Story Note: No spoilers for any episodes, and this story has no particular place in time when referring to the canon timeline. Enjoy!

In Vino Veritas
by. xxBurningxx

in vino veritas
In wine there is truth.

Sherlock did not dwell on emotion much. From a young age he had understood that they bring nothing but misfortune and pain and only prove to be a hindrance to his work. So when he realized that being around a certain John Watson brought within him something akin to happiness and joy, he relented to allow his human side to take pleasure in it.

Having him as a partner, flat mate, and most of all, a friend, was hands down the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. The blonde put up with his antics, something no else had managed to do. He even enjoyed and appreciated Sherlock's intelligence while others mostly regarded his talent with hate and jealously.

Smart as he was, it took him years to understand the funny feeling that had developed in his stomach when John looked at him. He never quite understood why his chest would flutter when their hands would accidentally brush, or their eyes would lock on to each other. It wasn't until he received personal advice that he finally understood, with a certain mortality.

"You've got to be kiddin' me, Sherlock," D.I. Greg Lestrade gaped at him from across a small cafe table. Sherlock took a small sip of his tea before replying.

"No, I really would like to know."

"Why didn't you ask John yourself?"

"Don't be stupid. He is the subject of why I'm having these symptoms. Why would I ask him?"

Lestrade couldn't help but smile, chuckling to himself. Sherlock, of all people! He ran a hand through his hair, unable to convince the grin on his face to go away. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, sending him a perplexed look. The bloke really didn't know what he was feeling! And to think they said he was the smart one.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you? You like him Sherlock!"

Sherlock only stared at him. "Well of course I like him, he's my friend."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock's density, only managing to laugh some more.

"I really don't understand what's so funn-"

"You really are helpless, you know that? You like him Sherlock, I mean, you have a crush on him. I can't believe you called me all the way out here just for this. Then again, this is pretty cute."

"That's absurd. That can't possibly be it."

They talked a while longer, Lestrade trying his best to convince Sherlock that what he said was true. Later, as Sherlock was on his way back to the flat, thoughts raced around his head, sending his mind in a whirl. The more and more he contemplated it, the more it seemed to make sense, and the more terrified he began to feel.

For the first time in his life, he didn't know what or where to put the information. It wasn't just a simple moment where it took him a while to figure out where to put it, no, this he truly did not know what to do with.

So yes, Sherlock did not like to dwell with emotion.

But over the years John Watson had managed to infiltrate his walls and bring forth in him emotions he wasn't even aware he was capable of possessing. Somehow the ex-army doctor was able to reach Sherlock in a way that he had not allowed anyone else to do in all of his life.

It truly was unsettling.

[ONE YEAR LATER]

John was sitting in his chair, flipping through an old newspaper. The telly droned in the background, but he wasn't really paying much attention to either of the things. Instead, his mind was focused on his flat mate, whom had been gone many hours later than he expected.

"I'll be back in time for dinner," he had said to John whilst throwing in his coat and scarf.

It was now three o'clock in the morning and still no signs of Sherlock. Of course, he shouldn't be surprised. The man had been out longer than that before, one time not even returning until the next day, but it didn't stop him from being concerned. He contemplated texting, but figured that in the event Sherlock was genuinely busy, he didn't want to annoy him. And the fact that he'd stayed up late just for him might seem a bit suspicious.

This wasn't the first time either though. Every time Sherlock was out past midnight John would lounge around the living room, waiting to make sure his flat mate returned home safely. Many times he had pretended to have passed out in him chair when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

John sighed, wondering where Sherlock was; what he was doing. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. At first he was alarmed because usually Sherlock would enter gracefully, likely to keep from waking John himself. He quickly dismissed it, shutting his eyes and slowing his breathing so that it looked like he was asleep.

But John's eyes shot open when instead of the door being opened, there was a loud thud against it instead. A few moments later the door handle rattled and the door shook again. At this point John was on his feet, staring at the door intensely, ready to defend himself should it have ended up being an intruder.

His eyes widened when the door finally flew open, revealing a stumbling Sherlock Holmes. John quickly rushed over, grabbing his friend by the shoulders because he looked as though he were about to fall.

"Sherlock? What in the bloody name of..." John muttered under his breath. Sherlock reeked of alcohol and clutched onto John's torso so tightly it seemed that he would fall off the face of the planet if he let go.

"John. What a fancy, meeting you here like this," Sherlock said, his words slurred and hard to understand.

"Sherlock, you're drunk. Here, sit down," John said, directing him to the couch. Instead of letting go of John to sit, he plopped down, pulling the sandy blonde down with him. He let out a small yelp of surprise. John found himself almost straddling the younger man, trying his best to keep his weight off of Sherlock. This was just about the closest he'd ever been to him.

"John..." Sherlock sighed, pulling him down and even closer. Their bodies were touching, no a single inch of space between them.

"Sherlock, this isn't..." John mumbled, trying to pry himself off. For such a limber man, the curly-haired man had a surprisingly string grip. Then again John was trying that hard to get up. He was at loss as to what to do. "Let me get you some water or something."

"Don't go."

John was taken aback. Even for a drunk Sherlock, those words were surprisingly sentimental. Sure, he had heard the exact same words aimed at him before in a case, but something about this was different, though he was pretty sure it was the alcohol talking. Regardless, suddenly he didn't feel like removing himself from the detective.

"What was that?"

"I said...don't go..."

John smiled. Even if he was drunk, it wasn't often that Sherlock said things like that.

"John," Sherlock said suddenly, staring at him. It startled John; the wa he said it was with such firmness and clarity he didn't even seem drunk. "I have to...tell you something. "

"What is it?"

"I really like you John."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh wow, at this point I thought you hated me!"

"No...I really like you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you...That's how much I like you."

John couldn't help but laugh. He tried to ignore the very small glimmer of hope poking its way through his chest. "Sherlock, do you even hear yourself? No, of course not. You're drunk off your arse!"

"John..."

Then something he never imagined would happened in fact...happened. Sherlock put his arm around John's neck and pulled him down until their lips met. At first he was so shocked that he couldn't even move, but then he slowly melted into the kiss. It was incredibly sloppy and he could taste the alcohol on Sherlock's lips, but all of it didn't matter.

Here he was with a drunk Sherlock Holmes, snogging on the couch. John's heart was racing so fast he thought it might just burst out of his chest. After they parted for air, Sherlock stared at him, panting slightly.

"In fact..." Sherlock mumbled, closing his eyes. "I think...I might even love you."

And then the curly-haired detective passed out beneath the doctor.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the pain splitting through his head. He was in his bed, underneath the covers, fully clothed aside from his shoes. Natural sunlight pierced through the curtains, making his head throb even harder.

Slowly, he tried to sit up. He didn't remember anything from the previous night besides flagging a taxi to get home. John must have carried him to his room, as well as taken off his shoes for him.

'Oh God. John.' Sherlock prayed he didn't say anything stupid to his flat mate.

With as much caution he could exert, Sherlock slowly but surely made his way to the living room. When he got there, he was greeted by John in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand and the newspaper in the other. He immediately took note of the expression on John's face.

Sitting down softly, he said, "You're looking at me funny. You have a question, or questions, all for me but you're unsure about asking. What did I say last night, John?"

"You don't remember?"

Sherlock shook his head.

It was a moment before John replied. "Let me get you some water for your head."

When he came back Sherlock took the glass gratefully, but still persisted. "John. Tell me what I said."

John opened his mouth, but closed it. Sherlock could tell he was choosing his words carefully. Finally he got up and walked over until he was standing directly in front of Sherlock. "Something along the lines of this..."

And then John leaned down, tilted Sherlock's head up with one hand and touched the back of his neck with the other, and kissed him.

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Letting you know now, any favorites or reviews are greatly appreciated! I didn't edit that much, only for spelling, so please disregard any typos. I assure you they bug the heckles out of me too! Anyways, again, thank you for reading! Oh, and also, of you didn't know, "in vino veritas" is Latin for "in wine there is truth" (as pointed out at the beginning).