Whiskey Shots by GoldThestral and MaryManatee

AN – This was actually an Omegle RP that my roleplay partner and I decided to doctor up a bit and turn into a fanfiction! Read, review, and enjoy!

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Time was an odd concept at St. Bart's. Even for a hospital with death and birth running at the same pace, Dr. John Watson stood at a standstill. He never seemed to find the time passing quickly enough for his liking. Often, he found himself daydreaming involuntarily of something, anything other than the death that surrounded him. Usually, those thoughts went back to the war in Afghanistan. Other times, they went to the gutter. Sometimes they led him down a trail of shirtless-

"John."

Like that, John shot back to reality. He raised his head from the lab table, blinking groggily. He'd completely forgotten that Molly was in the room and they were even conversing. Sherlock had dragged himself in for another case and needed to use the equipment at Bart's for examination. Unsurprising, Sherlock had the gall to pull John out of his regular office hours and check-ups with patients for a session of staring at yogurt bacteria.

"John," Molly leaned close to her colleague with a playful grin. "Stop dozing off. Do you remember what we were talking about?"

John shook his head. "I'd forgotten we were even helping with a case today, so no." He mumbled an apology under his breath. Molly cleared her throat.

"There is obviously tension between you and Sherlock. I don't know what kind, but there is."
Molly whispered as she handed John a cup of tea. "Do you see it at all?"

"What do you mean by tension? By getting on each other's nerves, you're perfectly right." John stared out blankly before him, gently sipping the jasmine blend.

"John, you're not that thick," Molly laughed a bit. "I mean sexual, I guess." She sighed and looked over to the tall detective who was on the other side of the room.

John shook his head, fanning himself with the collar of his jumper. John hated when anyone brought up "that" tension between him and Sherlock. Both of them knew it existed and it was the white elephant in the room. Whenever anyone mentioned it, John wanted to bury face in the sand and hide for ages.

He leaned to Molly's ear and whispered, "When did you start noticing...?"

Molly thought for a few moments. "Probably three or four months ago. I was always so taken with Sherlock's looks, obvious things blended into the background." Molly exhaled. She turned to John. "You agree, I assume?"

Her words echoed within John and his eyebrows cocked. He turned to Molly and chuckled, "Sometimes. I'm not even sure if it's the looks that get me. I think I like the fact that he's..." John trailed off, staring at his flatmate across the room with drink in hand.

What did he think of Sherlock? He could trust him and he could always-

John smiled meekly. "…someone I can trust. He's this odd mysterious figure, but I don't need to know all his thoughts to know that he trusts me and will always be there for me." The doctor turned to Molly again, "Do you still have feelings for him?"

Molly continued to look at Sherlock, but she turned to John. "I used to. Of course I still think he is attractive," she trailed off. "We aren't compatible though. I want someone who could talk with me for hours about how they feel." Molly cleared her throat. "He can't do that though for me. And, I have a little secret that you might find interesting."

"That's understandable. Sherlock is probably the furthest thing from empathetic you can get, after all." John shrugged, staring at his roommate again. Sherlock stood off near the window, passionately talking to Lestrade about some case. Nobody could make the git stop talking about his work even if they tried.

John's ears perked and he piped, "Okay, what's this secret then?"

Molly took a sip of her tea and leaned in closer to John. "A few years ago, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, a few other people you wouldn't know, and I would go out almost every time we solved a case. A few drinks, you know? Anyway..." He eyes swiped the room; made sure no one was listening. "We invited Sherlock, once. He got liquored up pretty quick. He opened up like a soda bottle that was shaken up. All of these confessions nearly flew out of his mouth. About him experimenting in collage with other men and that he wasn't straight. He took Lestrade face and kissed it harshly. Once he realized what he did, he ran out of the pub," She sighed. "Lestrade was very understanding, but Sherlock never brought it up again."

Leaning close to Molly, he whispered, "Has he really never brought up his sexuality since then?" John's eyes grew wide. If anything, he wasn't completely shocked. Sherlock always complained of his boredom and how nothing thrilled him. The only thing he got off on was solving cases. John thought, in all honesty, that nothing could excite the man other than mysteries. "I didn't know he claimed himself gay... He always struck me as experimenting, mostly asexual if anything."

John scanned the room and then tugged on Molly's dress hem. "Come with me to the kitchen. I have to ask you something." Dusting off his khakis, John took the small teacup and waited by the door frame for Molly. Molly got up and strode to the door.

John's heart rate increased, his forehead budding with small drops of perspiration. No one could walk into that room, especially Sherlock. John arranged himself so that he was blocking more than half of the doorway.

"Molly, do you..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "I mean, how would... do you think I should make a move? I mean, for god's sake, I'm his flatmate. I can't let things get awkward between us."

Molly looked at John and inhaled deeply. "Get him drunk, and see what happens." She looked at John's face which seemed pretty blank. "I mean, this man is made of stone. You can't break his mental walls. But..." she turned her head and looked at Sherlock. "You said you felt it too. He does probably, as well. I know it's not very good advice but what else can you do?" She shrugged.

"Has he even shown any signs? I mean, Maybe I'm just imagining things, Molly..." John nervously ran his fingers through his hair, fanning himself with his jumper collar again.

John exhaled, "I hope this isn't one sided, but... there's no other way to see other than this, right? I'd might as well try." He put his foot back down on the ground from the wall and put both his hands on Molly's shoulders. "You have to help me with this. Suggest we all play a drinking game or something. I'll go on a liquor run."

"Alright. Do you want to come with me while I ask him or shall I be more direct like 'we're doing a drinking game it's not optional' and such?"

"No, I'll come with; only seems reasonable. I'll be able to convince him to join, if anything." John replied.

"Okay."Molly walked out of the door way and had John following her. Sherlock looked up from the body and silently greeted the pair. "I'm almost done with this. I've written everything you need to know about the body on this pad of paper. "John and I want to ask you something." Molly said quickly. She nudged John.

John cleared his throat, hand nervously scratching at the tag of his jumper. "We're going out tonight to celebrate; this case is practically over anyway. You never get out other than cases, Sherlock. Come for a drink or two."

Sherlock's eyes grew and examined both of them. "I suppose I could go for a drink. I haven't gotten buzzed since..." he looked at Molly and cleared his throat. "...for quite some time." He looked at the floor and back at John.

"We could go out or have myself run out and we can drink here, or, uh," Molly paused and looked around. "...in the kitchen! Yes. What do you think, John?"

"Here sounds good. You up for a drink, Lestrade?" John shouted over Sherlock's shoulder to Lestrade, who gave a small smirk and a quick nod of approval. "I'm in." He called out, turning back to his papers.

"Molly, grab some beers and anything that'll muck us up good. I need a drink." John turned to Molly, a mischievous smile of success gracing his face. "Have we anything to start with while she's out?"

"There is some whiskey in the pantry." Molly grinned as she said it. "I have some pretty difficult days around here. Start off with that and I'll run to the store across the street." She blew a kiss and walked out of the door.

"Johhnnn. Go get the whiskey, please." Sherlock yelled as he sat down at a table in the kitchen.

"Oh, stop whining. Lestrade, can you grab it for me?" John called out over his shoulder, Lestrade still gazing over papers from the crime. His attentive look quickly turned sour.

"I'm not your bitch - you're closer to it, anyway." John sighed heavily and grabbed the large bottle of whiskey from the cuppord with three shots glasses. "What do we feel like playing today? Or do we want to call anyone else over to celebrate too?"

That grabbed Sherlock's attention.

"Let's not. I think we're a good quartette to drink with." Sherlock rose up and grabbed a shot glass. He clinked his glass with Johns and they drank it while they kept their eyes locked onto one another's.

John grinned, the rush of whiskey feeling welcome. He hadn't had a drink in months. It was not like he drank much in the Army; Afghanistan was a dry country after all. But his mouth was far from dry when he locked eyes with Sherlock, their locked gaze as they took communal shots.

"Person who thinks they've done the most for this case grabs the bottle first on three...two...one!"

Sherlock grabbed the bottle first and laughed, "Ha! The world's only consulting detective wins again." He grabs the shot glasses and pours another round of shots.

"Lestrade! Come over here, we're drinking and you need to lighten up. Coming from someone like me, that means a lot," Sherlock laughed and poured the shot down his throat.

Lestrade sighed. "Just like old times though, right?" He let out a small chuckle as he pulled up a chair to their table.

"Try not to get too liquored up like last time, eh Sherlock?" John smirked mischievously, eyeing Sherlock as he poured himself another shot. "Don't hog all the liquor. Pour me one too."

"We are playing drinking games yes?" Sherlock saw the two men nod. "Okay, let's play "I've never". You say something you haven't done, and if you've done it before, take a shot. We used to play this all the time in college..." his voice got quieter towards the end of the sentence. He looks up. "Alright, who goes first?"

"I'll go. God, my friends used to play this in grammar school." John laughed, rotating his shot glass quickly between his fingers. His innocent smile turned to a devious smirk. "I've never had a crush on a close friend."

Lestrade slammed his hand, griping in defeat. "I'll admit; it was high school!" Filling his glass, he downed at shot for himself. John kept his eyes on Sherlock waiting for his answer.

Sherlock thumbed his shot glass and finally took a shot. Lestrade and John were looking at him like he was supposed to say something. "What? Most of us had at some point."

John smiled to himself. Sherlock was only three shots in and already talking. He couldn't wait to see the look on Molly's face as soon as he texted her to the details.

Grinning wildly down at his phone, he received two very confused stares from Lestrade and Sherlock. "Oh, just messaged an old friend." John physically waved it off and they returned to their game. "Sherlock, your turn."

"Alright," Sherlock said it like he was laying down the law. "I... have never," He stopped like it was a climax of a story. "Never smoked pot."

He started to laugh. "Other drugs don't count but pot does." Sherlock took a shot. "That one was just for fun."

"Oh, come on!" John burst into chuckles, slowly nursing his shot. "We've all done that." Lestrade nodded methodically in agreement, downing a sip of soda for chaser. "Have to admit that one was a really stupid."

John leaned his arm on the table, staring Sherlock directly into his cold eyes and challenged, "Think of something better to make up for that shitty question."

"Alright."Sherlock said staring back at John. "I...have never had shower sex." He eyed both of the men and laughed.

John flushed a deep red. Past girlfriends had always made mention of it, but he had always been kinkier in the physical bedroom with them. John locked his gaze with Sherlock, eyes sparked with sexual intrigue. Neither man picked up their cup.

"Well, we all have very vanilla sex lives." Lestrade smirked, leaning back in his chair.

He slowly drew out, "I have never... been claimed as kinky." His eyes scanned the room and then Greg took his shot. The booze was honestly starting to get to him.

"Really?" Sherlock's eyes sparkled and he hit Lestrade on the arm. "You are such a dog, you know." He hiccupped.

He looked at Johns eyes again. He was talking to both of the men, but you would've sworn he was only talking to John if you saw them from afar. Sherlock felt the alcohol cloud his mind. "Alrighttt... who is next? Make it interesting. "

John smirked. He knew the alcohol was starting to get to Sherlock. The man hadn't had a drink in so long that he was already dizzying after only 4 shots. Time at Bart's really did move in an odd fashion, especially when drinking. Quietly downing his shot he forgot to drink in the last round, he slammed his cup down and shot Lestrade a smirking glance. "Greg, your turn."

Lestrade cleared his throat gently, grabbing at his neck collar. He exhaled quickly. "Okay then. I've never kissed my boss!" His laughter started to fill the room.

'What a cheap shot.', John thought, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock. He couldn't care less if Lestrade found his staring odd or just typical drunken behavior. He felt the tension pulsating between him and Sherlock hypnotizing.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from John and gave Lestrade an evil eye. None the less, he took the shot glass and drank it down in one gulp again. He began to stare at John again.

"John, did you know I made out with Lestrade quite some time ago?" Sherlock shook his head profusely. Sherlock sat and thought for a few moments. "Come to think of it, I've never told you I fancy blokes." He took another shot. "Lestrade knows, damn right."

Lestrade shook his head, laughing under his breath. "By God, was that a long night..." He trailed off, gently fiddling his drink between his pointer fingers.

John stared at Sherlock with dead eyes, until he remembered that he wasn'tsupposed to remember that he was gay. "Oh! No, you never did tell me." John did his best to look surprised, eyes wide, shifting himself back in his chair a bit as he stared at Sherlock. He was on his 6th shot and it had only been a half hour. John reached out and gently placed hand upon Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing for emphasis.

"Um, Sherlock? You've had a lot to drink already. Molly's not even back with the rest of the liquor yet. Try to pace yourself, okay? Besides, it's your turn."

"All right, all right," Sherlock mumbled. "My turn. So, I have never..." He thought for a moment. "Had sex in public." He interrupted himself. "Wait! No, sorry. Scratch that. I have never given oral sex." He turned to look at John again. Lust and alcohol clouded his eyes.

"I can't imagine you'd be much good in bed if you've never given oral." John casually chimed, turning away from Sherlock to grab his shooter, quickly drinking his fifth shot of whiskey. He felt the floorboards slightly shift beneath him and his field of view slightly turn. Sinking into his chair and closing his eyes, John knew he was borderline drunk. He had always been a well-mannered, coherent drunkard... from what he could remember and the stories his uni friends told him.

Ringing suddenly erupted in the room. Greg snapped to attention and pulled out his phone. After reading the text, Greg shook his head, running his fingers through his hair.

"Sherlock, John, I had great fun, but the lawyer needs me to come and fill out some paperwork immediately." Greg sighed deeply.

"Divorce courts'll do that to you." John nodded slowly, looking up at him with a tiny smile of appreciation. "It was fun. We should grab a drink again soon." Greg nodded with a soft smile and walked to the door.

"Oh, and if you two are going to shag, I suggest you do it before Molly gets back."

And with the tug of a suit, Lestrade was off and gone.

"Goodbye, Greg. I'll text you tomorrow sometime." Sherlock said as he waved him away. He looked at John.

"Not very good in bed, now? Because I have never given oral sex. Want to hear why I've never blew a guys cock?"Sherlock leaned over and got closer to Johns face. "Its because everyone can't get their mouths off of mine."

He sat up and eyed John. He wanted to see how Johns face reacted.

John blinked, slightly shaking his head in a nervous reaction. He hardly knew what to say. Hell, were they even playing the game anymore? Sherlock was so close to him, he could smell the whiskey on his breath. "How many men have you slept with, Sherlock?"

"Thirteen or fourteen. I got around in college" Sherlock answered, unphased. "I've gotten oral sex from more though," Sherlock sighed.

"I haven't had sex in over a year. It gets so frustrating, sometimes. You know?" He scratched his head. "And you, John? How many people have you slept with? I'm curious, I really am."

Christ, did he get around. John was known for having flings, although unintended, with women in three different continents. The military had its benefits. His relationships never lasted long, though, but the sex was always fantastic.

"I've... gotten around." John squinted his eyes in thought. With a small tilt of his head, he answered, "I'd have to guess around 10 or 11. Relationships never lasted long, though. All 'em left after they were done using me up."

John sighed, taking a small sip of his liquor again. He forgot that he became slightly more emotional when drinking.

"I'm sorry about that, John." Sherlock looked at his phone and noticed a text message. He read aloud," Sherlock, I can't come back to the hospital. My brother got in a car accident. I'll talk to you later. Have a nice night. Molly"

He shrugged. "We better get home. We can continue this little..." He started moving around his hands like he had a phrase on the tip of his tongue. "Oh, I don't know? Two man drinking party back home."

"That sounds fine to me. Let's grab a cab then. We're in no condition to walk home this drunk." John shook his head, staring down at the floor.

"By God, I hope he's alright. I'll check on her tomorrow morning if she shows up for work, okay?" The doctor grabbed the bottle of whiskey, placing it the large coat pocket of Sherlock's coat and patted it.

"Alright, let's go home. I'll pay for the taxi." He pulled on Sherlock's coat sleeve, leading him out to the street and hailing a black cab.

They two drunkards stumbled into the back of the taxicab, John's eyesight beginning to steady. "221 Baker Street." John asserted and the two drove quietly towards home.

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Please read and review. We love critiques, so stay tuned for chapter two!

~MaryManatee