"Well done, John!" Sherlock's celebratory, and rarely heard, laugh echoed across the flat, and John mirrored it with his own.
"It was mostly you, to tell the truth, I hardly did anything." John admitted, sinking down onto the inviting sofa, sighing as his muscles relaxed after nearly half and hour of frantic running, climbing and jumping.
"I beg to differ! You noticed the flaw in his gait, which eventually led to his capture. A celebration is in order!" Sherlock was being unusually jumpy and ecstatic, most unlike his usual, pouty self. Perhaps it was the result of an increase in adrenalin rush due to a particularly challenging case.
"Celebration? A take away, or a trip to the pub- never mind." John remembered who he was talking to.
"Wine and a take away?"
John was slightly shocked, but recovered quickly, "Yes! I'll call the Chinese, and you grab the wine." John's huge grin had returned at the possibility of a normal evening with his flatmate.
Sherlock's mouth was curved by a small smile, and he strode briskly into the kitchen, and John picked up the phone.
"Hello? Yes, a delivery to 221b Baker Street, please... Family Special number four please... yes... boiled, please... thank you!" John's phone ordering was backdropped by the gentle clink of wine bottles and glasses coming from the kitchen.
Sherlock was bent over the counter, crushing a pill in the pestle and mortar, dropping it into John's glass once it was reduced to crumbs. It was a basic Benadryl pill, an anti-histamine, which has the side effect of rendering the taker unconscious after nearly thirty minutes. Sherlock smirked at the red liquid as the white particles dissolved, and became seemingly invisible. They were still there, of course.
He returned to the lounge with two full glasses of wine, and handed one - the successfully drugged one - to his flatmate, returning to the sofa with his own. Sherlock had also brought two bottles of wine through with him, one open, one sealed shut. John raised an eyebrow as Sherlock placed them on the table, but relaxed in his chair.
Raising their glasses in a silent toast, they clinked them together, and downed them. Sherlock grinned at John, who held out his now empty glass expectantly. It was filled up quickly, along with Sherlock's.
Another silent toast was made, and the drinking battle began.
OoOoO
"I never... than-thanks-thanked you, Shurrlockk..." John slurred, his eyes drooping closed.
"For?" Sherlock felt surprisingly clear-headed, considering how much alcohol he'd consumed, and his speech certainly did not reflect how drunk he actually was.
"Say-saving me." John mumbled this, his entire body slumped in the chair.
"From what, John?" Sherlock's voice perfectly matched the smirk on his face.
"Bee... being al... alone..." John finally relaxed fully, his eyes completely closed, his breathing deepened, and Sherlock stood up, victorious.
Sliding his arms under John's armpits, he lifted him out of the chair, and transferred him gently to Sherlock's bed, making sure not to disturb him. He left the sleeping John on the bed, and went into the bathroom, grabbing the bottle of lube and the packet of condoms from the shelf, chuckling to himself as he tiptoed back into his room.
He slid the covers back, until they lay crumpled and messy at the end of the bed, one corner dangling on the floor. Sherlock inhaled, and turned John onto his side, pulling his trousers and underwear down gently, throwing them aside. He uncapped the lube, and dribbling some on John's hand, and across the bed sheets. Sherlock pulled off his jacket, and reluctantly covered John'a crotch with it, keeping any dignity the man might have left intact.
Next, he ripped open a condom packet, and threw it carelessly on the floor, along with several unopened packets. The lube bottle followed. Sherlock proceeded to pull off the rest of John's clothes, scattering them haphazardly around the room. He undressed himself, throwing his own clothes around, leaving the room looking disastrous and very realistic. He added a pair of handcuffs to John's wrists, bolting them shut on the bedstead.
He remembered with a jolt that he hadn't brought the wine through. He did so, and half filled one of the glasses, leaving the other on the floor, with the two bottles lying next to it. Sherlock stepped into the doorway, admiring his work, before going to lie on the sofa, hands steepled.
He would doze until eight, then wake up all the way, and wait for John to awaken. Let the game begin.
OoOoO
John's eyes felt like bloody sandpaper, and they were still closed. He opened them, and had to suppress a gasp as his sleepy eyes suddenly snapped open, and he took in the room.
It was like a sex bomb had gone off. Condoms and lube lay everywhere and oh god, he was handcuffed to the bed. And naked. Oh shit.
"Morning." Sherlock's deep voice rang through the room, and John flinched hugely on the bed, trying to cover up his- oh, there was a jacket covering him.
"Good morning," John said nonchalantly, his hangover headache starting, averting his gaze from the very naked Sherlock, "What the fuck happened?"
"I think the fuck part is right..." Sherlock purred, stepping into the room, kneeling on the bed. It took nearly all of John's willpower to not look at his flatmate's crotch, and it took the rest to keep breathing.
"We..." John left the question unfinished. It didn't need asking.
"Yes, John. We did." Sherlock cupped John's cheek, his long fingers massaging his temples gently.
"Uh... oh-okay?" John closed the distance between them, and kissed Sherlock fiercely, ignoring the restricting - and bloody sore - handcuffs.
Sherlock went rigid, and pulled away, somehow jumping back far enough so his back hit the wall.
"Sherlock?" John attempted to sit up, gazing at the rarely surprised detective, who was currently looking extremely shocked.
"John..."
"What?" John's brow wrinkled in confusion.
Sherlock seemed to fight with himself, his hand twitching at his side, and he finally spoke,
"April Fool's!"