Truth or Dare
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Sally, Anderson
Summary: When people get drunk, someone always does something stupid. This time, its Lestrade.
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When any group of people reaches a certain combined level of inebriation, it is guaranteed that
within that group of people, there will be one person that is guaranteed to do something stupid.
Surprisingly, that person was not Anderson, Donovan, or even Sherlock. (who had managed to
steer clear of alcohol largely by trading off between his reputation as a psychopath and the fact of
his past drug addictions) It wasn't even John, who had been known to make the occasional foolish
choice whilst 'under the influence' – such as his entirely unexpected marriage proposal made to an
unknown woman he met while playing blackjack.
No. That person was Detective Inspector Lestrade.
And that something stupid, was buying a present for his twelve year old daughter on his way to
work.
Normally, it wouldn't have been a big mistake, he would have finished work, gone home, wrapped
the object in question in aesthetically questionable paper and given it to her for her birthday in three
days.
Instead, they'd been busy all day with a left and a right index finger, from different people, placed on
a silver platter in a locked room.
When they'd finished, Lestrade had invited them all back to his home to celebrate his own birthday.
Everyone had accepted (Sherlock had attempted to decline, but John had given him a very eloquent
look promising the swift disposal of his experiment on the growth of flora feeding decaying tissues).
Now, they were playing, for some indiscernible reason, with a set of cards for a pointless and
juvenile game known as 'truth or dare'.
Sally giggled drunkenly.
"Soooo, Andy-pandy." Sherlock winced, "Trufordare."
Anderson looked baffled. "I thought we were playing spin the bottle." He slurred, evidently confused
by his last dare to kiss Lestrade.
"Nuhway, Pete." John called. "Truth or Dare."
"D- Truth. Truth." Anderson stammered.
Sally drew a card.
"Ok. If you, if you were a contrary, no a country, what would your nashnil anthem be?"
"I'd be Engl-"
"No!" Lestrade scolded. "Whats ya anthum."
"Ummm." Anderson thought for a minute, and then nodded firmly.
"That cheerleading one."
Sally was nodding, and muttering "Yeah, goosong." But her current state suggested she would have
agreed with Anderson no matter what song he'd decided on.
"What?" John yelled, mostly coherent if you ignored the volume.
"Y'know, the cheerleading one. From that movie."
"Nope." Lestrade said, sprawled on his back in front of the door to the kitchen.
Anderson sighed and stood up, wobbling slightly.
"Fine." He said as he began to wiggle. Presumably it was what his alcohol addled mind considered
dancing since he soon began to… well. Not sing, more chant.
The lyrics, such as they were, appeared to be "I'm sexy, I'm cute, I'm poplar with boots. I bitch about
my hair, um, um, uh, something about eyes, or looking or something."
"Staaarrrriiiiiiing." Sally drawled loudly.
"Right, right. I'm HOT!"
Anderson finished this with an enthusiastic twirl and promptly fell over, much to everyone's relief.