Chapter 5- The Game is On
Having a flatmate such as John had certain advantages. For instance, he knew just where to find the best deals for traveling at the last possible moment's notice, he was terrific at spending an inordinate amount of time completing stupidly simple crosswords in the morning paper, and as it turned out he was a crack shot through two panes of glass from across an alley which turned out to be quite unexpected. What was more unexpected was the string of drunken acquaintances which wound its way up the staircase to our flat at an obscene hour of the morning, led by none other than my unassuming yet wholly pissed said flatmate. While John annoyingly had few personal faults I could point to in comparison to my legion, his inability to say no even when it violated his typically stuffy sense of common courtesy might have been one of them. This is how I ended up with a room full of revelers in an after-hours celebration of his birthday.
To be fair, the flat was half his and he had a right to the spaces as much as I, even if I would never concede that aloud and made my best attempt to clutter every free space with my equipment, books, papers, and the occasional eyeball in a cup. I knew it was his birthday and of plans made by Molly and Lestrade to have an informal get-together for the occasion at the local pub where police and medical types gathered to discuss whatever they could possibly have in common aside from it being conveniently midway between the precinct and St. Bart's. As was mutually expected no one invited me and I wouldn't have gone if they did, so no one was disappointed in that regard. In my experience ordinary people were naturally daft enough, but alcohol acted as an accelerant which made them only too fearless to prove it. Given this fact with my tendency to boredom which often led me to show that I could easily outdo them even in their own professions meant a physical row would surely ensue. As a personal policy, I attempted to avoid situations in which I might find myself ultimately in jail or hospital- especially when I was outnumbered and the balance of those present wished me harm just on principle alone.
I tossed and turned in my bed trying to ignore the bawdy laughter that rose and fell like the swells of a storm at sea. The nagging prospect that someone would no doubt eventually touch my belongings chewed at the ragged edges of my consciousness until I could ignore it no longer. I got up, threw open my bedroom door, and ferociously yelled "Shut up!"
Lestrade's head fell back over the top of John's chair to have an upside down look at me and what he must have seen was apparently amusing. His pink face glowed as he grinned stupidly at me. "Sherlock!" He bellowed in a slurred accent which twisted my name into a positively monstrous contortion. "You missed a time down at the pub, but you're just in time to join in!"
"With what?!" I asked wrinkling my nose in utter disgust at his state and the prospect of joining him or anyone in anything. The concept of going in was generally not to my taste.
"We're setting up to play a game." Molly explained in a muted voice that was somehow even mousier than her usual banter. She looked like she didn't feel well and her tone suggested she was focusing very hard on trying not to be sick all over my floor, for which I was grateful.
I heard the toilet flush and John brushed past which I found slightly rude. He didn't even wash his hands. "C'mon, Sherlock!" He called as he pulled up a seat from the desk and plopped down heavily in it, nearly falling out onto the floor. Heroically he flailed about like a jellyfish until he steadied himself and added with no small amount of irony "The game is on!"
"If the goal is to be even remotely sober, then I declare victory." I snapped testily. I couldn't ascertain if he was attempting to make a very bad pun or outright mock me, but I decided he was dreadful at it in any case.
Lestrade found my comment exceedingly hilarious. "Aw, now. What's the fun in that?" He taunted, tossing his arms up the ceiling before letting them fall heavily to his sides. On the descent his hand struck the small table to his right quite hard, but he didn't appear to even feel it which was a testament to how much the man probably had to drink. "I propose we play a nice round of truth or dare. Sherlock goes first!"
"Why should I?" I asked perturbed. I thought I had established the fact I did not intend to indulge their idiocy and yet they persisted which I found irritating. Memory and logic were typically the first cognitive processes that went missing when drinking preceded only by inhibition and I had no desire to gain knowledge of or observe what would no doubt be regretted by morning.
Molly glanced up at me with moony eyes as a strand of her hair fell across them. She gave a smile that was almost sad as though she pitied me and sighed "Because the host always goes first. It's the rules. Have you never played before?" After she gave it a moment's thought she giggled. "Right. Probably not."
I lifted my chin in an effort to appear more confident if not nonchalant than I really was. "Fine. Molly, truth or dare?"
"Didn't see that coming." John sarcastically smiled as he rolled his eyes.
She seemed surprised even if John wasn't. "Oh! Umm…" she thought carefully no doubt weighing the consequences of potentially being forced to divulge an embarrassing truth and fear of what type of dare I might dream up for her to carry out.
"Careful there, love." Lestrade cautioned her playfully.
"Truth?" She squeaked uncertainly with a sharp squint.
"You've already told me what I wanted to know." I informed her in a disappointed tone. "You thought it safer to choose an action in which you could possibly lie and minimize your embarrassment than trust me not to completely humiliate you by demanding you complete some distasteful act." I lowered my voice almost to a whisper for affect and sadly noted, "Now I see what you truly think of my character."
She appeared ready to cry as she hastily turned to me with her mournful eyes, "No! Sherlock…that's….that's…." she struggled to find the words in her addled little brain but came up short which seemed to upset her more.
"Not fair." John flatly challenged on her behalf. "As usual, you can't play by the rules because you have to show everyone how clever you are. Well done then. You win, off to bed you go." He dismissed me with a wave of his hand as though he were swatting away a pesky fly.
I was a bit surprised by his reaction because it wasn't my intent to make Molly distraught or even show off my intellect. I merely thought it would be a funny joke amongst friends, but something in my tone must not have telegraphed my subversive attempt at humor. Lestrade, for all his inebriation, was still on his game. "Oh," he declared with mild surprise, "I don't think he was expecting you to call him out like that, Dr. Watson. He looks to be a little shook up."
"He'll be alright." John assured the now less jubilant crowd, "He observes everything, but his memory is conveniently spotty for social things. Chances are good he won't even remember it tomorrow and he'll carry on like he always has."
I wanted to defend myself, but I had no means to do so. He was right and there was no way I could refute his charges- at least on the behavior front. He was wrong about my memory, however. I always remembered things such as this which is why I generally avoided 'social things' as he put it.
Molly pursed her lips as though she were debating what to do. Finally, she gave a small conciliatory smile and stated, "Let's give him another go at it. He probably isn't familiar with the game," she turned to me and her soft eyes suddenly hardened a bit to convey the fact she really was trying her best to redeem me, "are you Sherlock?"
"I'm afraid not." I granted, secretly thanking her for her better nature. She had every right to be angry with me and yet she found it within herself to hold the wolves at bay for my own sake.
John looked utterly miserable as though he'd swallowed a lemon. "I'm sorry," he stated somberly with a decisive nod, "I guess now you know what I think of your character."
"It's quite alright." I assured him with a small smile, "I know I'm often the smartest person in the room, but that also makes me the least tolerable to be around."
"Ok then!" Molly proclaimed in a cheerful tone, happy to have resolved the issue for the time being, "Sherlock, truth or dare?"
I squinted at her in confusion. "Are we still playing this silly little game? It was just my turn, someone else can go."
Lestrade's head lolled in my direction and he was all too happy to recite the rules for my benefit. "You did and you chose her. Now it's her turn and she chose you, so either answer a bloody question or do what she tells you."
"This is the most dreadful game I've ever played." I grumbled miserably, "What's the point of it?"
"Truth or dare?" She asked again impatiently.
"Truth." I spat in irritation. "Or at least whatever version I'm prepared to tell you." I added, muttering under my breath.
She giggled like a school girl as she asked, "Have you ever kissed a girl or boy?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she quickly qualified, "On the lips. Not like kissing your aunties or cousins."
I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply. "Really, I'd have thought if you were going to go with that line of questioning you'd have started a little higher up on the chain of affection."
"Well?" John asked expectantly.
"Yes, but who hasn't?" I howled in frustration. This game struck me as something very young children would enjoy, which made complete sense given their collective drunken intelligence.
"Alright then, your turn again." Lestrade almost yawned.
"Yes, I think I have the pattern down now." I quipped. "John."
He blinked up at me with squinty eyes as through I'd roused him from a nap. "Dare." He replied decisively. "There's no way I'm going to allow you to ask me any questions. God knows what you'd come up with."
"Is that a challenge? Then I have one for you. Since you so proudly served Queen and country in the military you should be in tip-top shape. I'd like for you to complete 40 push-ups in the next 60 seconds. GO!" I commanded, borrowing Lestrade's cellphone to keep time.
"Oh, mate!" He laughed hysterically as he watched John half slither and half fall to the floor from his chair only to struggle to push himself away from the hard surface on shaky arms a full three times prior to collapsing onto his face. He attempted only twice more before deciding to remain on the floor, mumbling what were no doubt curses incoherently into the carpet.
"It looks as though I've incapacitated my opponent. I think that means I win." I declared smugly. "Who's next?" I asked in a chipper tone, surveying the room for my next victim. I was starting to enjoy the game after all.
Molly blushed slightly and stammered, "It's getting late I'm afraid. Probably should go now."
"Not me." Lestrade shook his head. "Working with you's a dare enough."
"Oh, you get your truth through. Even when you don't want to believe it or see it for yourself." I replied flippantly.
He stood slowly and glanced at John who had decided to take up permanent residency in the floor before joining Molly at the door. "Tell Dr. Watson we wish him a happy birthday, will you?"
I also turned to look at him and asked dryly, "Is that what happiness looks like?"
"Seems peaceful to me." He answered uneasily. No doubt John looked like so many other murder victims he'd seen over the years lying face down as he was and perhaps this was what bothered him. I wondered if he'd ever been called to the death of someone he knew personally and I would have asked him, but the game was over.
After seeing them out and into a cab, I returned to the flat and contemplated leaving John in the floor where he lie as he seemed entirely content as he was. However, something nagged at me and unpleasant as it was, I roused, cajoled, and half carried him to his room where I found myself removing his shoes, pants, and button down shirt before tucking him into the covers like a child. Drunk as he was, I placed a bucket by his bed in the event he needed to vomit hastily as well as a glass of water to either rinse his mouth or drink because he would no doubt be dehydrated and have an incredible hangover.
He thankfully put up a minimal fuss throughout the ordeal and I sincerely hoped he would recall nothing of the encounter. There were only a few hours left until dawn and tired as I was, I could do no more than close my eyes as my mind was preoccupied with every sound that emanated from his room through my door which I had left cracked just in case he needed my assistance. In those hours I was reminded of how he must have felt when it was I who through miscalculation or stubbornness needed his attention. On the balance, it was a feeling of worried anger that I did not enjoy and although he thought I had no memory capacity for such things, I resolved to forever recall those moments.
