As promised, I am back with a chapter. I would really like to say that I hope I can be back around more often and I hope I can update soon, I don't really want to leave you hanging.

So I hope you enjoy this, even if it is a tad shorter than I wanted it to be.

Warning: alcohol and mild drug references

Sherlock Holmes hazily realized that he was drunk and more than a bit stoned. Really, truly wasted and half-passed out on the couch, taking hits off the multiple joints making their way around the room. He didn't really care all that much. He was used to the feeling and John wasn't around to play mother hen and watch his every move.

The moment they'd stepped into the darkened house, sloshing cups of liquid had been forced into their hands and John became an almost completely different person, slipping right back into his old life and leaving Sherlock on the sidelines, disappearing some ten minutes after the walked in.

It was to be expected, Sherlock knew it was going to happen sooner or later the moment John mentioned the party and begrudgingly agreed to go. And it's not like it was John's fault, really. The vast amount alcohol and noxious smoke and the bass-heavy music and stifling crowds was enough to alter anyone's better judgement, including his own.

He knew he probably shouldn't be doing any of this. He should have binned the alcohol and refused the joints, but he honestly couldn't think of a reason. He was at a party, and that's what people do at parties. He was sure John wouldn't really care. It's not like he was around to care anyway. This wasn't going to become a regular thing, he wasn't going to go back to the life he'd led before, doing horrible things for a hit of whatever substance struck his fancy when his father's pilfered money ran out.

It was socially lubricating anyway, for lack of a better word. Sherlock knew that if he hadn't drank or smoked something, he would've been relegated to awkwardly sitting in the corner all night. But he'd actually been talking to people, at least when people struck up conversation first.

Those people turned out to be almost entirely girls of the scantily-clad and drunk off their rocker variety...and Sherlock wasn't really sure why they seemed so interested in him. Every so often one would just drop down next to him, nearly spilling their drink in the process. Then they'd start laughing too loudly at everything he said even if he wasn't trying to be funny and touching his arm and rubbing their fingers across his chest.

It was strange, and not really in a good way.

Wait, he wasn't sure if it was good or bad, he couldn't decide.

Did they think he was attractive or something? Was he attractive? Were they trying to flirt with him or something?

Girls were not really his area. He honestly had no idea what was going on, let alone what he was supposed to do in this sort of situation. It's not like this kind of thing came up often for him, he'd been in all-male boarding schools since as long as he could really remember, and certainly wasn't the sort of social person that maintained relationships with the nearby boarding school girls. He was a loner, people hated him and he hated people in turn, and therefore he hated himself. Now he could only guess that liked him for some unknown reason or something and that he should just go along with whatever they wanted and wait until the inevitably got pulled away by one of their equally as scantily-clad friends.

But this one girl, with her tight silver dress and her blonde hair teased messily and her face caked with makeup, who hand't even introduce herself, just wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried. She ignored everything he said and just kept giggling and pushing him lightly, even going so far as to run her fingers through his hair. Fingers in his hair moved pretty quickly to an overly made-up face buried in his neck and filthy things whispered in his ear.

Okay, seriously. What was supposed to do right now? What did he even want to happen? His mind was reeling and everything felt foggy. He couldn't even think straight. Basically, there were probably two options right now, either do something to get her to go away or let whatever happens happen. When would he ever get this chance again...but did he even want to do whatever it is this girl wanted to do?

He really wished John was around. Where was he anyway? Sherlock looked around frantically, trying to spot his friend and really wishing he could get some help escaping or maybe a little advice. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, trying to find it so he could text John.

The mystery girl grabbed his hand though before he could make, "Ah ah ah," she slurred, grinning like a maniac, "No...no phones. I can think of sooo many better things to do."

Back to the whispering again, his skin crawling as her alcohol scented breath wafted around him. He kept alternating between revulsion and curiosity and confusion and he couldn't figure out which was more present.

"I-I, erm, I should be going," he murmured, trying to disentangle himself from the long arms and fly-away blonde hair, already searching the room for his friend.

"Nooooo, I don't think so," she mumbled seductively, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him closer to the point where their noses were touching and he couldn't help but stare into her glassy eyes, "You know what I ttthink? I think that we should take our own little party upstairs, yeah? Make this night a bit more interesting?"

Sherlock could only nod in return, hoping that this was a halfway decent decision even if he knew it wasn't. Did...did he want whatever this was? Yes. No. Maybe?

Oh Sherlock, what are you getting yourself into now...

Let me know what you think :)

I hope you all enjoyed and I hope to be back soon.