Talking to a stranger 

Drunk 

Fill for the Wholock Party Extravaganza’s third prompt!

“Are you alright?” Sherlock’s words were as blurred as his vision as he tried to stand upright, failing quite miserably and leaning onto the nearest wall.

He looked down at his fallen friend, who tried to regain his balance with a grunt.

“I’m not okay, cann’ya tell?” he sounded angry, and he was in fact angry with the floor of their flat. “It’s yer fault, ‘told you we should’ve stopp’d drinkin’…” he mumbled, possibly more drunk than his flatmate.

So much for being the one of them who had drinks more often. But again, probably Sherlock used to get pretty wasted back at uni or who knew when.

“We’ve had eighteen straight whiskeys. I think that’s the record…” Sherlock giggled, head feeling lighter than it had in a long time, and in a way he no longer liked. Well, not until this night spent drinking and laughing with John. He had liked it an awful lot.

“Yeah, good, call the fucking Guinness World Record or someth’n… I’m goin’ to regret this ‘morrow mornin’…” John sighed, lying back onto the ground, ceasing his fight with gravity at once.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and decided quite quickly (perhaps too much) to take the blanket on the back of John’s chair down to the floor where his friend had fallen. He then proceeded to lie next to him, and he drew the warm duvet over them both, wriggling close to the doctor and smiling contently to him.

“What’cha doin’?” he inquired, his drunken mind confused by those antics. It just caused Sherlock to giggle some more, and to move closer still to him.

“If you’re going to regret this, we might as well regret it together.” he said, nuzzling against John’s chest.

The doctor sighed, and put an arm around Sherlock’s slender shoulders.

“Really? So much for not bein’ romantic…” he said, closing his heavy eyelids and drifting to sleep.

“That’s not my area…” Sherlock murmured back, following him quite soon.