AN: Happy Cinco de Mayo! Yes, this little thing just popped into my head. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Don't own don't sue. This here be a slash story. Don't like, don't complain, I did warn you.
Tequila
John groaned as he started to wake up cursing his favorite American Army buddy one Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce. Hawkeye had come to London on a medical conference and ran in his old buddy John Watson, Hawkeye being the hard working, playing, drinker John remembered from his days as the two of them being stationed together and sharing the Mud Pit with no nonsense Frank Burns. Hawkeye felt the need to introduce his old friend to the great Mexican-American tradition of Cinco de Mayo.
Slitting his eyes to the incoming rays of the sun as he tried to remember what happened last night.
"WATSON, YOU OLD BASTARD!" Hawkeye yelled his lanky form wrapping around John octopus like.
"Hawkeye, what are you doing here?" John asked with a laugh wrestling out of the tight grip.
"You know drew the short stick," Hawkeye laughed.
"Short stick my ass; you more likely went London birds sign me up." John smirked.
"That's what happened in the Army,"
", but all I saw was the wrong end of a camel." John finished the joke with a laugh.
"How have you been? I heard your some kind of consulting detective?" Hawkeye asked and raised two fingers to the bar tender.
"None, for me thanks," John tried to say as the bar tender placed a bowl of fresh cut lime, a shaker of salt, two shot glasses and a bottle of Patron.
"Nonsense Watson, it's Cinco de Mayo, it's like Mexico's version of St. Patrick's Day," Hawkeye dismissed as he poured the tequila, licked the back of his hand to sprinkle salt on it. John resigned to the fact he wasn't getting out of this followed Hawkeye's example and raised his glass.
"To your health Dr. Pierce,"
"To your health Dr. Watson," Hawkeye raised his shot glass, licked the back of his hand with the salt, took the shot, and bit down on a wedge of lime.
"Smooth," John coughed out and bit his own wedge of lime.
"It'll put hair on your chest, now consulting detective?" Hawkeye asked refilling the shot glasses.
John and Hawkeye traded stories while going shot for shot. When in the last moment of sobriety that Hawkeye quietly said, "Watson, I think you're in love with your roommate."
John's eyes flew open when he felt an arm wrapped around his waist and realized that he wasn't in his bed. The arm tightened and a soft kiss was pressed to the back of John's neck, the light scratch of stubble let John know his bed partner was also who owned the room and bed he was in.
"Sherlock," John whispered tentatively.
"Took you long enough," Sherlock said continuing to press butterfly kisses to John's neck.
"What are you doing?" John asked trying not to moan.
"Do not be so thick John," Sherlock snapped quietly not wanting to break the quiet morning and resumed his attention to John's neck. John's head was pounding from the tequila from last night and trying to focus on how he got back home.
John sighed as Sherlock pressed a kiss to the spot just above his jaw behind his ear.
"Sherlock, how did I get here?" John asked trying not to moan.
"I traced your phone," Sherlock said dragging his hand up and down John's naked thigh.
"You, what, SHERLOCK!" John snapped.
"It was to protect you in case of kidnapping," Sherlock stated tickling John's ribs. John huffed out a laugh and tried to turn over to look at his bed partner.
"No, please," Sherlock whispered.
"Sherlock," John questioned.
"Please just let me explore," Sherlock asked. John nodded and let Sherlock's elegant hands pet him. The ministrations of his flatmate/lover (?) almost had John dozing off when Sherlock began to speak.
"I traced your phone to the conference, as you said you'd be home by nine, it was already two in the morning and I was worried some small faction of Moriarty's web had gotten to you. I found you with your friend who proceeded to let me know all the ways you are in love with me."
"Fucking Hawkeye," John muttered sleepily.
"I proceed to have security escort your friend to his room and brought you home." Sherlock whispered brushing his nose in the fine hairs on the back of John's neck.
John gasped at the use of the word home it sounded right, everything from just having a lay in with Sherlock wrapped around him was right. A moment of clarity made John remember what Hawkeye said.
"Watson, I think you're in love with your roommate and too chicken shit to admit to yourself. Who cares if you are or aren't Gay. Love is love, my grandfather was in love with another man who he met during the Korean War and never told him. Married my grandmother had my dad and on his death bed told me this if you find your soul mate no matter what gender they are, you hold onto them as tight as possible because God only gives you that one person who fits you so completely."
"I love you Sherlock Holmes," John whispered.
"I know," Sherlock said and rolled John over to give him a proper kiss.