**I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters within it. So… I may have discovered a kink for Drunk John. I PROMISE this story will have some sort of plot… but I also promise this story will have a shit done of Drunk John.**
"John."
"Hello goooorgeous!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I see you attempted to follow my directions."
John scoffed, positively insulted. He had done exactly what Sherlock said! No attempting, he did it. Two weeks and three meetings after that first morning, he'd had no further information, so Sherlock had told him to go out and get everyone drunk. John was a part of everyone. John had followed directions perfectly. He glared. Then the room tilted and he grabbed the door frame to hold himself up. Oops. "I did-I did everything you told me to." He nodded in affirmation.
Sherlock cocked his head. "And how drunk did we get in the process, my dear Doctor Watson?"
John giggled and held up his thumb and forefinger, closing one eye. "Only a bit."
Sherlock laughed and shook his head.
John grinned. "You're pretty when you laugh." He thought back over that then realized: "Actually, you're pretty all the time. So pretty. Your eyes are all pretty and your hair. That hair! Mm. Pretty pretty pretty."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you, John. I am fully aware of how you feel about my looks."
"And your voice!" John reminded him. Had he really thought John didn't love his voice? Because he did. Oh, he did. "That voice. So deep, I feel it like-" John pressed a finger to his chest. "Here. Right here."
The look on Sherlock's face was really hard to read when there was two of him. "John, I think you need to get back to your room."
John shook his head. "No, no, not yet. We never hang out, Sherlock. Just you and me. We never like, ya know-" John lost track of his thoughts as he stared at Sherlock's shimmering grey eyes. Those pretty eyes. He'd had dirty dreams about those eyes.
"We never…" Sherlock prompted, waiving his hand at him to continue.
John furrowed his brow, confused. "We never what?"
"Oh for God's sake, really I think it's time for you to get back to your room and go to sleep."
"Don't be mad," John pouted as he stepped toward Sherlock. "I like you."
"I'm not mad, John, I just think you'd better go back to your room. You're very drunk and I don't want you doing anything you may regret."
John furrowed his brow. What would he regret? "But I wanted to see you. I like looking at you." He just wanted to tell Sherlock the truth. How could he regret the truth? It was the right thing to do. Always tell the truth.
"Alright, well did you hear anything tonight at least? Before you got inebriated?"
John shook his head. "I'm not in-e-ine-braided."
"Yes you are."
John giggled. "You're so smart, Sherlock. So so smart. Brilliant even. Like super, extra brilliant."
Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh. "Who all was with you tonight, John?"
"Umm..." God it was hard to think when looking at that beautiful face. "It was... Bill...and Jamie... And Andrew... And Frank... And John...And-wait." John burst into more giggles. "Me. John is me. I'm John!"
Sherlock scrubbed a hand down his face. "Alright, well clearly you didn't get any information for me."
John pouted. "I'm sorry but don't be-mad okay? Don't be mad at m-me. Your eyes get all-" he spun a finger at Sherlock's face, "all serious when you're mad and it's too sexy. I can't take it." John giggled again. "It makes me feel all... wobbly." Mm and warm inside. So warm. Angry Sherlock was hot as fuck. Did he tell Sherlock that? He should. "You're hot as fuck when you're angry. How are you at angry sex? Amazing, I bet."
"Christ, John, seriously, you need to go to bed."
John grinned. "Okay. I'll go to bed right there." He pointed at the bed behind Sherlock. "And you, Mr. Gorgeous, are coming with."
Sherlock was quiet for a long moment and then with conviction said "No."
"Come on," John wined. "I'm a fantastic shag and I can't stop thinking about you n-naked." He hiccupped on the last word and giggled. The word naked was silly. He liked it. "Naked," he said again and laughed, tossing his head back.
Bad plan.
World spinning.
John clutched a hand to his head. "Ow."
"Yes, I can only assume that didn't feel the best," Sherlock murmured. "You need to go back to your room, John. Now."
John frowned. "Why don't you like me? I like you. I'm-I'm trying to do all the things you want. How many m-meetings have we had?"
"Three," Sherlock replied with a sigh.
John threw his hands up, exasperated. "Three! That's like... like three dates! We're basically dating. Third dates mean sexy times." He nodded once sure he made his point convincing.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, you are killing me. Go to bed."
John's eyes were dancing again. Which was odd seeing as he hadn't danced at all tonight. Because Sherlock hadn't been there. And he wanted to dance with Sherlock.
"I wanted to dance with you," John said, tripping as he took a step forward. Sherlock caught him by the waist. "You're so strong," John cooed, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's neck. "Mm, my strong Sherlock."
"John," Sherlock murmured above him and John pressed a kiss to his neck. He was sure he'd like that.
"You're so warm and cozy," John continued, deciding what his next move was going to be. Should he kiss his ear? Maybe put his hand on his chest? Or his belt? John couldn't decide. So many choices! He groped his hands around Sherlock's body, realizing how hard it was to do this when his eyes were closed.
"Alright John, you can sleep here but please, for the love of God, will you shut up and stop grabbing at me?"
Mm that sounded promising. He could let Sherlock take charge, no problem. He tried to open his eyes, waiting for Sherlock to take him. He felt strong hands on him and he groaned. Sherlock told him not to speak and he knew how to follow orders, but he wasn't so sure he could keep all the noises he wanted to make at bay. He would try though. For Sherlock. Because gorgeous Sherlock asked.
He was being guided and he let it happen. Gorgeous Sherlock was going to shag him. Hooray! He'd been dreaming about this! Every meeting they had was physical torture. Not to stare, to lean in, to touch, to taste, to bloody do. And now it was happening. John couldn't have been prouder of himself for finally, finally seducing Major Sherlock Holmes. Good on you, John. Well done.
He hoped he wasn't smiling too widely as he was enveloped by softness on his back. Sherlock was laying him down in bed. John wanted to cheer with excitement.
A soft moan was heard in the room and he couldn't decide if it was from him or Sherlock but it was delicious. He giggled. "You're so warm," he said again, trying to whisper, hoping it sounded as sexy as it did in his head, and hoping if he spoke softly Sherlock would be okay with him speaking.
The bed was so cozy and nice and he tried to wrap himself up in it. He waited to feel Sherlock near him, preferably on top of him. When nothing happened, he tried to move again, finding it increasingly difficult. Why did his limbs feel so heavy? Why couldn't he open his eyes?
"Okay," he garbled. "Y-you're gunna have to do all the work."
"Sleep, John." That voice sounded so far away and John tried to shake his head.
"No, no, I'm ready." Those words didn't sound right out loud. They didn't sound like words at all. They sounded like a groan. Was that him? Oh no.
He tried to argue. He tried to fight back through to consciousness. He tried to move his body and open his eyes and pay attention. He didn't want to miss out on sex with Sherlock!
The last thing he heard before the darkness enveloped him entirely was the quiet click of a door closing and he knew, without a doubt, that he was alone.
**I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters within it. So… I may have discovered a kink for Drunk John. I PROMISE this story will have some sort of plot… but I also promise this story will have a shit done of Drunk John.**
