In an alternate universe, Sherlock isn't much of a machine. John isn't afraid to hold back about how he feels, Lestrade isn't a Detective Inspector, and Moriarty isn't a villain. The four of them spend a lot of time with each other and get up to no good...

I get rudely awoken by the sound of seagulls outside. My head feels like my brain is about to burst out of it and my mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert. I am in a heap on the floor in, what seems to be, a living room surrounded by empty beer cans and condom wrappers. Where the hell was I? Last thing I remember from last night was running into Greg and Jim whilst Sherlock and I were having a quiet drink in the local pub. It didn't take long for me to put two and two together. Greg was always one for getting plastered on a Friday night. I pull myself up by clinging onto the sofa next to me and I stumble around the room wondering where everyone else had got to.

I had no idea where I was or whose house I was in. The seagulls told me that I was quite far away from home. Hardly ever any seagulls near Baker Street. As I walk towards what I can only assume was the bathroom, I hear a faint grunt coming from inside. Greg had crashed in the bath tub. I lean my head against the door and squint a bit, "I'm holding you personally responsible for this, Greg." The grey-haired man opened one eye, looked at me and then closed it again. "I blame me, too. Bad Greg." I can't help but laugh at him. "Alright piss off; I need to use the loo." I said half-joking-half-being serious. "Oh I don't think I can get up, John. Just go, I won't look." I believed him and with a sigh I unzipped my jeans and aimed. "Do you have any idea where we are, Greggers? Cause I haven't the first clue..." I asked whilst zipping myself up and washing my hands. Greg sat up abruptly and frowned at me. "Greggers? I don't even...but yeah. We're at Mycroft's summer house in Brighton. Sherlock said we could all come here last night, seeing as we got on the train anyway." Greg laughed to himself; however my mind began to wander. Where was Sherlock anyway? What happened last night? And more importantly, why were there condom wrappers in the living room?