John's P.O.V:
"Sherlock. /Sherlock!/" I whispered, shaking the curly haired brunette male laying in the middle of the road. "Sherlock!" Groaning and grabbing an arm, I shifted so that I could drape him over my shoulder. "Jesus.." Eventually, I managed to get the male onto my back in a piggy-back ride position. Lugging him, and myself I might add, down the darkened street, I felt breathing on the back of my neck and a soft groan, I stopped. "..John..?" I heard. Half of Sherlock's body was drapped over my shoulder, so I glanced at his face. "...What are you doing?"
"Carrying you home, that's what."
"..Why?"
"Because we went out, you got drunk off your ass and passed out in the middle of the street."
"..." Of course. /I/ was always the one to carry him home in situations like these. Of. Bloody. /Course/. Frowing at myself, and at the man on my back, I looked infront of myself, hoisting him up a bit, and continued walking. Walking home while you're tipsy is a hard task. And it made it harder when you were carrying a six foot man-child on your back. Feeling hands grip at the back of my shoulders and a face nuzzling into my neck, I stiffined, stopping for a second. "Uh.. Sherlock..? What are you doing?""
"...I'm cold."
"So... You're nuzzling into my neck?"
"It's the warmest place on your body right now."
"..Right."
"Mmh." Finally arriving back to our flat on 221b Baker St, I opened the door, walking in and closing the door behind me. Now all I had to do was get rid of the stupid pink pigment on my face and everything would be okay, right?
Not right. As time passed, I took a nice bath just to clear my thoughts and focus on things. About fifteen minutes later, I stepped out, trousers on. My shirt was drapped over my arm and I walked out drying my hair. Tossing the towel on the back of a kitchen chair, I walked to the refridgearator, grabbing a drink. "Did you want a drink too, Sherlock?" I asked, looking over to the living room only to see the tall man staggering towards me. "Sherlock? You okay?"
"John, lets do something we never tried before."
"...Get you a new clothing look?" I snickered, walking over to sit down in my chair. "...No. Not that." He murmered, giving a glare at my remark.
Sherlock's P.O.V:
John's remark was not kind at all. What was wrong with my appearance of clothing? Did John expect me to be some sort of fashionista? If he did, he was completely wrong. "..No. Not that," I murmered, shooting him a glare. "People always think we're a couple, right?"
"..You're drunk, Sherlock. You're not making any sense."
"This doesn't have to do with the fact I'm drunk or not, John," I slurred.
John's P.O.V:
"..You're drunk, Sherlock. You're not making any sense."
"This doesn't have to do with the fact I'm drunk or not, John," He slurred. I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest after setting my glass down on the table in front of me, looking up at Sherlock. "Right. What is it then?" I asked, standing up out of my chair. A few seconds after, Sherlock was towering over me, hand gently caressing my cheek and lips pressed against mine. My eyes widened, but eventually, I gave into the kiss.
