Sherlock stood in front of the cracked mirror, needlessly flicking at his brown locks. Well, he was at a gay bar after all. In truth, he was just wasting time. He was nervous, an emotion Sherlock rarely felt. If at all. He didn't normally feel any emotion usually. He was a high functioning sociopath, and proud to be one. His only exception was John. He was his one weakness. What did those mundane beings call it? Love, that was it. He didn't like feeling any emotion. What if John rejected him? Another needless emotion would follow, humiliation. He sighed, gave his hair one last adjustment and walked towards the bathroom door. John would start to get suspicious. He'd been almost 10 minutes now. He pushed open the heavy wooden door.
John was having a good time. He wasn't too drunk, just a few shots and several bottles of that obscure drink of Sherlock's. He'd finished off a tray of shots when he thought no one was looking. Yummm. OH SHIT. Sherlock was coming out of the gents. Nice hair. Fuck. Sherlock did not look a happy bunny. He was going to hide.
Oh great. He'd left John for ten minutes, and look what happened. He looked heavily drunk. Judging by the amount of glasses surrounding him, he'd had more than a dozen shots, and several bottles of Speedball (a personal favourite of Sherlock's – Vodka and Redbull). Did John really need a full time babysitter? He didn't want to be the sober, responsible one. That was John job, although now he seemed clearly incapacitated. He approached the bar. John shouted his name and waved. Several people turned and stared. Sherlock blatantly ignored them. John had clearly seen the stern expression on his face, because now he was attempting to hide under a table. With people sitting round it. He felt like a parent with a misbehaving two year old. John would regret this later. After finally managing to extract John, he sat him down at a table.
Sherlock was pissed off. Even in his drunken state, John could tell that. He kept smiling and giggled. John thought he might have tried to stroke his face several times. Then that lovely waiter came around taking orders. Before he could even get a word in, Sherlock shooed him off. John wasn't happy.
"What was that for? I wanted another drink! This isn't fair!" John slurred drunkenly.
"In case it hasn't escaped your notice John, life isn't fair. Anyway, you are severely drunk and I don't want to be the one wiping vomit of your face in the morning. I'll take you outside for some fresh air. It might sober you up."
John complacently followed Sherlock outside the back door of the bar, into an alleyway filled with the putrid stench of garbage.
"Those aren't especially good shoes you're wearing, are they?"
"Um, I don't think so..." John was confused.
"Good. Don't hate me for what I'm about to do. It's the only way to make
you sober."
"What..." but before John could get another word in; Sherlock had pushed him up against the alley wall and shoved two fingers done his throat. John couldn't help it, he wretched. Vomit spewed up onto the cobbled floor, Sherlock nimbly stepping aside. John was surprised, but he felt better with less alcohol in his system, although he'd still have a killer hangover in the morning. Once John had finished spewing, he turned and stared at Sherlock.
"What the hell was that for?" John exclaimed angrily. He felt humiliated. Had he been that drunk? He still felt woozy.
"Do you like mints?" Sherlock asked, seemingly unaffected by John's anger.
"Yes, but not now..." but before he could protest, Sherlock had popped three mints in his mouth. "You stink, John" he said calmly.
John was surprised. That was thoughtful of him, "Thank you", he managed to say through a mouthful of mints and saliva.
"Let's go inside, shall we? The competition's probably about to start," Sherlock looked slightly twitchy, he was nervous, but refused to show it.
Sherlock went first through the door, John following. He was still dizzy, and he stumbled on the step, but before he fell to the ground, Sherlock darted to his side and caught him by the arm. John looked up at him; Sherlock was looking at him, his eyes full of concern and worry, and despite his confused and dazed emotions, John felt a tingle off electricity go through him.
"Thanks."
Sherlock seemingly ignored his gratitude and continued on walking. John, exasperated at Sherlock's rejection of his thanks, but well used to it by now, followed reluctantly.
