31st December 2010
The clock was nearing 7pm, and John stood in the middle of the kitchen, biting his thumbnail. A strange ball of panic had begun to inflate in his stomach. What if nobody turned up? What if somebody did turn up? He chided himself for feeling like a teenage girl before her first sleepover. He was a grown man. So what if no one turned up? It was short notice after all. It'd be just him and Sherlock, and that was absolutely fine. He put a bottle of vodka in the fridge, while at the same time checking for any limbs or hazardous chemicals in unlabeled bottles. Everything was ready. Everything was organised. He rearranged a bowl of cheesy puffs in the centre of the kitchen table.
"All sorted, John?" Mrs Hudson asked in a cheery voice as she entered with a large bowl of trifle. John shook his head as he chewed on his nail again.
"No, no it's not. I'm freaking out. What's wrong with me?"
"Get a grip, John dear. Where's Sherlock got to anyhow?"
John pivoted around on his heels, scanning the kitchen in confusion, as if he'd just noticed that his flatmate wasn't there.
"I don't know. I thought he was with you downstairs."
Mrs Hudson shook her head slightly and she too felt the need to rearrange the cheesy puffs. John began to charge through the flat. He checked Sherlock's bedroom: empty. He checked the bathroom: empty, and surprisingly clean. As he was running out of rooms to check, John heard his phone chirp from the depths of his trouser pocket.
I've had to go out. I won't be long. SH
John growled in displeasure and typed angrily in response:
I told you, we don't need noodles! Come home now.
Sherlock didn't reply.
The first person to arrive at 7:29 pm was Harriet Watson. She beamed at her brother as he opened the door.
"I'm so excited," she squealed, shoving a bottle of white wine into his chest. John shut the door behind her and rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.
Harry was left chatting amiably to Mrs Hudson, while John put the radio on for background noise and then poured himself a large glass of wine. He was on his third gulp when the doorbell rang again. Over the next half hour John charged up and down the stairs opening the door to people he vaguely knew and people he didn't know at all. By eight o'clock he'd decided that the best place for him was perched on the bottom step, the half-empty bottle of wine squeezed precariously in the crook of his elbow, and a full glass held tightly between two hands. He gave a little smile at the sound of people guffawing on the first floor. Their party was coming along nicely. Well, his party. There was still no sign of Sherlock.
At half past 8, the doorbell rang and John sloshed his wine as he rose from the bottom step and stumbled to the door.
"Greg," he cheered, pulling the Detective Inspector into a hug. He was extremely pleased to welcome a guest that he actually recognised.
"Ok, this is weird," came Lestrade's muffled voice from John's shoulder. "You've started early, John."
"Yes. Yes, I have. Have you seen Sherlock?"
"Um...No, I haven't. I thought he'd be here."
John shook his head wildly, and then ushered his guest to the staircase.
"Go. There are people upstairs, and alcohol, and cheesy puffs."
Lestrade nodded vaguely and headed upstairs, watching John sit back down heavily on the bottom step and pull out his phone.
Wehre are you? Peaple are here. Im fruightened. Bring more wine please! Thank you xxx
The message was sent, and the phone dropped to the floor. John rested his head on his knees. From above him, he heard footsteps descending the staircase, and felt a body wedge itself next to him on the step. He looked up to see his sister grinning at him.
"You just sent me this." She showed him his former message on the screen of her phone. John squinted at it in confusion.
"Oh sorry. That wasn't meant for you."
"I gathered that, it has three kisses."
John just shrugged and grabbed at his phone to forward the message to its correct recipient.
"What are you doing down here anyway?" his sister asked. She took a sip from her glass. John snatched it from her and took a sniff. "It's just coke! Don't be a dick-head Mr Hypocrite."
John tried to offer her an apologetic smile, but found that his face wouldn't work properly. He suspected that he looked rather drunk. The thought amused him.
"Come on John, you're missing all the fun. It's your party."
"No, it's not my party. It's Sherlock's party, and he can't even be bothered to show up. In fact, he's probably deleted it from his hard-drive because it's about as important as I am!"
Harry stared at her brother for a long moment.
"Dude, I seriously have no idea what you're on about."
The doorbell rang and both Watsons looked up from their perch.
"I'll get it," Harry insisted, very much doubting that John could get up anyway. The door was opened to reveal a nervous Molly, looking pretty in a pink halter-neck top and shivering without a coat.
"Oh, hello. I'm looking for Sherlock and John."
"That's half of them," Harry replied with a smile, glancing over her shoulder to where her brother was waving wildly from his step. Molly waved back, a little less enthusiastically. The door was closed behind her and Molly made her way to the bottom of the stairs.
"Hi John."
"'Lo," he mumbled back before hiccoughing loudly. They stared at each other awkwardly. John looked at what she had in her hands.
"Did you bring Sherlock?"
"Um...no it's wine. Why, is Sherlock not here?"
"Nope. He's forgotten."
"He'll be along in a bit," Harry corrected. Molly's face brightened. "Head on up, we'll be up in a minute. No, no don't leave that here, take that with you," Harry insisted, pushing the wine bottle back towards Molly. Molly smiled politely and teetered up the stairs in her heels. Harry watched her go.
"She seems nice."
"What? No. No, Harry. She's not your type at all. You could eat someone like Molly for breakfast. You'll terrify her. She's sweet, and my friend, well Sherlock's friend...sort of. Please just behave yourself, ok?"
Harry nodded with a teasing smile and followed up the stairs after Molly leaving John alone and trying to recall what they'd been talking about. Ah yes, Molly.
He picked up his phone and began to type:
Mollyts here she wants a kiss at nidmight.
John read the text and then deleted it, realising that this was probably the worst way of getting Sherlock Holmes to come home. He tried again:
Mollys here and if u dont come home i'll kiss her at midnight. Mayeb
He read it again, and again chose to delete it. Sherlock would be grateful to lose Molly's attention. He tried a final attempt:
Hav gfound body in bathroom it is dead i thinnk come jhome nowe!1!
John grinned and pressed send. Three minutes later his phone beeped a reply, making him jump. He giggled slightly as he fumbled for his phone.
Nice try. Wine is not your friend, John. SH
John scoffed at this. At least wine had bothered to show up to the party. He stared with bleary eyes at the time on his phone. It was nearly half past nine. Was that all? He'd missed Eastenders. John considered going to bed. Would that be rude with a houseful of guests? He decided that yes, it might be. Therefore it'd be a better idea to leave in search of Sherlock. Adamant that he had his shoes on, John stumbled to the door. As he pulled it open he was greeted with a polite Holmesian smile.
"You're not Sherlock," he remarked loudly.
"No, John. Well observed," Mycroft Holmes smiled tightly. "Having fun, it would seem."
John gave a giggle and frowned as it reached his own ears. What was funny?
"I didn't think you'd actually come here."
"Well, I was just passing. I thought I'd better make sure he was behaving himself in polite company."
"He's not here," John stated bluntly, wobbling on the spot. Mycroft seemed genuinely surprised. "You'll know where he is. Where is he? You know where he is all the time, like bathroom trips and stuff."
"Not quite all the time," Mycroft said slowly. "John, are you ok?"
"Yesimfine," John slurred. "I'm just sad because he's missing his only party he's ever had in the world. Why would you never let him have a party, Mycroft? You're just mean!"
"Oh John, surely you didn't think that that was true?"
John blinked in confusion. What wasn't true? What were they talking about? Oh right, Sherlock and his lack of parties.
"I'm not quite sure what you're saying," John admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I like you. You should come over more often. Ooh, come over for dinner tomorrow!"
"Perhaps some other time," Mycroft replied, smiling at John who had slumped himself against the door frame. "I'd best be off John. If I see Sherlock, I'll let him know you were asking after him...Uh, John...would you like some help upstairs?"
"Nope, no I'm all good."
Mycroft nodded in uncertainly and walked away, leaving John propped up in the doorway. He shut the door with a bang and wandered past the bottom step and up the stairs towards his flat. The noise of enjoyment hit him loudly as he made his way into the living room. Surely not all of these people had passed him on the way into the house? How else would they have gotten in? He glanced around for someone less inebriated to talk to. If these people had gotten in, maybe Sherlock had too. From the kitchen, he heard Lestrade call his name. John smiled and headed to join him.
"Having fun?" John asked as he accepted a bottle of beer.
"Yeah. Though apart from your lovely landlady, I have no idea who anyone is."
"Oh, well that over there is my sister Harriet. Careful, she bites. And over there is Angelo, you must know him, he makes the best tagliatelle."
"Yes, we have met," Lestrade mused thoughtfully.
"Oh, and Molly, you know Molly obviously; she works in that shop where Sherlock gets all of his stuff."
"You mean the morgue?"
"Yes," John hissed with laughter. "That's what I meant. Silly. I really have no idea who anyone else is or why they are in my house."
At that moment, loud music began to pump out from the living room followed by the voice of a woman singing. John frowned and the pair headed to the living room door, where they witnessed Harry and Molly singing along gleefully to a rendition of Lady Gaga's 'Telephone' into what appeared to be some sort karaoke machine. Did the machine belong to John? He didn't know. How had it made its way up the stairs and into the house? Possibly the same way that most of the guests had. John was beginning to wonder if he'd fallen asleep on the stairs.
He found his phone and began to type as the crowd cheered along merrily:
Peolpe are singing is theus normal? Whre are you?
The message took several attempts to send. John shoved the phone grumpily into his pocket. The song came to an end and the room exploded with applause. Molly looked embarrassed but Harry looked pleased with herself. They gave a little curtsy.
"Our turn!" John exclaimed loudly before shoving Lestrade with some force towards the television. Lestrade looked taken aback and shook his head insistently. 'Shame' began to play through the speakers and John beamed.
"Greg, Greg...GREG! I'll be Robbie, you be Gary, come on come on! Do it now." He threw his phone to his sister who caught it clumsily. "Phone Sherlock. Do it now. Come on." John gave a giggle.
Harry shook her head as she brought the phone away from her ear.
"Networks are busy on New Year's Eve. It's his voicemail."
John gave a shrug and was then distracted as the words scrolled across his television screen.
"Well there's three versions of this story; mine and yours and then the truuuuth...GREG!"
John spent most of the song bellowing to Lestrade to join him for the chorus. Lestrade eventually obliged. They shared a chorus and a verse together before John spent the rest of the song telling Lestrade (and subsequently the rest of the room) how much he liked Lestrade as he was clever for knowing words to songs. Lestrade pointed out that the words were in fact on the screen.
The song came to an end and the guests applauded politely.
"Again!" John cheered.
"No!" replied several guests in unison.
John chuckled to himself and stumbled out of the room, leaving Lestrade holding the two microphones.
"Your phone, John." Harry passed the mobile phone back to John who put it against his ear.
"Hello? Hellooo? Oh, there's no one there. I'm such an idiot!" he hissed with laughter.
"John, enough drink now ok?" Harry told him firmly. "Go outside and get some air. I'll make you a coffee."
John obeyed and made his way on bandy legs back down the stairs to the front door where he found Molly, shivering in the cold night air, fidgeting with her phone.
"No signal," she told John with a shy smile. "I suppose it's getting near to midnight."
John was puzzled. He had no idea what time it was and told Molly so. She smiled again.
"Thanks for inviting me tonight. It's been a rough year, what with everything that happened. I'm just looking forward to starting again in 2011."
John leant back against the brick wall and studied her. Was she about to cry? Drunken singing he could handle, but not crying.
"Yeah, me too," he agreed quickly. "Hey, Molly why don't you be Mrs Watson?"
She blinked through her tears and looked up at him in confusion. A nervous smile formed on her pale face.
"John, are you asking me to marry you?"
"Kinda, yeah," John sniffed. "It was Sherlock's idea."
"For you to propose to me?"
"For me to propose to somebody," John corrected. Was that what Sherlock had suggested? He was struggling to remember now.
"Oh," said Molly quietly, mulling this information over in her head. "Listen John, you're very sweet, and extremely drunk, but after the year I've had I've decided to give men a miss for a while. Thanks for asking though."
John nodded, unfazed.
"My sister's a lesbian," he announced. "You know, if you fancied being Mrs Watson another way."
Molly laughed very loudly at this, gaining the attention of a couple who were walking past on the opposite side of the street.
"Thank you John," she said sincerely, taking his cold hand and giving it a squeeze. "You're very thoughtful."
From the living room window they heard the loud raucous bellow of a countdown. It took John a moment to realise what they were counting down to.
"It's midnight," Molly prompted.
"Oh," John said quietly, feeling like an idiot. Molly stepped in and gave him a hug.
"Happy New Year, Molly."
"Happy New Year, John."
They leant in for a quick kiss, and John knocked his nose against her forehead. She gave a laugh.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm far too drunk for this."
"It's ok," she replied and gave him a quick kiss before he could notice and head-but her again.
"Yay," he said quietly as they pulled apart. "Are you sure you don't want to marry me?"
"Quiet sure," she insisted. John nodded, finally accepting her answer. Molly gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then opened the front door. "Pass that on to Sherlock for me."
She headed back into the house leaving John standing alone in the street, listening to the popping of fireworks in the distance.
Sherlock.
John suddenly realised that he hadn't thought of Sherlock for a while. He'd given up waiting for him to show up. It had been too much to hope for that they could do something normal together, as two normal housemates. Two normal friends. John sighed as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
I asdked molly to marry me like you sufggested but she saids no. i got a kiss though so not all bad. Im the lucky one who is haveing fun. Youre a loser who forgot to show up to his own party. Im clever youre an iditot xxx
The message gave several attempts at sending. John got bored and cold eventually, so he shoved it back into his pocket to let it think on it some more, before turning and heading back into the house.
John was vaguely aware of people chattering around him as he slumped himself into Sherlock's armchair. Midnight had come and gone, and therefore people should now go home. John was too polite, or rather too drunk, to announce this so he left them too it, discussing the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne. Mrs Hudson was singing her rendition rather loudly. John grimaced. Drunken singing was just rude, he decided.
Harry made her way over to her brother and sat down on the arm of the chair. She handed him a mug of black coffee and stroked his hair from his eyes. He sipped it with displeasure.
"I'm really drunk."
"I know John."
"I feel sad," he said tearfully.
"Why?"
He shrugged in response and took another sip of his coffee before sloshing it on the coffee table.
"Because I'm drunk," he decided, rubbing at his itching eyes. Harry rolled her eyes and rose from the chair, leaving John to wallow in his own drunken sorrow. His phone beeped and he pulled it out with an air of inconvenience.
I'm the 'iditot'? Think this through please, won't you John? SH
John decided that he would indeed think this through, seconds before his chin hit his chest. His phone dropped from his hand and onto the floor with a clunk. The 'iditot' was now fast asleep.