A/N: Probably going to continue this as a series of connected one shots but updates will be extremely sporadic! :)
All John had wanted was a nap.
It was probably inevitable that something would have gone wrong with his little plan. He shared a flat with Sherlock, after all. But John had run errands all day, interspersed with "helpful" reminders and texts from Sherlock. Didn't he deserve a bit of a break?
At around five that night, John stumbled back into the flat, arms laden with grocery bags and books.
"Here," he said, tossing a particularly menacing looking tome at Sherlock. He caught it effortlessly, then shifted back into his default "bored" posture.
"Johnnnnnn," he whined. John took one look at Sherlock and walked up the stairs. "John?"
"I'm taking a nap. I'll be down for dinner later. Try not to destroy anything in the meantime, will you?"
John had never been a heavy sleeper, but the military had made him an extremely light one. Never knew what that creaking noise was in a war zone, and assume the worst, hope for the best could have been his motto. But John was used to hearing Sherlock puttering around the flat all night long, so it took longer for him to wake up than it should have.
What finally did it was a click.
John started awake and found Sherlock leaning over him, camera in hand.
"What the hell," John moaned, rubbing his head.
"Well, that was unexpected. Due to your eye motion, I guessed you were in deep REM sleep."
"What the hell are you doing in my room?"
"An experiment, of course." Sherlock looked offended. "I'm between cases, John."
John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "So you thought it would be a good idea to take pictures of me in my sleep…why?"
"I have been lecturing about history, art, and philosophy while you sleep to see if it will improve your IQ. The pictures are for through documentation."
John put a hand to his face and shook his head. Why? Why was it him who had decided to rent a flat with this lunatic?
"Sherlock, you can't just experiment on me without my knowledge!" (or permission, John thought, but one step at a time). "Not Good, Sherlock. Not Good."
Sherlock suddenly steepled his fingers and leaned forward, a curious glint in his eye. For one fleeting moment John thought he may have finally gotten through to him.
"Tell me, John, do you feel any smarter?"
John gaped at him for a moment.
Then,"That's it. I'll see you later."
John walked into the popular pub a street away from the flat and fought his way past the crowd to get a seat at the counter. When he finally sat down, he lowered his head to the wooden counter for a second's rest. He still was tired, after all, and now he was just plain exasperated.
"What's wrong? You must be pretty out of sorts to want to put your head on that." John looked up and saw a large, friendly man behind the counter beaming down at him.
"Hasn't been cleaned in years," he said, whispering conspiratorially. John reluctantly picked his head up and rubbed his neck.
"What'll you have? Bloke like you, seems like you could need a stiff drink."
"I'll take the hardest you have."
The man smiled wide. "Rum, then."
John relaxed a bit and smiled back. "Sounds lovely."
Three shots later, John was completely at ease.
"So, my flatmate, right? He's a strange one- has this skull. He likes to talk to it, you see."
"Like Hamlet?" The man at the bar reached to refill John's shotglass.
"Yeah. Gets a bit weird. He drives me a bit mad sometimes."
"I used to have a flatmate, right after I got out of university. He was just boring."
"Sherlock's not boring, at least. Cheers to that!" John raised his glass and drank more, feeling warm as the drink ran down his throat.
Soon, John lost track of the time (and of the drinks).
"Hey, have I told you I have a flatmate?"
The bartender smiled, amused. "You may have told me."
"Oh." John deflated a bit. "Well, he has this skull."
It took Sherlock a while to realize John was gone. Right after John had awoken, Sherlock had retreated into his Mind Palace to memorize the results of the experiment, so he missed most of John's complaints, but even he didn't miss the wounded, confused look on John's face. Sherlock found it very hard to ignore that look on John's face, the one that told him more than any words could that Sherlock had done something Not Good.
But still, it took time to catalogue precise REM eye movements in correlation to philosophical movements of the 1800s, so it was eight before Sherlock emerged from his mind.
"John?"
No answer.
Sherlock sighed. He'd just wait, then.
His cell phone buzzed.
Sherlock sighed louder.
"Johnnnnnnnnn."
He looked at his cell phone intently, willing it to move into his hand.
"Fine." Sherlock abruptly stood. He would find John and- he checked his phone- bring him along on this newest case.
Now, where to find him… oh, easy. Took his heavy coat and wallet, but not his phone- didn't want to be bothered, didn't go far enough away to feel unsafe without his phone, but brought money. Heavy coat- he probably walked. And he was annoyed at me, Sherlock thought uneasily.
Pub it is.
Sherlock arrived in the pub with his collar turned up and a sour expression on his face. Accordingly, people parted in his wake until he reached the counter, where he found John excitedly telling the bartender about his skull. It took John a minute to realize Sherlock was there, but when he did his face broke out into a smile.
"Sher-lock!" John crowed, pronouncing each syllable carefully so as to get them right. "Where did you come from?"
"God, John, what have you been drinking? You smell like cheap alcohol."
The bartender looked at John. "This your flatmate?"
"Yeah." John leaned closer. "He can be a bit of an arse, can't he?"
The bartender chuckled as Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.
"Lestrade just texted me- there's been a murder, and it looks like the work of a serial killer!" Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "We've got to go; exciting things are happening!"
Sherlock could see John thinking, carefully and slowly. He could also see the horrified expression that came onto John's face as he thought about going on the case. Finally, John took a deep breath and said the one thing inebriated people don't say.
"Sherlock, I'm drunk."
"Do you really want to skip out on this case so badly? Nonsense, I need an assistant. Come along."
Sherlock laid some money on the counter and turned on his heel. The man behind the counter eyed the bills and coins.
"Well, I like your friend."
John stood shakily and stumbled after Sherlock, the tall man's coat already disappearing into the crowd.
"Come again!"
Out on the street, Sherlock waited impatiently for John to catch up. When John finally did, breathing heavily and bent half over, Sherlock's gaze softened.
"You know, in this pitiful state you only would slow me down. I'll be fine for one night without an assistant. "Sherlock glanced over John once more. "I have to make a stop at Baker Street anyway; I forgot something. You best come along."
Sherlock stiffly slipped an arm around John's shoulders. John leaned heavily into him, and they hobbled back to Baker Street.
The next morning John awoke to find his boots were off and his coat was thrown haphazardly onto a nearby chair, but that the rest off his clothes were still in place. He had been awkwardly but gently tucked into bed. For a moment, John didn't want to move out from the covers pulled up to his chin, but he spotted a note on the side table and John was nothing if not a curious person. As soon as he truly started to move John was hit by a blinding headache. Oh. So that was what he had done last night. He managed to make it to the note, and finding a glass of water and two aspirin nearby, he downed them in one greedy gulp. Then John unraveled the note and squinted to focus on the scrawl:
John-
Would it be too much to ask for you to not drink yourself into idiocy when a case might arise? I apologize for not informing you of my experiment, but I see no reason why you would turn to the wretched drink that is alcohol- and rum, John, really? In any case, I will be gone until the late afternoon- I should have the case resolved by then- and then we can go out for dinner. How does Chinese sound?
Enjoy your hangover.
Yours,
SH