"Victor, on a scale of one to ten, this might be the worst idea you've ever had. Why are we going to that idiot's party?" said Sherlock. It was a cold Friday evening, and he and Victor were in Victor's bedroom, getting dressed for Sebastian Wilkes' party that they'd somehow gained an invitation to. Victor pulled his dark blue jumper over his head and attempted to flatten his unruly ginger hair, to no avail.
"Come on, this is the first and probably only party we've ever been invited to. We have to go."
"No, we don't. Why the hell would they invite us, if they're not planning something awful?"
Victor sighed and pulled on his long coat. He turned to face Sherlock, who was laying sprawled out on his belly on Victor's bed, dressed in his usual outfit of black trousers, a white button-up, and a dark grey jumper.
"Look, this is the first time someone's wanted to hang out with us. Seb's a decent bloke, so why shouldn't we go?"
"I'm not sure-"
"Just for an hour. We can leave after that if it gets ugly, but we should at least go for that long."
Sherlock's brow furrowed, and his head jerked up suddenly.
"Where did you get that coat? I thought those were about a thousand pounds."
Victor, by this point used to his friend's sudden outbursts, was not surprised by this sudden change of subject.
"It was my great-uncle's. Seriously, the only item in his will was giving me the coat; he gave the rest to build a homeless shelter for lost rabbits, causing my dad to go around the bend, he was so angry. A bit mad, that one. Anyway, about the party…"
"Fine, an hour shouldn't be too bad. What harm could it do?" Sherlock answered, rolling his eyes and clamboring off the bed. He stood up and while he was straightening his clothes, Victor pulled him into an enormous bear hug. Sherlock froze like a statue, not used to this affection. Victor let go quickly and busied himself at his coat, blushing and looking down. Sherlock, in spite of himself, wished he hadn't released him.
"Shall we be off, then?" he asked quietly. Sherlock nodded stiffly and they left Victor's bedroom and the building, crossing the quad to Wilkes' residence. Music was already blasting from inside the house, and the two men could see how crowded the house was.
Victor pressed the doorbell, which was answered by a man with slicked-back dark hair, a bottle of beer clutched in his right hand. His face brightened when he saw the two of them.
"Hey, glad you could make it! Drinks are in the kitchen," he said, gesturing the two of the inside. Victor tossed his coat into the stuffed closet, and they shyly pushed their way through the crowd back to the kitchen. Victor grabbed two beers out of the ice bucket and handed one to Sherlock, twisting the cap off his own and taking a swig.
"Drink, it'll help you relax and enjoy yourself," Victor said. Sherlock twisted the cap off his bottle, brought it to his lips, and took a long pull. He felt warmth growing in his belly, and his mind stopped panicking for a moment. He eagerly downed half the bottle, feeling more and more content with each passing moment. Why was he worried again?
They drained their bottles and were reaching for another one when Seb appeared, holding two shotglasses.
"Enjoying yourselves, boys? Here, take these, my treat."
They looked at each other, shrugged, too the glasses, and tossed the liquid back. Sherlock now was feeling a bit wobbly and suggested they go sit down. Victor, who was also feeling a bit ill, went with him and sat on the stairs. Seb stood over them.
"Hey, in about ten minutes, everyone's going to leave but you, me, and a few others I've picked out. I've got something fun planned." They nodded and Seb left to mingle with the other guests.
Sherlock's mind was slipping in and out of focus like a broken camera. The chatter and music warped inside his mind. He hadn't had that much to drink, had he? He looked over and saw Victor shaking his head and blinking as well. Now it was getting weird; Sherlock was no stranger to alcohol, but Victor had much more experience and was reeling. What was in those shots? He decided he didn't care and told his brain to shut up. The party was supposed to be fun, he didn't need to think. Victor turned to him.
"So what do you think Seb has planned?"
"I don't know or care, as long as it's as great as this. Cheers for bringing me here," Sherlock replied lazily. Victor leaned in closer.
"Do you mind if I kiss you right now?" he asked. Sherlock was surprised, but in his haze, he didn't seem to mind very much of anything.
"Of course not," Sherlock slurred, and Victor's mouth met his. Sherlock had never been kissed before, and had certainly never dreamed of being kissed like this, all full of hunger but also sweet tenderness. Victor's tongue explored his mouth and Sherlock responded by drawing him in deeper, Victor's ginger stubble scratching against his jaw and creating a curious sensation that made Sherlock melt inside. They broke apart after a minute and Victor leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Alright, everyone out!" came Seb's loud call from the living room. The crowd grumbled, but cleared out, leaving Sherlock and Victor alone with Seb, a few other blokes, and one or two girls. Seb gestured them all into the living room and had them stand in a circle around the table.
"I've chosen you because you're all veritable geniuses. I believe, like me, that you're not living up to your full potential. Would you like to join me in expanding your minds?"
The guests, most of them barely able to stand upright, agreed. Seb grinned like a shark and pulled a glass jar filled with pieces of blotter paper out of his pocket. He passed out a tab to each of the guests and told them to let it melt in their mouths. Sherlock placed his on his tongue and sat on the floor with Victor, who had popped his own tab. They sat like that for a half an hour, then Sherlock's brain exploded.
The room dissolved into swirling color and he was confused and scared by the shaking sensation in his body.
"Vic… Vic.. I don't like this…" he moaned as the walls turned into a roaring ocean around him. Victor wrapped his arms around him, but Sherlock jerked away, feeling only a giant octopus attempting to envelop him. He screamed and Victor, still barely sane, held him close and pressed Sherlock's face to his chest.
"Shhh, everything's fine, okay?" he said kindly, then turned to Seb, " Oi! We're not doing this again; I'm taking him home while I still can."
"It's not safe for you to leave here," said Seb in a voice as clear as day, "You need to stay."
Victor could tell he hadn't taken the drug and boiled with anger.
"Oh, fuck you! Slimy bastard. Come on, Sherlock, get up," he said and hoisted him to his feet. He half-carried, half-dragged Sherlock across the quad, fighting the rolling ground under his feet and the eerie, underwater singing in his ears. He managed to get him into his room and flung him on the bed, also collapsing as the swirling sensations overtook him.