John was convinced it was the middle of the night. But he eventually worked out it was two in the afternoon. He felt a lot better. His head was less fuzzy and it was no longer possible to fry an egg on his chest. But he needed the bathroom.
His legs were still a little shaky as he tottered down the stairs, nearly falling over at the bottom. Sherlock, who had been lounging on the sofa, with two foot of leg dangling over the arm leapt up to help. He pulled John to his feet. On the coffee table the Skull was engrossed in a Miss Marple rerun.
"Steady John. You look a bit dizzy. Do you need to sit down?"
"No I need the bathroom?"
"Oh Right." Sherlock hitched an arm around John's waist and helped him to the door. If he had been paying more attention John might have noticed Sherlock's hand gently stroking his hip bone as he walked him along, but he was rather focussed on not peeing himself.
"Thanks. I'll be okay from here." John took a step forward and leaned against the door frame.
"I don't think you will John. Let me help you." And he was propelled forwards once more, with the firm pressure around his waist. It was only when he found himself stood in front of the toilet that he discovered he had a problem. A rather large, hard problem that was going to make it impossible to pee without it going everywhere. He hoped Sherlock hadn't noticed. But of course he noticed everything.
"Well at least we know why you are having difficulty standing up. You can't have any blood left in your brain."
"Funny."
"Well let me help you." And before he knew what was happening he was being pulled out of his Pyjama trousers by long cool fingers and pushed forwards. "Go on then John. Get it over with."
Once he'd finished a long and agonising ten minutes of uncertain urination he was really hoping Sherlock would leave him alone. He was actually hoping it was not really happening. Unfortunately Sherlock leaned in very close behind him.
"Did you enjoy that John? It's okay to say yes." And John passed out unceremoniously on the floor.
Sherlock picked him up. Out for the count. Quite heavy for such a small bloke. Probably all that Chinese food. No way was he going to carry him back up those stairs, so Sherlock dumped John on his bed and then went out to see how Miss Marple was doing. The skull framed a question with its bony brows.
"Yeah Once more should do it I think" Sherlock smiled. And Miss Marple decided it was all something to do with Mozart.