"Sherlock gets drunk at an Indie Rock night club."

Music pumped into his ears as he sat perched on the bar stool. His body was hugged by a pair of skinny jeans and a lose fitting t-shirt that had an, apparently catchy, phrase on it. He felt out of place. Extremely out of place. Though for the sake of a case he was willing to do it.

He didn't like the music that was playing, that was for sure. Though he thought the lyrics were quite well written. Better than most rubbish that passed for music nowadays. His thoughts were soon cut off by the barmaid asking him what he wanted. He tried not to cringe at the 'sweetheart' she had given him. "Pint please."

The barmaid nodded and pulled a pint before placing it in front of Sherlock. After being paid she soon disappeared. As the alcohol ran down Sherlock's throat he felt a warm buzz. This wasn't your usual beer or ale. It seemed stronger. Considering that, Sherlock found it quite enjoyable and soon ordered another.

Three hours later he was on the dance floor. Gracefully dancing to match the other people around him. The music still pounded in his ears. It was starting to grow on him.

Sherlock had long forgotten about the case. The alcohol coursing through his system. It was late. That he was sure of. As he pushed his way out of the crowd of teenage youths jumping along with the music he looked at his watch. It was one am. Time he had better get home.

He stumbled out of the club. Almost falling into the curb. It took awhile for him to regain his balance. His eye lids felt heavy. Raising his arm he tried to hail a taxi before he stumbled again and had to use a nearby wall for support.

He was unsure of how he got home. He certainly had not gotten a taxi. Yet somehow he found himself crawling up the stairs to 221B. Crawling made less noise and he felt like a childish teenage sneaking back home after first getting drunk. Maybe that was what it was. Him catching up on all the things he had missed.

John's face as he burst into the room was priceless. It as a mixture between amusement and disgust. Sherlock chuckled as he made his way towards the sofa and collapsed. John shook his head, picked up a nearby blanket and walked over to Sherlock. He smelt of booze and cheap cigarettes.

John smirked to himself after Sherlock had quickly fallen asleep. He couldn't wait to make Sherlock suffer with the hangover the next morning.