you into the flat. You need to sleep, before you throw up all over...," he assured his friend.

John murmured an incoherent response and dazed off into a peaceful, if not odd, sleep and dream.

As the cab pulled up to Baker Street, Sherlock pulled out his wallet, and paid the cabby, trying his hardest not to disturb his friend's drunken sleep as he lifted him up, and carried him inside.

John murmured softly as Sherlock picked him up and gripped to his coat, a feeling of falling overcoming him.

Sherlock stumbled into his room, and put John on Sherlock's own bed, simply because he did not want to carry the man all the way upstairs to his room.

Sherlock turned off the light, and after glancing back at John, shut the door slowly and silently, and went to read a book quietly so he would know if his friend got into any trouble.

John groaned and turned on his side. Though unconscious, he had an awful feeling in his stomach, most likely from the booze.

Sherlock selected a book by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and sat in his chair to read.

John held his torso, a nauseous feeling overcoming him, and he groaned Sherlock's name in a cry for help.

As Sherlock heard his friend call his name in a panic, he immediately threw his book to the side, and ran to his room.

John held his mouth closed, attempting to keep the bile down, though it burned his throat greatly.

"John!" Sherlock called, seeing his friend turned away from him, not knowing what was about to ensue.

John merely used his hand to motion Sherlock to his side, hoping he understood what he meant.

Sherlock's eyes widened, as he rushed to his friend's side, now actually aware of what was about to happen.

John made a motion for a trash can, or a bag, conscious of the horrid burning in his throat and mouth.

Sherlock looked around frantically for something to grab for John, but it was too late.

John was practically choking on the bile, and finally opened his mouth, a feel of disgust washing over him.

Sherlock stepped back as the vomit dripped off of his bed, himself, and John.

John murmured an apology, embarrassed and disgusted.

"It's alright, John. Come on, let's get you cleaned up," and Sherlock, for the second time that night, grabbed his friend by the arm, and then dragged him to the loo. He gingerly sat John beside the toilet, and began to carefully began to dab at John's face with a washcloth.

John sputtered an apology, coughing and nearly chocking on his discoloured vomit, "Sher.." He mumbled, unsure of what to say.

"Shhh...," Sherlock hushed him as he dabbed at his face a bit more, and began to unbutton his vomit-covered shirt, and remove it to put it in the wash.

John coughed into the bowl, acid stinging his throat and tongue. His forehead was hot, sweat stung his eyes.

He quickly and swiftly ran up to John's room, and grabbed a T-Shirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of trousers that John could sleep comfortably in. As he re-entered the lavatory, he quickly ran to John's side and helped him to get changed.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand, and helped him up. He finished pulling off John's shirt, and pulled the next one over the stumbling man's head.

Then, without a second thought, Sherlock unbuttoned John's jeans, and pulled them down along with his pants.

"Sherlock, you should ask me on a date first, you know," John said. Sherlock knew he wouldn't have said it were he sober, but rather he would have protested.

"Shhhhh," Sherlock said again, and put his index finger over John's soft, moist lips.

And just like that, John was in his pyjamas, and Sherlock was bringing him into the main room of the flat, and sitting him on the couch.

"Just wait here for a minute while I go change the sheets on my bed, okay? Do you need anything before I go?"

"Can I have a kiss?" John grinned, his words slurring.

Sherlock smiled at his flatmate's drunken request.

"Perhaps when I return," Sherlock answered as he turned to leave the room.

As quickly as he could, Sherlock ran to his room, and fiercely pulled the sheets off of his bed in one swift movement. He brought them to the laundry room, and grabbed fresh sheets. Once he finished putting them on the bed, he ran up to John's room, and retrieved his pillow, placing it next to his own on his bed.

"Come on, John," Sherlock said as he lifted John from the couch and practically dragged him to his room. "Sleep in my room tonight, okay John?"

"Are you asking me to sleep with you, Sherlock? It's all a bit fast isn't it?"

"No, John. But bringing you all the way upstairs to your room would just be boring," he said in an attempt to explain why he would be sleeping in Sherlock's bed to the drunken John. "Now you sleep. Okay?"

And John laid back, and fell sound asleep.

A/N Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!

Keep Writing. XD