Come have a drink with John~

[drpsychosomatic]

WHO: Dr. John Watson and... you, if you like! As long as you are of legal age to drink, I guess.
WHERE: The most pub-looking bar John can find within a walkable radius of his flat
WHEN: After moving in with Sherlock to their new place in the City
WARNINGS: None really. John's a fairly well-behaved drunk. Mostly.
SUMMARY: John's scouting out a watering

Comments

[sh_consulting]

It was nearly 2 am when Sherlock was disturbed from his experiment (the growth rate of maggots in a low oxygen environment) by a text message from John. Picking up his communicator, it read:

Shrlkk

biutdruknn. jfhow adoi i ggt hnms? fjanks.

Sherlock stared at it a whole minute, with a blank expression. Then, with a melodramatic sigh, he punched out the following text:

John.

Stay where you are. I'll come get you.

SH

It was, of course, not exactly difficult to figure out where John had gone. Most of the drinking establishments in the vicinity were highly Americanized or night clubs, neither or which Sherlock thought John was likely comfortable to get completely smashed at. That narrowed the field considerably, to one 'english style' pub around eight blocks away.

It took Sherlock no time at all to get there, and slip inside.

[drpsychosomatic]

Ugh. John had managed to slump into a corner with his last of far too many pints and was currently nursing it, his head hanging heavy between his shoulders, eyes shut. The screen of his phone was far too bright- he could hardly make out any of the letters on it at all, but he was fairly confident the vibration meant Sherlock had received his message. Which was important, probably.

The beer here really wasn't that bad, he reminded himself, throwing the last of it down his throat (and possibly his shirt? He couldn't tell if it had all made it to his mouth, come to think of it) and pawed at his phone, trying to work out where the button that made the text bigger was.

[sh_consulting]

It only took one brief scan of the room for his eyes to pick out John slumped in the corner. Sherlock strode over, looking impeccable as ever (thanks to his paycheck, he was now even able to properly attire himself), and came to a stop in front of the table.

"John." There was a mild look of disgust mixed with exasperation. There was no worry, in that look. Nope. None at all.

Alright maybe a microscopic amount.

"I see you found a watering hole."

[drpsychosomatic]

Sherlock had probably never seen John look so abjectly miserable. He smiled in Sherlock's direction blearily, indicating the chair opposite with an uncharacteristically expansive gesture.

"Sherlock," he slurred. "Sorry. Thought I'd-- give you space for that fungus thing. Maggot thing. Whatever it was in there."

[sh_consulting]

"Maggots." Sherlock did not take the chair, and instead stayed standing, staring down at John, his chin tucked into this scarf.

"You're inebriated. Exactly how much alcohol have you ingested?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"A few pints," John admitted, sliding the empty glass across the table, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "What... was your first clue?"

He couldn't remember how many he'd had, actually. It was probably time to go home, though. It had probably been time to go home a few hours ago.

[sh_consulting]

"You forgot to text me with the english language." He was still just standing, watching John carefully.

"... Come. Let's go home."

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah," he sighed, planting his hands firmly on the table in anticipation of the titanic hoist he was going to need to give himself to get upright. "All right. Give me a minute."

And with that he staggered to his feet, just about managing to keep himself vertical.

"I'm fine."

[sh_consulting]

Sherlock put a hand out to John's shoulder to steady him. The man looked like he was about to fall over. The disgust had slipped out of his expression and instead had settled into a concerned frown.

"Obviously."

[drpsychosomatic]

John laughed, his whole face creasing up as Sherlock steadied him. Christ, but he must be a mess if Sherlock bloody Holmes was feeling sorry for him.

"Come on then. Home. Sorry."

[sh_consulting]

Sherlock moved slightly to the side to allow John to get by him. He could have said something scathing, but somehow he held his tongue, and just gave John a very small push toward the door.

[drpsychosomatic]

Still mumbling apologies he made his way out the door, groaning quietly as the cold hit him so hard in the face he almost felt like he deserved it.

"I started- the case. The Black Widower. What do you think?"

[sh_consulting]

Sherlock falls into step beside him - not touching, but close enough that if John were to stumble he'd be able to react immediately.

"... You started the case." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You're writing it?"

[drpsychosomatic]

Oh.

Of course. John shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. Sherlock didn't remember anything. The one person...

Well, it wasn't like Ella was going to get on his case for dropping the damn blog, was it? It had been pretty stupid, anyway.

"Forget it," he mumbled.

[sh_consulting]

Oh, Sherlock noticed that sudden shift. But his curiosity had been piqued.

"No. Tell me. You did this before?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah. You hated it," he explained, offering Sherlock a grin. "Thought I made you sound like an action hero."