Awkward Sex

Once back at 221B, Sherlock and John stumbled out of the cab, throwing their bill into the vehicle as best they could before staggering up to the doorway and fumbling with the keys. Sherlock, being the more sober of the two, was able to get the keys in the door and open it with relative ease before stumbling inside and into the stairs. John followed quickly after.

They headed upstairs, both giving the other suggestive smirks all the way to the second floor of the flat until they settled into the couch close together.

Minutes passed in drunken silence before John got up. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"I think we have a few bottles of wine here ssssomewhere," John slurred. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew that they didn't need anything else to drink, but instead of stopping John and telling him so, he just smiled and followed John into the kitchen. After searching in cabinets, in the fridge, and in the drawers, they finally found the cabinet where they stored the alcohol they occasionally bought. While Sherlock pulled out the bottles of wine from the high cabinet, John was busy looking up and down the man's stretching form, all lanky limbs and slightly muscled build. The sandy-haired man licked his lips and could feel his body heating up, his member twitching in excitement once again.

In his drunken stupor, John walked towards the other man, reached out, and groped his arse making the dark-haired man jump and almost drop the two bottles of wine.

"John?" Sherlock asked as he turned around, amused.

"Sssorry," John apologized bashfully, like a schoolboy caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Sherlock smiled lazily and grasped John's arm. "No, it's… fine," he said as he pulled the sandy-haired man close and kissed him sloppily. As John was bringing his hands up to Sherlock's face, the dark-haired man suddenly pulled back with a wicked smile on his face. He held up the bottles of wine in each hand and said, "Let's drink."

And so they drank.

One hour, a serious talk of where everything originated from, and one and a half bottles of wine later, the two men were having trouble staying awake on the couch as they struggled to finish the second bottle of wine. When they were able to focus on something else other than staying awake, they burst into fits of giggles each time, laughing until their faces were red at whatever was in front of them, funny or not.

Sherlock was doing his best to retain at least the mask of being sober enough to think, failing whenever John asked him a question of what color something was or how long had they been sitting on the couch. It felt like it had been days, but he wasn't tired like he was when he was up for days. So that had to mean something, right? Sherlock just didn't know what it meant exactly except that it felt like days to him.

John, however, was the kind of drunk people get when they want enough liquid courage to go and talk to that hot lady at the other end of the room. In this case, Sherlock was that hot lady and John was that kind of drunk. And, boy, were they talking. They had covered possibly every subject there was to talk about within an hour and hadn't even finished drinking yet.

After groping Sherlock's arse from before, John had gotten half-hard. Now, though, he was fully hard under his trousers, his erection pressing painfully against his jeans zipper, and he noticed how beautiful Sherlock was, especially when he put his lips to the bottle of wine. John's imagination ran away with him, letting him see visions of Sherlock's mouth around his hard cock while John finished the rest of the wine. He also had images running through his mind of Sherlock beneath him, completely naked and open before him, ready for John to take him. John's throat tightened and his member twitched again with those thoughts and his face froze with the realization that he wanted Sherlock. He wanted him, and he wanted him now.

Paying no attention to what Sherlock was saying, John leaned to the side towards him and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. It was careless and clumsy, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind. The dark-haired man actually returned the kiss and John could taste the sweet wine on the man's lips combined with taste that was so much like Sherlock. John's hand found a resting place high on Sherlock's thigh and he could feel the man's trousers tight against his waist.

The sandy-haired man broke off the kiss and looked down at the other man's groin. There was a slight bulge in his pants and John smiled as his hand travelled on top of it and squeezed gently. Sherlock inhaled sharply as John pressed and squeezed the dark-haired man through his clothes, furthering his already half-hard erection and eliciting soft moans deep from his chest.

Before John returned to kissing the man, he spoke, "Lie down for me, love." Sherlock obliged with minimal struggle, the alcohol inhibiting his usual gracefulness, and laid down on the couch, the back of it pressing against his left side.

John then unzipped the other man's trousers and undid the button. He carefully pulled down the material, lifting Sherlock's hips up to slide the trousers down around them. Sherlock quickly kicked off his shoes as the trousers met his ankles and slid them off the rest if the way with his feet. He could feel his member twitching as John crawled back up his legs and looked at him with heat in his eyes.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt like he was prey to John, a strong, lusting predator. When the sandy-haired man reached Sherlock's face with his own, the dark-haired man squirmed a bit before rolling onto his side, feeling safer when he wasn't being loomed upon and silently begging John to do the same. The other man apparently heard his silent plea as he shifted his weight, wincing slightly as his shoulder flared in pain at the sudden added weight, but laid down as best he could on the small space for him.

"All right?" John asked before he decided to snog and grope the man again.

Sherlock nodded and tilted his head sideways and leaned forward, capturing John's lips in a soft kiss. Chaste at first, the kiss soon became deep and fierce, both men invading the other's open mouths with their tongue. John could feel pressure on and off on his hips and member and could only think that Sherlock was pressing his own hips against his. He thrust his hips softly forward and felt Sherlock's hardness through their layers of clothes. They began to pick up speed with their thrusts, moaning each time their cocks touched through the fabric.

A few more hard thrusts and John was prepared to take off his own trousers, pants along with it. As he struggled to take off his clothes, he felt the solid couch go out from underneath him, replaced by the disorienting feeling of the world dropping from under him. Before he hit the floor, his head collided with the edge of the table beside the couch, causing him to yelp in pain when he landed on the floor.

A few seconds of seeing stars and white blotches in his vision passed before he could make out Sherlock, ineffectively hiding a smile behind his hand. When John glared at him he burst into laughter, holding his hands to his stomach and rolling onto his back onto the couch.

"You fell!" Sherlock said.

"Great deduction. You must be some sort of genius," John retorted, seeing that Sherlock drunk was not as keen as Sherlock normally. He was blushing intensely from embarrassment and could feel the throb of pain receding into a dull ache as he lifted himself from the floor, careful not to hit the table again on the way up.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asked more serious. His eyes flitted over John's figure and held concern as he reached his hand out, beckoning him to come sit on the couch.

"Yeah," John lied. His head was pounding. He'd be surprised if he didn't have some sort of concussion.

"You're lying," Sherlock stated. "Let me see your head," said the dark-haired man as he reached for the back of John's head.

With a sigh, John surrendered to Sherlock's care for the moment, letting him examine his head for any serious injuries. He winced when the man's slender hand made contact where the table had hit him and steeled himself as Sherlock poked and prodded at the site of the pain.

"See anything?" John asked.

"Looks like just a bruise, John. You'll be fine," Sherlock said as he lowered his hands into his lap.

Before John could respond, his stomach clenched and he could feel the alcohol and all other food he had eaten make its way up to his throat. He ran for the bathroom, covering his mouth with his hand. When he made it to the bathroom, he bent over the toilet and vomited everything he had eaten and drank in the past few hours, which was mostly ale and wine.

"Ugh," John groaned once he was done. He flushed the toilet and went to the sink and started to brush his teeth. Sherlock tentatively walked into the doorframe.

"Alright?" he asked, still smiling slightly.

"Yeah. I think I need to go to bed though," he paused. "Sorry. Sex will have to wait," John said with a smirk.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine with that. I don't want you getting me sick," Sherlock said with a disgusted face. After a moment of watching John brush his teeth, he asked, "Where are you going to sleep?"

"My room? Where else would I sleep?" John answered with his brow furrowing.

"You can sleep in my room. It would be better. So you don't have to go upstairs and risk your health because you're drunk and so you can be close to the bathroom if you get sick again and-" By this point, Sherlock was rambling and John held up a hand to stop him.

"I get it, Sherlock. Alright, I'll sleep in your bedroom. You going to sleep?" he asked as he put the toothbrush back and rinsed his mouth with mouthwash.

"Most likely," the dark-haired man said with a yawn.

"Alright. Be in there in a minute. I just need to go change."

After John changed into his pajamas, a loose tee shirt and comfy pants, he entered Sherlock's room warily to find the sleuth was already in bed and asleep. The sandy-haired man smiled and climbed in next to the other man as quietly as possible, so as not to wake him. He wasn't successful and heard Sherlock grumble and turn towards John. He wrapped his arms around him, snuggling him tightly. John smiled and closed his eyes, letting his drunken dreams take over his mind and body.