Sherlock's long thin frame leaned against Mycroft and John's shoulders for support while leaving the bar…and into the car…and walking up the stairs into the apartment complex. The night was still young but they had to leave early before Sherlock's ramblings became more than just random deductions.
It was fun to see Sherlock this way. For once he was disoriented and confused and could not defend himself against the angry bar customers as they walked his way which was their cue to leave.
"What were you thinking! Are you an idiot?" Watson asked as Sherlock's body rubbed against the couch like a cat rubbing against its owner.
"Don't call me that," Sherlock barely got out with through several of the consecutive hiccups.
"Why the hell not?" Mycroft asked. "You could have gotten yourself injured. Then again I expect nothing less from someone as immature as you."
"I don't… like being called that." Sherlock slurred.
"What?" Mycroft asked in fake astonishment. "Sherlock Holmes is taking something personal?"
Sherlock shifted in the couch uncomfortably as if its softness was too much for the current hypersensitive nature of his skin. "You're so mean Mycroft," Sherlock said. "Why are you always mean?"
John and Mycroft eyed each other curiously. Then John asked, "Sherlock…are you alright?"
"No." Sherlock shook his head. His eyes were now closed as if he were too tired to keep them open. "It's always like this. Always judging what I do. S'hurtful."
Mycroft paid no mind to his younger brother's words but instead grinned with a slight chuckle following.
"What's so funny?" John asked a little suspicious. He had thought that the man would be taken aback by his brother's words instead of laughing at it, especially knowing his serious nature.
Mycroft looked at John. "Why, don't you get it?" he asked in a scornful manner.
"As a matter of fact I do not," John retorted. "I'm ignorant. Fill me in."
"Look at him John." Mycroft looked at the man squirming around in the couch. "He's completely deluded."
"Yea, so?"
"I know Sherlock. There is no way on God's green planet that he would ever admit something like that. He is disoriented to the point of not being able to control what he says. Understand?"
"What exactly is it you're getting at?" John asked.
"For God's sake John. I knew you were slow at figuring things out but this is ridiculous."
"Just tell me!" John said losing his patience. The man was more similar to Sherlock than he thought.
"We can ask him anything that we want and he'll answer it without hesitation."
John took a moment to think about it. The thought of doing this had never crossed his mind before. He had always thought that there was no way to penetrate Sherlock's mind…until now.
"This is wrong," John said, his smile betraying his sentence.
"If it soothes your soul, I'll ask first."
John nodded.
"Sherlock, what's your biggest fear?" Mycroft asked.
Sherlock shifted a little before answering. "Being wrong…failing." He groaned.
"Don't ask ones that are so obvious," John said.
"You got any better ones?" Mycroft asked, challenging the shorter man.
John sighed and asked, "Sherlock, what do you hate about your brother the most?"
"Mycroft," Sherlock groaned. "He always tries to act smart when he is just as dimwitted as the rest of the world. S'kinda sad to watch actually."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should ask one about you," Mycroft teased. "Maybe tell him about the little crush you have on him."
John's face became hot. "I said I'd kill you if you tell him.
Mycroft was about to open his mouth but was then cut off.
"Drunk or not." John clarified with a harsh tone.
"Very well." Mycroft threw his hands up in fake defense. "How annoying is your roommate, John?"
"He's interesting to watch…if he annoyed me that much I would have kicked him out by now." Sherlock replied.
"What was the most frightening dream you've ever had?" John asked.
"I had a dream once that there were four giant red elephants made out of Jell-o that tried to conquer Baker Street."
That answer was surprising to both men. They eyed each other before thinking of more questions; they gradually became more depraved and they took risks, seeing how far they could push this game of question and react.
The two asked "Why don't you ever hit people often if you're always annoyed? What was the weirdest sex dream you've ever had? Do you regret anything?"
To which Sherlock answered, "Guilt. I had sex with one of the Jell-O elephants. Nothing." John laughed, tearing up, and he regained enough oxygen to speak once again. Then another question would pop in his head.
It took a while before Mycroft had to leave. When his brother leaves Watson decides to keep asking questions. He wanted to take this opportunity to learn something deep about him.
"Do you ever feel self conscious?" John asked slowly. He felt a little more guilty taking advantage of his drunken state when Mycroft wasn't there.
Sherlock turned around and opened his eyes. John was frightened at first until he realized that Sherlock was still drunk. He turned his body to face John and closed his bloodshot eyes once again.
"Yes." Sherlock said it as mindless as the other statements. But that was all that he said. John decided not to press on further.
"What was the happiest memory of your life?" Watson asked.
"When I was twelve my brother gave me his magnifying glass before he left to law school. It was the only present he had ever gotten me. I was so happy…" Sherlock hiccupped.
This warmed John. He hadn't expected that. He expect Sherlock's best day to be the time they solved a major case. He enjoyed solving things with Sherlock. He enjoyed being around Sherlock. But how would he know if Sherlock had felt the same way? He had to lead up to it.
"What made you want to become a detective anyway?" It was incredible and almost unbelievable that he had been going around solving cases with the man and never thought to ask the one question that he thought should have probably be the first thing to do when meeting someone like such. He asked because Sherlock would never have answered if he was sober regardless of the question's great simplicity.
"It's really hard for someone like me to be satisfied in this world." Sherlock said, opening his eyes and looking John directly in the eyes. "I had discovered a long time ago that I couldn't be satisfied no matter what I did. I was always bored."
Sherlock continued. "I didn't think that it was that big of a deal until one day I was walking down the street when a random mass chaos started happening. It turned out that a car had spun out of control and was starting a mass fire. Luckily no one was injured too badly but at the moment, everybody was running. They ran and ran. I walked. Even as the flames from the upcoming explosions licked at my back, I walked."
"What does that have to do with anything?" John asked.
"That wasn't the proper reaction to have to something like that. I denied a survival instinct of all humans because I had no motivation to move. At the moment, I didn't care what the outcome of the situation would have been with me in it. That's when I realized that I had to find something to do with my life. After I graduated and started solving cases and it didn't cure my boredom once and for all but John…it did for that moment. I felt a rush in my blood whenever I solved something. If I had started solving cases earlier I would have ran from the fire—." Sherlock hiccupped and then giggled.
"This doesn't make any sense to you now does it?" Sherlock asked, his eyes still glazed with highness.
Before John could open his mouth Sherlock said, "I know it doesn't. That's why I don't tell anyone anything. They wouldn't understand."
Sherlock then said, "Everyone has that one thing. I'm one of those people that don't have anything to go back to except for that one thing. We don't get families or warm home cooked meals to go back to. Or friends that would stick with you through thick and thin. We just have that one thing. And when that one thing is taken away we lose purpose in our lives…I feel like solving cases is that to me."
"What about a person?" John asked when Sherlock was finally done.
"What?" Sherlock asked. It was just the reaction that John was expecting: Sherlock being confused on subjects that do not pertain to his work, regardless of the miracles in previous answers. He wondered if Sherlock, while in his intoxicated state, would be able to say anything this personal.
"Well," John said with a slight hesitation. "What about a person who…gives your life meaning…similar to your work." John hesitated to ask. "Do you have that person?"
There was a pause. At first John thought that the taller man had fallen asleep by the sudden stillness when he closed his eyes again. "Sh…Sherlock?" Watson squeaked out, barely breathing from the anticipation. And he had a right to be nervous. Because what Sherlock said next broke his heart.
"No," Sherlock replied sounding quite sobered. "I do not."