So there's a naughty word in this one, the 'f' word, to be exact, because sad, self-pitying John has a bit of a temper. I do apologize.
"10!"
"9!"
John looked around and grinned at all of his friends, the room buzzing with alcohol and the noise from the television they were all crowded around to watch the ball drop.
"8!"
"7!"
"6!"
Mycroft and Lestrade were curled up on one corner of the couch, having recently gone public about their relationship, (Sherlock had already deduced it and told John a month ago). They both were well into their 4th glasses of wine, and Mycroft was wearing a very un-Mycroft conical cardboard party hat.
"5!"
Molly was talking animatedly to her new boyfriend, who she had already excitedly shown off to John and Mrs. Hudson.
"4!"
Sherlock was sulking opposite John in his armchair. He didn't like parties.
"3!"
"2!"
John was also sulking, although he was better at hiding it. His latest girlfriend had dumped him a week earlier, and he was having trouble standing all the canoodling his friends were doing. It wasn't even that he missed HER that much, she hadn't been all that great, and she had a horrific laugh. He knew it was silly, but he just wanted someone warm to hug and love, especially on New Year's. This was ridiculous. He was a soldier, for Christ's sake.
"1!"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Lestrade pulled Mycroft in by his party hat, kissing him sloppily. Molly, still giggling, was embraced by her boyfriend, Jeff, no, Jack. Whatever, at least he wasn't a psychopath murderer this time.
"Happy fucking New Year." John was feeling very sorry for himself indeed.
"Oh for god's sake, John." Sherlock was suddenly right on his left side.
"Sherlock, what are you-" John was cut off by a pair of elegant cupid's-bow lips being smushed up against his own. All thoughts of protest flew out his ears as a thin hand tangled in the short hairs on the back of his neck. Entirely too early, Sherlock pulled back.
"Well, that was interesting." John touched his lips. "And…wet."
Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. He looked unsure, which was not something Sherlock usually was.
"I'm sorry…it didn't mean anything, John." Sherlock looked afraid, which was also not something he usually was. He was staring at his shoes, which John was sure had cost more than all of his own clothes combined.
"Oh, shut up." It was all John had to say. It was not the time for talking. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Sherlock's. They continued snogging, not noticing that the whole room had gone silent.