"Sherlock!"
"Yes, John?"
"Why are there hands in the crisper?"
"Experiment."
Sigh. "Do you want some tea?"
And this was a normal start to the day for Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and his blogger, Dr John Watson.
John woke up to absolute silence, for once. No violin, and no gun shots either. John wasn't sure if he should be glad, or very very worried. He glanced at his alarm clock, 9.30am. It was unusual that he had been allowed to sleep in this late. Normally he would have been woken to help an excited Sherlock, if they had a case. If not, he still was woken by Sherlock, only this time it was a very bored Sherlock demanding to be entertained or playing the violin. Worriedly, he got up and walked down to the kitchen. Which was where he found hands, in the crisper of their fridge.
Sherlock was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. When John came down in the morning, Sherlock was in his pyjamas and his blue dressing gown. At 5.30 that night, after John had come back from the store after getting milk, again, Sherlock was still in his pyjamas.
"Pass me my phone," Sherlock demanded, "Please don't make me ask again, John."
"I went out, Sherlock," John answered, putting the milk in the fridge and well away from any of Sherlock's experiments. Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling. Once John had finished with the shopping, he walked over to Sherlock's desk and then passed him his phone.
"Have you done anything at all today?" John said to Sherlock. He took one look at his roommate and continued with "Actually, don't answer that."
With a sigh, he made a cup of tea, one for him and one for Sherlock.
A few minutes later Sherlock's deep voice floated in from the lounge.
"John, what do normal people do to stop thinking?" His voice was the usual inquisitive tone.
"Umm," John started, trying to think what he normally did. "Well, I guess a lot of people drink."
"Drink," Sherlock repeated, "As in alcohol?"
John sighed, "Yes Sherlock, as in alcohol." He stopped for a second, "Why?"
Sherlock stood up and swept up to his room, "I'm going out."
John walked back into the lounge, and sat down with his tea. Then he realised what Sherlock was thinking of doing.
"No, Sherlock," John shouted, "You are not getting drunk!"
"Why," Sherlock asked, clearly not understanding John's problem. "I just want a break from all this THINKING!"
John had to admit he could see the detective's point. John let out a sigh and put his cup down, then walked back to the kitchen.
"Okay, two rules Sherlock." John shouted back to his roommate. He heard a huff in response, and continued. "Rule one, you're drinking here, in the apartment, where I can keep an eye on you." There was a mumble from the bedroom, which John took as a positive response.
"Right, second rule. You have to eat a decent meal before you start drinking," that got a less than pleasant response.
"I don't need food, John," Sherlock called as he walked through the kitchen, "I had breakfast this morning."
"You do need food Sherlock," John countered, "You said yourself that eating slows your brain down. So please for the love of god, eat something tonight."
There was a small movement of Sherlock's head, one that John took as begrudging agreement.
Two hours later, both Sherlock and John were sitting at the kitchen table. Mercifully, it was free of Sherlock's experiments and lab equipment for the time being. At the moment, bottles of various shapes and sizes were lined up along the table, as were shot glasses and other glasses. Sherlock had eaten, not a huge meal, but at least it was food in his stomach, so John was appeased. It had been decided that John was to mix the drinks, and that he wouldn't be drinking. Not that John wanted to drink; a drunken Sherlock was something that he wanted to see.
A few hours later, John and Sherlock had discovered that Sherlock's alcohol tolerance was much higher than would be expected for someone of his weight. And that Sherlock quite liked the taste of brandy. They had experimented with all sorts of alcohols from shots to cocktails and even a few different types of wine. By now Sherlock was slightly tipsy, but he wasn't totally drunk yet. John could tell that Sherlock was relaxing though, he started smiling more and wasn't quite as harsh in his words. It only took a few more drinks and John was pretty sure that Sherlock was drunk. John turned on the TV, to a music channel. Sherlock started singing, loud and only slightly slurred. It surprised John enough that Sherlock new the words to any song, let alone pop music, but on top of that he could sing quite well.
"Hey Jooohn," Sherlock slurred, "Come sing with meeee!"
John looked up to see Sherlock dancing around the lounge room, a bottle of something as a microphone. The start of a duet, Elton John maybe, was beginning on the TV. Sherlock reached down and grabbed John's hand, trying to haul him to his feet. For such a skinny looking person, Sherlock was amazingly strong. With a laugh John was pulled to his feet.
"No, Sherlock," John's eyes went a little wide, "There is no way that I am singing the girl's part!"
"But John," his voice slurred a little more as he whined, "Pleeeeeeeeease?"
Looking at Sherlock, his eyes round and pleading like a puppy, John couldn't help but agree. It's not often he saw Sherlock this enthusiastic about anything that wasn't a murder.
It was well past midnight, though the boys didn't notice, they were too busy singing along with their TV. The first they knew of the time was when Mrs. Hudson came in.
"Boys!" she exclaimed, "It's 3 am, what's with all the noise?"
Then she stopped abruptly, staring at the two of them in the lounge room. Sherlock was dancing around, his normally neat suit in disarray. The jacket was on the floor, and the shirt was untucked and wrinkled. John, while his clothing was in better condition, was dancing around the room holding a rolled up newspaper like a microphone. At Mrs. Hudson's exclamation John turned around, pausing with the newspaper half way to his mouth.
"I'm sorry," John apologised, reaching for the TV remote and turning the volume down. "We didn't realise it was that late."
"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called, attempting to sound less drunk than he really was. "Come over here and siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing with me."
"John, Is Sherlock alright?" She asked.
John smiled at her. "Yea, he's just had a little bit to drink," He replied, chuckling slightly at the look of surprise on her face. Sherlock called out again, this time walking up to and lightly pulling on her hand.
"Pleeease," He begged, "Come sing a song with me!"
She was about to disagree when a new song came on.
"Oooh," Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, "Rock around the Clock. I used to love Bill Hailey when I was younger."
Soon she and Sherlock were singing along to the TV, John watching with an amused look on his face. It was only when Sherlock started dancing around the room with Mrs. Hudson, that he noticed, not only that Sherlock knew Rock and Roll dancing, but that the half empty bottle of brandy was now totally empty.
"Sherlock," John was supporting the giggling Sherlock. "Don't you think that it might be time to get some sleep?"
"But I'm not sleepy," Sherlock replied, then began laughing again at how he sounded.
"Please Sherlock," John was tired and he didn't want to leave Sherlock on his own. John then lost his grip on the detective and he slid to the floor. Sherlock looked up at John, slightly bemused at how he got there.
"How did I get here?" He asked petulantly.
"You don't know?" John said, "You fell down."
"Oh," Sherlock muttered, "Maybe I should go to bed?"
John nodded as he pulled the detective to his feet, and guided him to his room. He hoped that he would be able to sleep tonight. He knew he would need a large amount of patience to deal with a hung-over Sherlock tomorrow. But he put that out of his mind when he thought of the fun the consulting detective appeared to have had that night.