A/N: Please don't ask me what I was hoping to accomplish with this story. Truthfully, it's just all sorts of fucked up – for lack of better diction. It'll be a two-shot, unless this gets zero attention from the public, in which case I'll take it down.
Sherlock is pretty OOC here because of his drunkenness (though I tried to keep to Sign of Three's interpretation of the our favourite duo drunk.)
Opposite day
Chapter 1: Piss Drunk
John wasn't entirely sure how he had come to be sprawled out, on the floor next to the fireplace, piss drunk. He vaguely remembered it being Sherlock's fault.
The detective had somehow coerced John into a pub – claiming to be on a case – and then he had compelled John to order drink after drink.
John had acquiesced with the exception that Sherlock would follow his lead.
And now he was seeing double.
The fire crackled merrily behind the grates, illuminating the silly grin etched into John's face. The warmth was comforting and John's mind was drifting through a warm, happy fog. He giggled at the shadowy patterns the light cast on the roof. He wasn't sure why he found it funny, but it reminded him of bunnies. Ohhhhh bunnies.
"John?" A voice slurred from somewhere in the kitchen. John could hear grunting and shuffling and then suddenly a crash, followed by a curse and more grunting. He had found Sherlock.
"Whaaaatttttt arreee you dooiing, Sherly?" John sang, enjoying the way his tongue curled around the words. He had always thought that he was so much more eloquent as a drunk.
"Making breakfast," came the reply. Clangs and bangs sounded into the apartment as Sherlock searched for a pan that didn't contain fungus – from his experiments – or anything else equally nasty.
John giggled.
"But, Sherlock. It's nine pm." A bemused face popped into John's line of sight.
Sherlock took one look at his best friend's haphazardly placed limbs and guffawed.
"We are pooped." Sherlock exclaimed, his cheeks almost splitting in effort of mimicking John's goofy smile. He traipsed into the living room and folded his tall frame to the ground next to John.
"Ha! You said pooped." John tittered. Sherlock rolled his eyes, a familiar look of irritation crossing his sharp cheekbones and plump lips.
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Unlike...uh-unlike..." Sherlock stuttered, swaying gently as his brow furrowed in concentration. "John!" He called out, startling his flatmate. "John, what's another word for...uh...for people who aren't like me?" John sat upright, trying to show Sherlock that he was giving the thought all of his attention.
"Normal?" John offered, proud that he had managed to think without his thoughts scattering like bunnies again. Ohhhhhh, bunnies.
"Yes, that's it! Well done, John!" Sherlock beamed at John - who seemed to be preening under the praise. "Unlike normal people I have a vocabulary and I don't use words like pooped." John's bottom lip quivered.
"But...but I heard you! You said pooped."
"You must have been mistaking – or is it mistaken?" Sherlock hiccuped. "Your normal ears probably heard pooped, but I was actually saying something very uh...very clever."
John's ears tinged pink. "I'm not normal." He argued, feeling that he had been insulted. Sherlock scoffed.
"Of course you're normal, John. Everybody is-" hic. "normal compared to me!"
John shook his head, vehemently. "Of course, no one can match the great Sherlock Holmes." His tone was meant to sound bitter, but the slurring lessened the intended effect.
"Exactly, John." Sherlock smirked, his eyelids drooping. "I'm a unique butterfly." The great detective flapped his arms, imitating a winged creature. John shook his head again, finding the way the world spun to be funny.
"I bet you, Sherlock Holmes, fifty pounds that I can be you for a night."
Sherlock laughed, "And I bet you, John Watson, fifty pounds that I can be you for a night!"
The two friends shook on it, before bursting out in laughter and rolling around the floor for a few minutes.
Sherlock startled John when he jumped to his feet, crying out: "Come, come John. Lestrade told me earlier this...uhm...day that he has a face!"
"A face?" John asked, chasing the bunnies from his mind, so that he could concentrate. Sherlock tsked.
"No no! A case! Do keep up, John." Sherlock grabbed his friend's hands, hauling the other man to his feet and stumbling out the door.
"Remember Sherlock! I am Sherlock and you are John!" John said, feeling muddled as the sentence passed his lips.
The two giggled and skipped out of the door.
A/N: I'll post the second chapter tomorrow, if you guys want it. It'll be Sherlock and John at Scotland Yard, trying to act like each other...while drunk. Teeeehhheeee
I might make this a Johnlock story if y'all are interested and I might also make it M-rated. Soooooo, let me know!
Love Xxx