As some of you might have guessed, I'm a bit of a fan of the idea of Holmes or Watson or Holmes and Watson drunk. I just wanted to inform you that I'm not obsessed with the idea. It's just I have so many sources of inspiration. So after a while of thinking hard about their drinking personalities I came up with this.

Also, purely for the fun of it, I researched brandy and it's effects and look at this! It's a measurement of mood according to drink, written by a Victorian1 I'm going to print it and distribute it to my friends.

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MontyTwain'sPerculiarLineThingAsTheNormalLineThingWillNotObey

221b, Baker Street, is a house that runs on brandy. It's always somewhere, due to our needing at all sorts of moments in between Holmes' clients, Holmes' assailants, my patients and even myself on one occasion, and that's just for the professional use. Otherwise, Lestrade nearly always has some unless it's too early in the morning, and though Gregson prefers wine [Holmes deduced this from his describing some curtains as "burgundy"] he thinks it is too impolite to tell us so, so we give him brandy just to see his facial expression [Holmes claims that we are testing his limits, where as I dispense with euphemisms- we are trying his patience, anyhow], not to mention our consumption- whether to steady nerves, warm us up, or indeed to enjoy ourselves.

We've become quite partial to it. Holmes and I have sat many an evening more jovial due to its infinite faculties. But there was one end of an evening Holmes would have me forget.

Holmes was sat at the table, probably to get away from the fire. His face was a little flushed, but aside from that one couldn't tell he was very far gone. He's a quiet drunk. I don't think he likes the lack of control he has over his speech, so he speaks quite quietly to compensate.

"Holmes, speak up… don't think I caught the last part."

"It was violins anyway, Watson. Even if I repeated it you'd find it dull."

I on the other hand, adopt my friend's taste for drama under the influence. "My dear Holmes, I don't find you dull! You are the least dull person I have ever met. You're practically interesting. No wait. I didn't mean that. Yes I did. I do find you interesting. I said that." I patted his arm and leaned heavily on the back of the chair next to Holmes. I'd been stood for about twenty minutes, so sat.

Holmes carefully shaped the words as he spoke, as one who is reciting. "I think you do find me interesting, Watson. I think you try to find violins interesting." He jabbed me with his pipe. "Am I right?"

"Holmes, you lost all of your subtlety with that last statement. You have disappointed me."

Holmes looked at me with quite a strained look of regret. "I am sorry, Watson. I've lost my edge."

"Your edge?" said I in mock alarm.

"My edge. Watson." He gripped the sides of the table like a man preparing for action. "Watson, Watson." He'd forgotten. He looked down for a moment to remember, before lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I must leave."

"Where?" I said, either out of genuine confusion or for the melodrama that so oft accompanies my inebriation.

He pushed against table and in an almost graceful movement slipped to the floor. It was quite noiseless.

There was a pause. "Watson, I have fallen!"

"Never mind! I shall bring you back to the height of your powers," I was on my feet in an instant, and I zig-zaggedly deposited Holmes in his room before retiring to mine.