I Just Met You and This Is Crazy, but Here's My Shot Glass, so Fill It Maybe
Now if Dean had any idea of 'limits,' or the other two at the table realized just how much he'd already had to drink, since his one drop was much larger than that compared to his bean-sized stomach, he would have stopped or been cut off.
What actually happened was Dean looked around the table in search of more. Realizing Lestrade had already helped himself to a second glass, Dean sent Sherlock a glare for failing to be a good host and providing more whiskey.
With his options narrowed down to either interrupting Sherlock mid-story or securing his own second glass, Dean decided on the latter. Lestrade had that same glazed look that John adopted when Sherlock really got on a bend.
The glass of whiskey was on Lestrade's half of the table, guarded closely by one of the DI's hands, but it hadn't been picked up yet for a sip since being refilled. Dean gave himself at least five minutes before Lestrade remembered it, and started to edge towards that side of the table. Between Sherlock's rambles and the drink buzzing inside him, Dean had an unnatural level of confidence in his ability to go unseen. The glass was only a little taller than he was, clearly he'd be able to reach the alcohol inside to fill his cup again.
He'd earned this whiskey, dammit.
By the time he was halfway across the table, Dean had managed to tune both Sherlock and Lestrade completely out in lieu of his mission for a refill.
Lestrade's attention slipped the more Sherlock droned on about how rubbish he and Scotland Yard were at their jobs and how he and Dean were clearly the superior team to handle these cases. He didn't say so in so many words, but that was the impression Lestrade got. In any case, his eyes couldn't help but wander when he caught motion in the corner of his eye.
He frowned in confusion. Lestrade hadn't been paying much attention to Dean, not wanting to put the kid off any more than he had. Dean had stuck closely with Sherlock, but now he was wandering closer to Lestrade's side. He blinked, perplexed, and looked back to Sherlock as if for guidance.
Sherlock's story faltered only a little as he glanced at Dean. He didn't know what the borrower was up to, but he wasn't about to pluck him back if he was determined. Not in front of Lestrade, while they were trying to build Dean up as an equal. So he narrowed his eyes at Lestrade and carried on with his recollection of the case with the missing ring.
Lestrade sighed, resigning himself to having no help at all from Sherlock. He kept a silent eye on Dean as he approached, wondering why he was coming so close after the whole drama with them thinking he was going to grab Dean.
Without Sam's knack to let him know he'd been noticed, and with his complete focus on his goal, Dean had no clue that Sherlock and Lestrade were keeping track of his progress as he wandered away from the safety of Sherlock's side and closer to Lestrade. He had a goal and that's all that mattered.
The trip to the glass of whiskey went smooth, and Dean glanced to either side when he got there as though he'd forgotten that he was on a table with two humans, looking around for anyone else his size that might be watching him.
The placid, darkly amber liquid in the glass called to him. There was enough in there to fill a hot tub at Dean's scale. Surely one drop wouldn't be missed, more than enough for him to enjoy another cup of it.
Dean put a hand on the glass to help keep balance as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the rim and the drink calling for him beyond it. When it proved to be taller than he'd estimated from a distance, part of him started working on a solution, wondering if he could get a grip on the rim and pull himself up to fill his foil cup. The effort of holding himself suspended in midair like that didn't put him off, knowing he had more than enough upper body strength, but the slick rim might prove to be difficult to grip.
Lestrade blinked in disbelief when he realized what Dean was after. Clearly the fella wanted a refill of his own, and planned to get it on his own. Watching his first attempt fail, Lestrade could practically see the wheels turning in Dean's head and had a fairly good idea of what his next move might be.
That wasn't a pretty image. If Dean tried to pull himself up to reach Lestrade's whiskey, he could easily slip into the drink and end up a drenched mess.
Hoping to avoid that, Lestrade carefully positioned his fingers to wrap around the glass. He tilted it just as he'd seen Sherlock do earlier, going slowly so he wouldn't spill the drink or knock Dean over, and he stopped when the whiskey was within the smaller man's reach.
Sherlock trailed off, focus drifting to pay attention to what Lestrade was doing with Dean so close. The detective was just as fascinated to see Dean's response, taking Lestrade's actions as a sign that he was learning.
Dean nearly stumbled backwards when the glass suddenly tilted towards him, but he caught himself at the last second. He'd missed the moment Lestrade's hand had moved to take control of the glass, but had no complaints.
As the lip of the glass moved within reach, Dean scooped his aluminum cup in to gather up a new serving of whiskey and then stepped back to give Lestrade space. He distractedly sucked a droplet of whiskey off the side then tipped his cup in Lestrade's direction in a salute as thanks for the help before beating a hasty retreat back across the table to his corner near Sherlock where his duffel bag kept his place.
Lestrade quirked an eyebrow at Dean as he righted his own glass, lifting it a little in his own silent 'You're welcome.'
"Alright, so it's been a few cases," Lestrade surmised, taking the opportunity to interrupt Sherlock while he was distracted. He didn't want to spend the entire time listening to that. "And you said you're flatmates, so… John knows?"
Bit of an obvious question, but Lestrade preferred to know for sure.
"Of course," Sherlock scoffed. "Someone had to let him out of the jar."
"And if someone didn't," Dean interrupted, back in place next to Sherlock with his newly-filled cup, "you wouldn't exactly have any help on these cases."
The memory of being trapped no longer nagged at Dean. They'd all come far since those first harrowing moments. Sherlock and John had helped rescue Sam and other borrowers, granting them a safe haven in the walls of 221B Baker Street until they all moved on, and in that act had earned Dean's loyalty. Without them Sam wouldn't be on the mend and venturing outside with John.
"At least we got to keep the cookie," Dean grumbled for effect, making sure Sherlock heard. He took a long sip of whiskey.
"Right," Lestrade sighed with a bracing pull at his drink, unwittingly mirroring Dean. It was admittedly silly to hope that John could remain ignorant to something like this for so long, if only for Lestrade to have someone who was on the same page as him. Still, the good doctor had a good head on him, almost as good as his heart. Lestrade could hope he was the sane one in this situation, wherever he was.
"Guess neither of us can really complain then," Lestrade quipped, giving Dean a small smirk. The kid had an attitude that the DI couldn't help but warm up to. He had to admire the guts it must have taken to be out in the open with a stranger.
"Anything else you need?" Sherlock pressed, fingers drumming impatiently.
Lestrade thought about it for a minute, his gaze shifting between the two before him. Then he gave a shrug. "I mean, I don't want to break into anything personal. Just needed to know who exactly I'm working with, and I think we've achieved that well enough."
"Just like that? No one else needs to know?"
"Technically, no one needs to know about you, Sherlock," Lestrade pointed out. "You're not an employee, you just tend to make a spectacle of yourself. Long as you don't announce your presence, I don't see any reason to tell anyone else if you don't want me to. Which you've made perfectly clear that you don't."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "But?"
Another shrug from Lestrade. "Well, there's no 'but,' just… Now that I know, I'd like to know who all I'm calling into a case. I'm all for keeping your secret, but I'd rather not be in the dark on this one."
With things going smoother between Lestrade and Sherlock and his whiskey full, Dean started to fade from the conversation happening above him. Unless they decided he couldn't help on cases anymore, he didn't much care to discuss the logistics when today was his first chance to really unwind with a drink in years.
If only Sam was around. That kid could use a nice pick-me-up for once in his life.
Dean drank through more of his whiskey as they talked, watching both Lestrade and Sherlock's hands from a distance. The small twitches and movements the humans never noticed. The way Sherlock idly tapped his fingers when he was focused. If Dean wasn't wary of getting plucked up by Sherlock's hands when he was close enough to check them out, he might have shown much more interest in them beforehand; it was hard to believe his might be that big if not for a witch and a curse.
Holding out his hand while he finished off a sip, Dean tried to judge if his hands would be bigger or smaller than Sherlock's. With no baseline, it was impossible to tell, but Dean could see that his, despite his youth compared to the detective, had calluses Sherlock lacked, and looked relatively thicker. Years of climbing and working with his hands had strengthened his grip and put years of age on them, small scars showing from growing up.
Unaware of Dean's train of thought, Sherlock sighed. "I suppose that's agreeable," he granted. Since Dean offered no protest, he could only assume he was indifferent to such an arrangement. Truthfully, Sherlock saw no harm in Lestrade's condition. "So long as you keep your word."
"You've got it," Lestrade nodded, punctuating the promise with a sip of his drink. "Glad I'm allowed to fully work with the people I invite into my own crime scenes." He didn't even try to conceal his lighthearted sarcasm, loosened by the whiskey starting to settle into his system.
As things were seemingly coming to a close between Sherlock and Lestrade, Dean found his cup once more running low. He was far more concerned with the lack of whiskey when he stared at the bottom of the foil than he was with the new agreement about working with Scotland Yard. Whatever.
Dean drained the last of the whiskey, then tossed his cup against his duffel bag so his hands weren't full. He let out the world's-smallest belch, built up from the way he'd rushed through the drink with no experience with whiskey to compare it to aside from stolen sips out of hidden flasks years back. When Dean was big enough to open flasks.
Still rather hung up about the relative size of everything, Dean wandered closer to Sherlock, briefly eyeing up the hands that scooped him up so often. Not wanting to risk them moving at him now, when he was feeling so good, he sauntered on past, heading for the other side of Sherlock to see what was going on over there, as cocky as ever.
Sherlock frowned at Dean's swaggering steps, any retort for Lestrade forgotten. He hadn't expected anything remotely casual out of the borrower. Despite his agreement with the DI, Sherlock was still wary for Dean.
Dean, evidently, was not.
A/N:
TW: Alcohol and drinking will be involved with the rest of the story, including drunken behavior.
Dean is a little more drunk than they realize, and Sherlock absolutely refuses to interrupt his story about solving that case just because the smol is wandering
Next: November 9th, 2022 at 9PM
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Adding in this author's note for all my followers here, and will keep it on all chapters going forward:
If the worst happens and fanfiction shuts down, you can find all my stories on both archive of our own and deviantart, posted under the nightmares06 account. You can also find our story tumblr, which contains a ton of information and answers that are only posted on that site, along with artwork for the stories and future plans we have. That can be found under the brothersapart tumblr account. I can't put links in chapters, but googling "Brothersapart tumblr" should bring it right up!