I had oral surgery... and that is why this took so long. It was supposed to be one big lengthy chapter, but i wanted to post at least something, so i split it.

John stumbled up the stairs to flat 221B as quietly as his drunkenness would allow him to. After a few minutes trying to remember how to twist the door knob correctly, John let himself in and closed the door. "Shh..." John shushed when it slammed loudly.

Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow from his station by the window. He winced when he heard John crash into something solid and cause various contents to fall onto the floor. "John?" he asked, cautiously, as he walked into the kitchen.

John lay splayed out on the floor on his back, surrounded by a few shattered pieces of glasses and a ceramic mug. "S-ssherlock!" he shouted, eyes wide and bloodshot, as if he expected not to get caught. "What are you doing here?" he slurred.

Sherlock walked over to John and squat down until he was sitting on his heels. "You're home, John."

"Home?" he hummed as if it was a foreign concept. "I like home... Matt's there...and Janet...and Chad..." he hiccupped. "Sherlock's there to... I like Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled slightly and rubbed the fringe from John's forehead. John hummed under his ministrations. "Did you have fun tonight?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Beer is really good..." he answered.

Sherlock sighed. He'd have to talk to Lestrade about John's drinking. It probably wasn't a good idea to get sloshed in his condition. "Come on John, off the floor."

"D-don't tell Sherlock I broke a few of his test tubes. He'll be angry," he whispered loudly.

Sherlock put an arm under each of John's shoulder and helped levy John off the floor. He kept a firm grip around his waist as John swayed. Sherlock brushed off any stuck on glass and surveyed him for injuries as John steadied himself. "Turn around," Sherlock commanded. He continued to pat John off as he turned until he was sure there were no more traces of glass. "Can you stay standing if I let go of you, or are you going to end up on the floor again?" John swayed quietly, smiling and giggling at Sherlock's nose, when a hiccupped almost caused him to tumble back onto the floor. "I guess that's a no..." Sherlock huffed as he caught John and maneuvered him to lean on a counter. "Stay here. I'm just going to get you a glass of water."

"No water! Beer! We need some more beer!"

"No more beer. You smell as if you were practically drowned in the stuff." John laughed and shook his head. "Drink," Sherlock commanded before the other could speak, "or else you are going to find out why you shouldn't drink like a fish in the morning."

John took the cup and started to drink. "Yuck. What is in here?" he demanded, pushing the cup back toward Sherlock, spilling some of the contents on the front of his coat.

"It's just faucet water. Drink it."

"Okay..." he hummed. He drank a few more gulps before setting the cup on the edge of the counter and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. "You're very comfy," John sighed as he leaned into his chest.

"To bed." Sherlock moved the glass further away from the edge of the counter and started to unwrap John's arms from around his neck. Sherlock slung one of John's arms over his shoulders and headed towards the direction of John's room. They stumbled and tripped as Sherlock lead John though the main room towards the stairs. "Can you make it up?"

John looked at the stairs that lead to his room. He stared at the first one and licked his lips, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Maybe, if he stared hard enough, the stairs would just carry him up to his room. John's foot hovered over the first step, not sure which step was real and which were just doubles.

"Okay, let's go this way," Sherlock commanded when they hadn't made any progress yet. He led him down the short hall that leads to his room.

"This is Sherlock's room..." John slurred softly.

"I know," Sherlock said as he opened the door and turned on the light. "You can't make it to your room and you really need to sleep," he explained. He deposited John on his bed and helped him take off his shoes. "I'll be right back. Don't get up."

Sherlock quickly went back into the kitchen and grabbed the glass of water and a couple of Advil tablets. When he returned, John was curled up on one side of the bed, his back facing him. Sherlock quietly walked over to John's sleeping figure and set the water and medication down on the bedside table. He leaned over John's body to see if the man was really asleep when an arm shot out and encompassed his waist. He was quickly flipped over onto the bed and pinned beneath John before he even had time to react. He should never let his guard down around Drunk John. John was even more sneaky inebriated than not.

"John..." Sherlock huffed.

John buried his face in Sherlock's neck and softly nuzzled the exposed skin. He giggled, the vibrations shaking them both. "I fooled ya... You thought I was asleep," he slurred.

"Yes, John. Very good. Now, you have to get off and go to sleep. You're still drunk. I know for a fact you are not faking that."

"I'm not tired," he mumbled into his skin, placing a soft kiss on the exposed skin. "I want to do something..."

"Like what?"

"I don't know... Something we can both enjoy..." John tried seductively, but it fell short due to a burp that snuck up on him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We both enjoy sleeping," he tried."

"You never sleep unless your body makes you," John pouted, sad Sherlock has just blatantly lied to him. He gave Sherlock's shoulder a small nip in revenge.

"John...," he sighed. "You need to get off."

"I agree. Let's do that Sherlock. Let's have sex."

Sherlock stared up at John, shocked. He guessed the whole coy, seductive tactic was out the window. "John," he gasped, speechless.

"Do you not want to? Do you not like me like that?"

"No, no, no, John. It's just... We..." Sherlock shut his eyes and tried to rub the impending headache away. "John, you're drunk; if only that were the only problem with this," he said offhand. Sherlock opened his mouth to continue, but quickly shut it in favor to think for a minute. He had been trying to lure John into his bed for a while. He'd be able to complete this aspect of his experiment and move onto the final part. There was still John's condition to take into effect. John is drunk. Usually, he wouldn't be propositioning, so everyday sober John wouldn't like the fact that he had just had drunken sex with a sober Sherlock. Plus, the reliability of the experiment would be compromised do to the variable of John being drunk. It would be different if he were sober. in addition, morning, sober John would probably panic and feel violated from being taken advantage. That couldn't be good on their growing relationship and for his condition.

"John... I know you," he said patiently. "You don't actually want this. What kind of person would I be if I took advantage of your vulnerability?"

"A very well fucked man." John dissolved into a fit of giggles. After a few seconds, he stopped and cleared his throat. "Sorry about the language. I mean a well laid man."

"John," Sherlock growled slightly. "Under no circumstances are we doing anything like that. You need to sleep and to stop treating me like I'm a chair. Get off."

"Then what are we going to do?" John whined. "I don't want to go to bed. I'm not tired."

"Well, you're not fit to go to bed in this state. Maybe if you got more comfortable, you'd feel sleepier." Sherlock nudged and pushed an uncooperative John back to his side of the bed. "Come on...jacket off," he commanded as he helped John shrug off the jacket. "Jumper too." Sherlock moved down to pull off John's socks. He dropped them next to John's shoes before crawling back up the bed and leaned against the headboard. "See, isn't this better? Doesn't it make you...sleepy?"

John sighed and turned towards Sherlock, throwing an arm over his body. "I'm still not tired," he slurred softly, yawning on the contrary. "Talk to me."

"Umm... I thought you didn't drink."

"I never said I didn't drink, I said I don't like to get drunk..."

"And why was this night so different?"

John giggled, "Beer is really good." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "And Greg is a really nice friend." Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn't have a chance to comment before John continued. "Drunk is bad, though," he sighed. "Can't stop the nightmares... The flashbacks..."

"The flashbacks?" Sherlock asked as he ran his hand through John's hair.

"They break through..."

Sherlock hummed. "Have to tell Lestrade about letting you drink so much then."

"Greg's a good friend..." John giggled.

"So you have said. So, you're friends now?"

"Yeah... He's a good friend."

"Moving on...," he sighed exasperated. "What did you do?"

"Talk."

"Obviously. Please elaborate."

"We talked about me...," John drawled, making small circles with his finger on the side of Sherlock's thigh, "…;about you...about rugby." Sherlock hummed, processing the information. "He told me about your drug addiction."

Sherlock stiffened. John let out a whine of discontent when the stroking stopped and looked up at Sherlock. "He what?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows knitting together with confusion.

"He wouldn't tell me everything, though. He said...he said that you should tell me the more graphic details... but, the overall choice was to be yours. He told me the basics."Sherlock hummed, thinking. He began stroking John's hair once more. "Will you tell me?" John asked so quietly Sherlock almost missed the question.

Sherlock sighed. "John, you're drunk. You probably won't even remember it if I told you."

"You never know... I have a pretty good memory. Three other people and all," he stated proudly, holding up two fingers.

"And why didn't these 'three other people' stop you from consuming so much alcohol?"

"I don't know?" John answered truthfully, confused himself.

"John," Sherlock sighed. "I didn't tell you about that part because I didn't want that to influence our working relationship."

"But, now we are past that, aren't we? Aren't we practicing trust?"

"You know how I hate to repeat myself, so I think it would be best-"

"On and on with excuses... If you don't want to tell me, then just tell me so. Don't make up excuses," he growled, grumpy. He turn away from Sherlock and tried to give him a cold shoulder.

Sherlock sighed. Of course John, even drunk, could see when Sherlock was trying to dance around the subject.

"I-it was a period in my life I'm not too fond of. I don't usually tell people because it's just another weakness they can use against me."

John glanced over his shoulder softly, not sure if he wanted to turn around just yet.

Sherlock rung his hands, unsure if he was willing to commit to this decision of letting John know his darkest secret. He hadn't told anyone his true feelings about his addiction, due partially to the fact of a lack of people who bothered to want to know and a lack of trust in the ones who did. Mycroft only knew the surface of the addiction, just as everyone else, but he kept the real struggle locked away inside where no one will discover it.

"I-I had always excelled at equations and studies set before me. I was young and juvenile and I felt I was invincible..." Sherlock let out a long, strained sigh. "I guess there are parts of me that is not so unusual compared to others. I hear a lot of people at that age go through that faze..." he said, off hand.

John frowned. It seemed that this subject was going to be very hard for Sherlock to get off his chest. He had never seen Sherlock squirm when discussing a certain subject. Usually, when he didn't want to talk about something, he'd just skirt around the subject. But this, this seemed too personal. Almost as if he was struggling with himself to tell him.

John reached up to put his hand over Sherlock's mouth, but due to the alcohol, he ended up on the corner of his mouth. Sherlock knitted his eyebrows in confusion. John squinted his eyes and poked the area his hand felt. He knew it felt wrong and moved his hand around until Sherlock's mouth was mostly beneath his hand.

"I don't want to seem like I've man-ip-u-la-ted," he said slowly, breaking down the word he had trouble saying, "you into telling me this."

Sherlock looked deeply into John's eyes, looking for anything that would tell him what was going through John's head.

"You're right. I'm too drunk to actively listen and remember this conversation. Tell me tomorrow," John sighed and wobbled a little bit before going limp and flopping back onto the mattress, unconscious.

Sherlock quickly reached out for John before he fell off the edge of the bed and wrestled him towards the center. He sighed, quickly glancing over John to make sure he was okay before getting off his bed. Sherlock placed a bin next to the side of John in case he had any...business he had to attend to in the morning.

Sherlock looked down at John. Even though he didn't look particularly comfortable, the sight of John sleeping in his bed seemed...perfect. The thought of sharing a bed with another human being had never actually seemed appealing, but it hadn't been so bad last time he had slept next to John. In fact, he had been quite comfortable. Nice even, if he were being truthful.

Sherlock stumbled back. He placed a hand over his racing heart, shocked. A thought like that had never crossed his mind. Out of all the times he had ever felt lonely or even frightened, he had never craved the attention of another person. He was growing too fond of his subject. It wasn't smart. It would create biases and skew his results. How could he have ever let it get this far?

John moved on the bed, catching Sherlock's attention. He held his breath, praying that John wouldn't awaken. A few seconds later, John settled into a more comfortable position and quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

Sherlock relax slightly. This thing he had with John was getting to be too much. He was too involved with things John did outside of the experiment or even outside of their friendship. He knew he needed to take a step back, but that would be easier said than done. He had grown a certain...fondness for John. A habit was always hard to break and John would be the hardest of them all.

Sherlock walked across the room and turned off the light. He turned back to make sure John would be fine before leaving his room and shutting the door. He'd stay out on the couch tonight. He needed the space to think about what he was going to do.