Hey people!
Sherlock is my latest obsession so I just had to write something for it and had the inspiration for this at about 6am this morning so I hope it does actually make sense
Anywayz hope you like it
x
"I love you Mycroft" Sherlock's drunken drawl informed his brother down the phone.
"Of course you do Sherlock, now how much have you had to drink?" Mycroft asked, checking his watch – 2:24am, this really was not a good time for him to call, he was meeting a man about Russia in exactly 16 minutes.
"No but Mycroft I really, really DO love you, your my favourite brother ever!" Sherlock slurred excitedly.
"Obviously, Sherlock. I am your only brother after all" he tutted, frowning at a piece of dirt that had somehow managed to bury itself under one of his fingernails. He hears Sherlock pause, thinking about his statement.
"YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!" Sherlock wailed down the phone.
"Now, now Sherlock, calm down. It always has so displease Mummy when we don't get on "
"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John entered the living room woken by Sherlock's outburst, he sighed wearily, "Give me the phone Sherlock" he ordered putting on his best commanding voice.
"NOO!" Sherlock cried swatting away John's hands and flailing ineffectively, "it is an essential part of the existence of my being!"
"Sherlock give it here!" John demands.
"Why is everyone trying to kill me?"
"Well as fun as this has been" Mycroft's voice sounds from the phone, laced with sarcasm, "I really must be going. Goodbye Sherlock, look after him John"
John hears the phone go dead as Mycroft hangs up. Sherlock drops the 'essential part of his existence' as realisation flashes across his face.
"I know why everyone's trying to kill me" he pauses dramatically, "you're all secretly Moriarty!" he points a finger at John accusingly before attempting to run away. He managed all of two steps before tripping over one of the many piles of books on the floor and was sent flailing to the sofa, landing unceremoniously on it in a heap of limbs. John warily approached to check he was alright. He bent down next to his head and called to him softly, "Sherlock? Sherlock?" he was answered by a gentle snore.
John sighed and walked into the kitchen deciding to leave Sherlock there; there was no way he was going to attempt to haul him to his bed. John's six pack of beer sat on the table, one can missing.
'Wait', John thought, 'ONE can? Is that it? How is Sherlock that drunk from that little alcohol?" John found the offending item on the counter and picked it up, 'Not even empty' he laughs to himself shaking his head. He tips the remaining contents down the sink deciding to hide the alcohol from now on – 'perhaps with the skull' – although he doubts that after Sherlock has managed to crawl out of the inevitable hangover that he will be unwilling to try that particular substance again anytime soon.
John fetched a blanket to put over Sherlock's sleeping form before turning out the lights and going back to bed; it was going to be along day.
