Chapter 2: In which things start to go horribly wrong, and Sherlock gets a hangover
Anderson was drunk. Sally was drunk. Lestrade was drunk and John was drunk. Sherlock was starting to think he was the only sane person in 221B at this moment, but he was slightly drunk too, alcohol clouds the brain; he knew that, he needed to think. Leaving his wine glass on the table, next to the London A-Z, the same London A-Z he had used to crack the Chinese cipher, he smiled, then sighed, when he heard a crack. And turned.
His skull lay on the floor in two pieces. The Detective clenched his fists and swung a punch at Anderson, who hastily moved his arm away from the mantelpiece "You broke my skull! How dare you!" he said, his words slurred slightly. Anderson ducked out of the way of Sherlock's fist. Lestrade restrained Sherlock, he couldn't have him knocking out his best forensic scientist, even if he was annoying, while Sally just watched with a smirk.
John noticed Sherlock's anger, and realised he had to do something. He grabbed the empty wine bottle and mumbled a quick "Sorry..." before smashing it over the taller man's head. John flinched as the slender body of his flatmate fell to the floor.
************************************************
Sherlock woke up, to a silent flat. Everyone had gone. Everyone except John that was. The skull pieces had gone, no doubt Mrs Hudson had had a clean-up, because the room was spotless. "Sherlock?" came the timid voice of the army Doctor. Sherlock blinked, and frowned "You…you hit me over the head. Just what I needed. Thanks" he told the older doctor with a smile.
John smiled, but it was only small, his stomach was churning with guilt. He'd HIT Sherlock. Of course, the Detective was grinning "What happened? I seem to have deleted it" he said in a comedic way as John silently face palmed. Sherlock deleted knowledge of the bleeding solar system too, but at least he didn't remember "Or you're hung-over?" John suggested.
Sherlock rolled his eyes "John, I don't get hung-over…" then rubbed his head, blinking those brilliant blue eyes a number of times. John, of course, was right. Sherlock Holmes had a hangover.
"You're so pretty John…" the detective mumbled, before he passed out again.
John's jaw was hanging open, had he heard right? Sherlock had called him pretty. He decided it would be best, to leave his companion alone for a while, so left 221b, in a hurry.