John Watson's life had been dragging since Sherlock had… died.
He was awoken by the sunlight or a worried Mrs Hudson, he never really saw or talked to people; they tried but he would say something that reminded him or he wouldn't say anything at all to save himself the pain of remembering. Mycroft called, Lestrade was never seen near 221 B after the night he arrested Sherlock, the night he fell. Molly was a nervous wreck all the time, she came around to check on John, she came to the funeral and visited everyday the first year of his death but they never talked much, she still felt guilty for what she helped Sherlock do, for what she did and what they where still doing to John.
It was only a month into the new year when John broke his first New year's revolution; Throw his phone away, and he had, he had checked it everyday, every second on a bad day. Just in case it was all a dream and Sherlock rang wanting him to meet him and some obscure crime scene or to pick him up at the airport, but it never happened, never such a call or text. He changed his ringtone so he knew who it was, one song for each person. Sarah had even called a few times, asking…checking on him.
But today was John's birthday and, if anything, he wasn't going to wallow.
What do normal people have in their normal lives?
So John went out, with Sanford and some officers he'd gotten to know with his time working with Scotland Yard. Getting hammered with a butch of officers can only go one way.
"So Watson, how old are ye' tonight?"
"some things are better left unknown, don't you think, Greg?" John laughed as they got out of the taxi and where met by 11 or so people outside and Irish themed pub, Greg laughed and gestured for John to go first, the mixed sent of beer, food, smoke and more beer filled John's senses, making him smile as he took a breathe in. "No, no. We're paying. You go get a table" Smiled Greg when he pulled his wallet out, thankful for the offer but disappointed when he realised Stanford hadn't come.
They sat in a long booth for ten, squished up slightly to let on the extra few, near the door to the small yard of the pub so smoke would billow in and surrender to John's eruge of something, anything that would make him forget. But tonight was his night. So they laughed and drank, played drinking games and truth or dare, they talked in small groups but all the while John felt as if he wasn't there. More like he didn't belong there. These people where colleges and friends but they were strangers when it came to talking, no one liked the same TV shows, it was all breakfast shows and football with the male officers and people TV with the women, so John scrapped the TV talk and went to work, which was a bad idea, everyone knew his story, or part of it. Army doctor, Sherlock's college and then retired from both now at the surgery… again. A tedious job really, but this was his night. He wanted to have fun.
"SPIN THE BOTTLE!" Yelled one of the happy-drunk girls who was now sat on a very uncomfortable Declan Raymond's knee as she laughed herself to liver damage.
So the bottle was spun and kisses where passed, drinks where downed and John's vision began to blur and he started to become a happy drunk to so when it landed on him when Lestrade spun it, he simply didn't care.
Then the 'Have you ever's' started
"Have you ever slept naked"
"Have you ever dreamt of a college"
"Have you ever slept in a skip"
"Have you ever kissed a girl"
"Have you ever kissed a boy"
"Have you ever loved a guy" "Sherlock" came John's slurred answer, unfortunately he was sober enough to feel his heart sink at his word's, to feel the tension Greg was letting off and he stormed out of the pub leaving 10 confused drunk's, a silent Detective Inspector and a broken hearted consulting Detective.