After Sherlock staggers home drunk from the so-called crime scene, John bids him adieu and calls a cab to get home. Sherlock crawls up the stairs alone and collapses in the living room. God, his head hurts. Why on earth do people drink? It's the worst thing in the world. He looks up blearily at the ceiling, pondering if he can get up and crawl into his bed. ...Probably not. Ah, well. He's comfortable enough on the floor.
He hears the door open, but the gait sounds all wrong. It's not Mrs. Hudson, that's for sure. It does sound familiar, but he can't quite place it. Who...?
"Oh, wow, Sherlylocks," No. No. Impossible. "Can't handle your drink, hm? Too funny." He slowly, slowly turns his head. Jim? But... how?
"You're dead." he slurs.
"So were you." Jim replies matter-of-factly, sitting cross-legged next to the detective. "Welcome back."
"I faked it. You didn't... I checked..."
"I know. Your concern was sweet. But you couldn't find me. It would've ruined the surprise."
Sherlock feels bile rising up in his throat. Jim lets out a noise of revulsion and disapproval before turning him onto his side. The drunk man vomits.
"...Charming." Jim says, wrinkling his nose. He gathers up Sherlock, gangly limbs and all, into his arms and begins to pick him up. "Christ, Sherlock, for someone so skinny..." He lets out a grunt before finally scooping him up. Sherlock instinctively wraps his legs around Sherlock's waist.
"I'll leave that for your housekeeper. That's getting my hands a little too dirty."
He starts walking toward Sherlock's bedroom, Sherlock resting his head against his shoulder and making soft noises of fatigue. Jim nudges the door open with his foot and steps inside, glancing around. "Nice needle collection. Fallen off the wagon again?" Sherlock bites his shoulder in protest, but Jim just chuckles and lays him down on the bed. He rolls the pliant figure onto his side before propping him up with pillows and pulling the duvet over him. "Don't choke or drown in your own vomit while you sleep." He kisses Sherlock's forehead. "Sleep tight, Sherlylocks."
When he wakes up, Sherlock doesn't remember how he got into bed, but his forehead is tingling.