Sherlock had planned this evening very carefully, having spent ages poring over the data he and Molly had collected about exactly how much they should drink and when to keep from getting too drunk. Tonight was going to be perfect, it absolutely had to be perfect. This was the last night they'd have like this because after tonight, it would all change. John and Mary had been trying so hard, but Sherlock knew deep down that their married life didn't have a space for him in it that would feel satisfactory. Sherlock was notoriously selfish, and the idea of sharing John had felt like a tangible lead weight in his stomach since he found out about his engagement. The sad thing was that he really liked Mary, and he liked seeing her and John together because he could see easily just how happy John was. He knew it was his lot in life to be an observer, to stay on the peripherals of human existence, but he was still left to wonder when he was back home at alone what it would be like on the inside of a real human relationship.
He was brought back to himself when John returned with their drinks, smiling softly at John's obvious excitement, glad to see it was going well so far and that he was having a good time. He nodded and knocked back his own drink, not taking notice of the extra shot in thanks to the alcohol already coursing through his system. The next hour was a bit of a blur, remembering vaguely an argument and almost-fight with some bloke before John dragged him out and ending up back at Baker Street without actually making it up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson had woken them, thankfully, because Sherlock wasn't satisfied yet with the night and didn't want to fail John in his duty as his best man. John had suggested a game when they got up to their respective armchairs, and Sherlock did his best to will his sluggish brain to understand the rules even while he continued to nurse a scotch. He and John were currently recovering from a fit of giggles over Sherlock's guess that the note on his forehead said that he was John. "So 's not you." he slurred, taking a generous gulp of his scotch and leaning forward in his chair to squint at John as though he could find the answer on his face somehow. "Okay, mmh, let's see. 'M I pretty then? For a man. The man version of pretty. Am I that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at his card as he took another swig of scotch.
Before Sherlock's miraculous return from the dead, it had been all about Mary, the woman who had helped him move on. Back when Sherlock had still been around, John had never been able to keep a girlfriend for very long. He eventually realized that was because his life with Sherlock didn't allow for the added baggage of a girlfriend. And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he had been okay with that. More than okay, actually - he'd loved his life of danger and excitement. Sherlock's death had devastated him, and having his best friend back meant more than he could convey in words alone. Well, they never had been very good at talking about their feelings, anyway. But Mary was still important to him, too, and unlike his other girlfriends, she actually quite liked Sherlock. Surely things would haven't to change that much. Fortunately, his stag night didn't allow for much thought on that particular subject. Really, he hadn't thought about Mary much since becoming significantly drunk. And an equally drunk Sherlock took all of his attention, which was fine with him, because his mate was quite amusing. But it was good that their drunken adventures took them back to Bakerstreet, and after forcing themselves off the steps where they had been cozied together quite comfortably, their chairs were the next best bet for the continuation of the evening.
John really was having a hard time staying in his chair. He'd almost fallen forward and onto Sherlock more than a couple times - once stopping himself by grabbing Sherlock's bony knee briefly. It did seem that every time he leaned back, Sherlock leaned forward, and vice versa. But, more often than not, they were both leaning forward and closer to one another. A sober John might rationalize this was because his vision was a bit on the blurry side, but to be perfectly honest... the drunken, affectionate side of him just liked being closer to his best mate. And yes, there was much giggling. After Sherlock incorrectly asked if his card had John's name on it, he asked that next question, about being pretty. Of course, this just sent poor John into another fit of giggles. He nearly sloshed his drink around, almost spilling it. Mrs. Hudson would not thank him for that. "Yeah, yeah, you're pretty," he slurred right back, goofy smile spreading his lips. "Your hair is... well it's ridic'lous, like a... like a pretty girl's hair." John leaned forward a bit more, pointedly poking Sherlock's knee with one finger. "You're a pretty, pretty girl, Shurrlock Holmes."
John's laughter made Sherlock laugh in turn, beaming drunkenly at him as the alcohol made it so much easier to be free and silly with each other like this. He'd never had the opportunity for this before, always either having been alone or trying to grow up too fast so he could catch up to his older brother. Now, though, he was making up for all that lost time, enjoying the novelty of having a night in with his best friend for his stag do, complete with imbibing far too much alcohol and giggling over a silly guessing game.
"Don't spill it, John, hurry and drink it so you don't spill it!" he exclaimed, actually shushing himself when John went to answer. He frowned in concentration as he listened, making a confused face when John finished. "Johnnn, you said it was a man before!" he whined, though he was breaking into another giggle fit after a moment. "You don't know how to play your own game!" he teased, trying to shake his head and drink at the same time before deciding it would be better to do them separately.
"Okay, John, concentrate." he said, setting his drink down so he could hold John's face with his hands. "I have to get this right. Am I..." he began, furrowing his brow as he tried to come up with a question and didn't find one. "Well, am I?" he asked, certain for all the world that he had asked John something even though his question had only amounted to 'am I?'"
Fortunately, John did not spill his drink - this time, anyway. And if they were lucky, they'd manage not to vomit on Mrs. Hudson's carpet later. Hopefully they would make it to the loo in time. But he wasn't feeling sick thanks to alcohol poisoning just yet, while it was sad that his tolerance for alcohol wasn't as high as it had once been. Then again, he'd had no cause to get drunk in some time now. But it was worth it, to get drunk and giggly with his best friend. He couldn't imagine wanting to get drunk and giggly with anyone else, really. His grin never left, and the giggles continued as Sherlock whined and went on about the rules.
"Wha? No, no, no... Sherlock," he shook his head, pausing to take another drink of his own scotch, "listen to me." But whatever he was going to say, he seemed to have forgotten in his haze. However, that was about the time Sherlock took his face in those big hands. It was nigh impossible for John to keep a straight face, and it was even funnier how he tried.
"Yeah, yeah you are," he said quite seriously... before bursting into giggles again, probably getting spit on poor Sherlock in the process. This time, he did lean forward, too much, and had to put his hands on Sherlock's knees to steady himself. Being this close made it easier to see and concentrate on his friend, after all. "Sherl... Sherly, that didn't make sense! That wasn't... wasn't a proper question!" He squeezed Sherlock's knees. "I think... you are a very pretty man."
Sherlock watched John intently, squinting at him as he tried to deduce him in the hopes of finding some sort of clue. The only train of thought he could follow was that John was drunk which reminded him of his own drink that he took a quick swig of before turning his attention back to John. He nodded earnestly when John told him to listen, giving a long thoughtful hum as he considered his answer. He didn't know what John thought was so funny, but again he couldn't help laughing too. He giggled harder at John trying to say his name, leaning forward when he felt his head swim a bit to rest his forehead against John's. He remained there for a long moment, smiling when John squeezed his knees and letting his eyes fall shut for a split second before he gasped and jerked his head back.
"Oh! I know!! I know it! I'm James Bond! The new one, the one with two first names. You know the one, the blonde one. Darren...something. Devon....Donald....something like that. I'm him, aren't I?" he asked excitedly, knowing somewhere in his alcohol addled mind that John always liked those ridiculous Bond movies. He was certain that he'd finally gotten it right, beaming at his companion and squishing his face between his hands with an amused giggle.
Poor, drunken Sherlock was quite amusing to a similarly drunk John. Of course, being drunk completely hindered Sherlock's ability to deduce anything... but it was still pretty damn funny. And anyway, it wasn't as if he got drunk on a regular basis or anything, and this was an important night for John after all. Important occasion, and all that. He couldn't really remember why it was so important, but that didn't matter, but he was having a good time. That was all that truly mattered right then. It was a bit strange to have his face squished like that, but it only made him giggle even further, because it was just so funny. But before that, Sherlock rested his forehead against John's, he just smiled, and even closed his eyes contentedly for a moment. Unfortunately... he was well on his way to dozing off, but Sherlock suddenly jerking back quickly woke him back up.
... more giggles. "Thas not... his name, Sh'lock! It's Daniel Craig, you big... dunce." C'mon Sherlock, everyone knew that, even a drunken John... who may or may not fancy James Bond just a little bit, but that was neither here nor there. "Anyway, no, yer not him. So it's my go." He patted one of Sherlock's hands on his cheek, but didn't pull away just yet. "So! Am I... am I... no, stop right there. Wait..." He gave Sherlock a pointed, serious, 'stern' look. "You don't even know who I am." He held onto one of Sherlock's wrists now, his drink long since set down... somewhere... so he could lean forward. His other hand was on Sherlock's thigh now, but he took even less notice now than when he'd originally touched Sherlock's knee the first time. "Why are we still playin' this?"
Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear when he was sure he had finally guessed it right. He scoffed when John corrected him, not caring really because he was still happy to have guessed that because it was a bloody good guess and he was so sure he'd gotten it right. His mouth fell open when John said he was wrong, looking almost offended at the fact that his amazing guess wasn't right.
"What?? That's impossible, who the hell else could I be?" he complained, huffing when John started to take his turn. His brow creased when John gave him that serious look, just staring at him for a long moment as he spoke. "Because, John, I want to guess mine!" he replied petulantly, puffing a sigh and narrowing his eyes in thought as he wracked his brain to figure out who it was.
"Do I know...whoever I am personally?" he asked, looking confused at his own phrasing for a moment. He had to know who this was, wondering if there was anyone he knew that would give him reason to be jealous because John thought they were pretty even though they were a man when he had always insisted he wasn't gay and was, in fact, marrying a woman very soon. He couldn't figure out why it mattered or why jealousy tugged at him like it did at the idea that John found a man attractive, all he knew was that he really wanted to guess this right, despite the fact that the alcohol coursing through his system was making it difficult to even keep his eyes open and focused at this point. He was very glad to have John to lean on as we was, certain he'd have fallen right into John's lap a long time ago if he wasn't bracing himself on him like he was.
Honestly, John hardly cared about this bloody game. He was just really having too much fun being drunk with his best mate. He was starting to wonder why they didn't do this more often. Later, when one of them either vomited or woke up with a hangover, then he'd remember why getting drunk at his age wasn't such a good idea. But right now, he was having the time of his life. That grin hardly ever left his face, even as he rolled his eyes at his friend's comments and actions. It was fun taking the game so seriously, even when it was obvious both of them were being anything but serious.
"I can't just tell you who you... who you are, 'Lock," he giggled, slapping Sherlock's leg playfully. "C'mon, it's so easy, it's like... it's childsplay!" Only a drunken Sherlock Holmes would be unable to guess that he was himself. It was hilarious how much of his skills of deduction he lost when he was thoroughly inebriated.
John frowned, having to think over Sherlock's question for just a second or two. "Yeah, you know 'im personally," he decided. "Personally... you're very personable with him. He's not very personable for a... for a, erm... person, though." John could hardly stop himself from rambling and giving his friend more information. Well, not that Sherlock was guessing correctly just yet, however. He was still leaning on his friend, too, both hands on his long legs for balance. He's hardly seemed to notice that his hands are no longer just on Sherlock's knees, though, but a bit further up on his thighs. John is in a bit of a daze, but honestly... he's not embarrassed. They're friends, yeah? Good friends, the best. There was nothing wrong with showing a bit of affection.
"I don't want you just to tell me." Sherlock replied, smiling wide with a low chuckle when John hit his leg. John was normally so composed and collected, Sherlock was certainly enjoying seeing his friend finally get to loosen up like this. He wondered fleetingly if John had done this with Mary, but he quashed that line of thought quickly. He was determined not to let thoughts of what would happen after John got married get to him. He had him now, tonight was all for them, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
He narrowed his eyes in thought as John spoke, wracking his brain for anyone he actually liked. Honestly, the only person he could think of in this moment was John, the way he was getting so close and being so open and affectionate making a warmth rise in him that wasn't from the alcohol. "You already said it's not you.." he mused aloud, licking his lips unconsciously at the way John's hands felt holding onto his thighs as they were. "Wait.." he said, squinting at John and leaning in closer before breaking into a grin. "Izzit me?" he asked, sure that he must be right this time being that John and himself were the only people he would consider himself 'personable' with considering everyone else were mostly all idiots, psychopaths and his brother. "It is, isn't it?" he said, chuckling at John and lifting his hand to press his finger to John's nose. "Clever, clever John."
Neither of them was normally prone to showing such open affection. Even sharing verbal affection wasn't the usual thing for them. But alcohol truly did lower all inhibitions, and honestly John just couldn't stop touching Sherlock. He enjoyed feeling the warmth from the other man's body, even just through his pants, and he felt the need to be closer. It explained why he was sitting forward and so close already, just about falling out of his chair. No, he'd never gotten drunk like this with Mary before. Their relationship was more open physically, of course, being as how they had been dating for a little while, and were now engaged to be married. But what he had right now, at that moment, with Sherlock was so much different. And again, he wasn't comparing any of it to Mary, because this night was just about the two of them.
He unconsciously bit his lower lip against an amused smile as he watched and listened to Sherlock, wondering just how long it was going to take the clever clever man to figure out that he was really just himself. When his friend leaned in closer and finally made that guess, a broad grin spread out upon John's face. "Ding ding ding! By George, I think he's got it," he said in a sort of sing-song voice, that was interrupted by more giggles - especially when Sherlock touched his nose like that. "Oh, pssh, I'm not clever," he shook his head, reaching out to take Sherlock's hand in his own and squeeze it, just because. He pointed at Sherlock with his other. "No, you're the clever one... and the frustrating one... and the... pretty one with hair like a girl's." He erupted into giggles again, leaning over Sherlock's knees a bit for balance... before remembering he still had a bit of paper stuck to his forehead. "Wait now. Who am I... Sherlock! Who am I? You don't even know, do you?" Grinning like a madman, he reached up to finally take the paper off his forehead, and squinted his eyes so he could read it better. He frowned. "You don't know who Madonna is?" More giggles. "Come on now, Sherly!" AS if Sherlock would possibly know who the pop idol was, of course.
Sherlock laughed at John's answer, so pleased to have finally gotten it right that it made his face ache with how much he was smiling. He scoffed when John said he wasn't clever, his eyes wandering to look at their linked hands fondly. He squeezed John's hand back, dropping his other hand to rest it on John's knee in an effort to keep himself upright.
"But you are clever, John." he insisted, smiling warmly at the way John was complimenting him. "You think I'm prettyyy." he said, giggling dumbly and lifting his hand from John's knee to ruffle his own hair. " 'S it really girly?" he asked, squinting up at his own hair as he let his hand brace itself on John's leg again. He blinked at John's face to try to bring it into focus at his question, shrugging at him when asked who he'd picked for John's paper. "No idea." he replied, John's new fit of giggles sending him back into hysterics himself. "Who is it, then??" he asked, though he didn't really care at this point. He wasn't sure he'd care if the most interesting murder yet were to happen right downstairs, refusing to let anything tear him away from this time with John. He stroked his thumb idly over the back of John's hand as he chuckled warmly at John, appreciating human contact for perhaps the first time in his life here with him.
John giggled, too. "Of course I think you're pretty, everyone thinks you're pretty," he rolled his eyes, smiling the whole time. "It's your hair, it's... ridiculous, Sherlock, I mean c'mon... what sort of bloke has hair like yours?" It was something he wouldn't have told Sherlock were he sober, that he found him attractive. There were all these boundaries, and walls, and they weren't typically affectionate with each other normally, anyway. That, and John was marrying a woman, someone he'd met while Sherlock had been away all that time. If Sherlock hadn't faked his death and left him like that... well, things probably would have been much different.
But that was neither here nor there, because John was completely focused on his friend, and the way his hand felt so warm and real in his own. "She's just... a singer," he shrugged his shoulders clumsily in reply. "S'not important." What was important? Well, just being there with Sherlock, not some silly game. They could have been doing anything and he'd be enjoying himself. Of course, the alcohol in his system helped, but... he wouldn't have done this with just anyone. He was just smiling goofily at his friend... before holding their linked hands up very close in front of his eyes. "Why's your hand so bloody big? I mean it's... graceful, and... nice, your fingers. I mean, it's like you're out of a... a bloody Victorian painting. Your face is just so... unusual, y'know? I mean, it's just... nice, really, really nice."
Sherlock was oddly pleased by that, the idea that John found him pretty making a warm happiness flutter in his stomach. He'd never cared before about whether anyone found him pretty, but hearing it from John now seemed to be exactly what he wanted. "I dunno, John, it just does this!" he replied, gesturing at his own hair. He got a sudden urge to reach out and touch John's hair, pushing his fingers through it clumsily with a smile on his face. "Mmn, it's soft. I like yours." he said, appreciating the way the soft strands felt through his fingers.
He hummed to show he was listening as John spoke about the singer that he'd already forgotten the name of. "No, 's not." he agreed, still fascinated with carding his fingers through John's hair again and again. He only tore his gaze away when John lifted their linked hands, making a perplexed face at John's question. "I don' know, John. What kind of a question even is that?" he asked, forgetting his own question seconds later when John continued on about how nice his hands and face were, far too elated with hearing about that to care much about anything else. "Is it?" he asked, leaning back just a bit to try to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror so he could see what John was talking about. He huffed when he didn't manage it, though he didn't mind all that much because he could still see John. "I like your face too, John. I love these little creases you get between your eyes when you're annoyed with me." he said with a small giggle. "And your eyes and nose and all of it, the whole thing." he added with a wave of his hand to indicate John's entire face. "Good face. Good job on your face, John." he blathered on, still giggling away and thoroughly enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his system.
He was brought back to himself when John returned with their drinks, smiling softly at John's obvious excitement, glad to see it was going well so far and that he was having a good time. He nodded and knocked back his own drink, not taking notice of the extra shot in thanks to the alcohol already coursing through his system. The next hour was a bit of a blur, remembering vaguely an argument and almost-fight with some bloke before John dragged him out and ending up back at Baker Street without actually making it up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson had woken them, thankfully, because Sherlock wasn't satisfied yet with the night and didn't want to fail John in his duty as his best man. John had suggested a game when they got up to their respective armchairs, and Sherlock did his best to will his sluggish brain to understand the rules even while he continued to nurse a scotch. He and John were currently recovering from a fit of giggles over Sherlock's guess that the note on his forehead said that he was John. "So 's not you." he slurred, taking a generous gulp of his scotch and leaning forward in his chair to squint at John as though he could find the answer on his face somehow. "Okay, mmh, let's see. 'M I pretty then? For a man. The man version of pretty. Am I that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at his card as he took another swig of scotch.
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John really was having a hard time staying in his chair. He'd almost fallen forward and onto Sherlock more than a couple times - once stopping himself by grabbing Sherlock's bony knee briefly. It did seem that every time he leaned back, Sherlock leaned forward, and vice versa. But, more often than not, they were both leaning forward and closer to one another. A sober John might rationalize this was because his vision was a bit on the blurry side, but to be perfectly honest... the drunken, affectionate side of him just liked being closer to his best mate. And yes, there was much giggling. After Sherlock incorrectly asked if his card had John's name on it, he asked that next question, about being pretty. Of course, this just sent poor John into another fit of giggles. He nearly sloshed his drink around, almost spilling it. Mrs. Hudson would not thank him for that. "Yeah, yeah, you're pretty," he slurred right back, goofy smile spreading his lips. "Your hair is... well it's ridic'lous, like a... like a pretty girl's hair." John leaned forward a bit more, pointedly poking Sherlock's knee with one finger. "You're a pretty, pretty girl, Shurrlock Holmes."
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"Don't spill it, John, hurry and drink it so you don't spill it!" he exclaimed, actually shushing himself when John went to answer. He frowned in concentration as he listened, making a confused face when John finished. "Johnnn, you said it was a man before!" he whined, though he was breaking into another giggle fit after a moment. "You don't know how to play your own game!" he teased, trying to shake his head and drink at the same time before deciding it would be better to do them separately.
"Okay, John, concentrate." he said, setting his drink down so he could hold John's face with his hands. "I have to get this right. Am I..." he began, furrowing his brow as he tried to come up with a question and didn't find one. "Well, am I?" he asked, certain for all the world that he had asked John something even though his question had only amounted to 'am I?'"
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"Wha? No, no, no... Sherlock," he shook his head, pausing to take another drink of his own scotch, "listen to me." But whatever he was going to say, he seemed to have forgotten in his haze. However, that was about the time Sherlock took his face in those big hands. It was nigh impossible for John to keep a straight face, and it was even funnier how he tried.
"Yeah, yeah you are," he said quite seriously... before bursting into giggles again, probably getting spit on poor Sherlock in the process. This time, he did lean forward, too much, and had to put his hands on Sherlock's knees to steady himself. Being this close made it easier to see and concentrate on his friend, after all. "Sherl... Sherly, that didn't make sense! That wasn't... wasn't a proper question!" He squeezed Sherlock's knees. "I think... you are a very pretty man."
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"Oh! I know!! I know it! I'm James Bond! The new one, the one with two first names. You know the one, the blonde one. Darren...something. Devon....Donald....something like that. I'm him, aren't I?" he asked excitedly, knowing somewhere in his alcohol addled mind that John always liked those ridiculous Bond movies. He was certain that he'd finally gotten it right, beaming at his companion and squishing his face between his hands with an amused giggle.
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... more giggles. "Thas not... his name, Sh'lock! It's Daniel Craig, you big... dunce." C'mon Sherlock, everyone knew that, even a drunken John... who may or may not fancy James Bond just a little bit, but that was neither here nor there. "Anyway, no, yer not him. So it's my go." He patted one of Sherlock's hands on his cheek, but didn't pull away just yet. "So! Am I... am I... no, stop right there. Wait..." He gave Sherlock a pointed, serious, 'stern' look. "You don't even know who I am." He held onto one of Sherlock's wrists now, his drink long since set down... somewhere... so he could lean forward. His other hand was on Sherlock's thigh now, but he took even less notice now than when he'd originally touched Sherlock's knee the first time. "Why are we still playin' this?"
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"What?? That's impossible, who the hell else could I be?" he complained, huffing when John started to take his turn. His brow creased when John gave him that serious look, just staring at him for a long moment as he spoke. "Because, John, I want to guess mine!" he replied petulantly, puffing a sigh and narrowing his eyes in thought as he wracked his brain to figure out who it was.
"Do I know...whoever I am personally?" he asked, looking confused at his own phrasing for a moment. He had to know who this was, wondering if there was anyone he knew that would give him reason to be jealous because John thought they were pretty even though they were a man when he had always insisted he wasn't gay and was, in fact, marrying a woman very soon. He couldn't figure out why it mattered or why jealousy tugged at him like it did at the idea that John found a man attractive, all he knew was that he really wanted to guess this right, despite the fact that the alcohol coursing through his system was making it difficult to even keep his eyes open and focused at this point. He was very glad to have John to lean on as we was, certain he'd have fallen right into John's lap a long time ago if he wasn't bracing himself on him like he was.
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"I can't just tell you who you... who you are, 'Lock," he giggled, slapping Sherlock's leg playfully. "C'mon, it's so easy, it's like... it's childsplay!" Only a drunken Sherlock Holmes would be unable to guess that he was himself. It was hilarious how much of his skills of deduction he lost when he was thoroughly inebriated.
John frowned, having to think over Sherlock's question for just a second or two. "Yeah, you know 'im personally," he decided. "Personally... you're very personable with him. He's not very personable for a... for a, erm... person, though." John could hardly stop himself from rambling and giving his friend more information. Well, not that Sherlock was guessing correctly just yet, however. He was still leaning on his friend, too, both hands on his long legs for balance. He's hardly seemed to notice that his hands are no longer just on Sherlock's knees, though, but a bit further up on his thighs. John is in a bit of a daze, but honestly... he's not embarrassed. They're friends, yeah? Good friends, the best. There was nothing wrong with showing a bit of affection.
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He narrowed his eyes in thought as John spoke, wracking his brain for anyone he actually liked. Honestly, the only person he could think of in this moment was John, the way he was getting so close and being so open and affectionate making a warmth rise in him that wasn't from the alcohol. "You already said it's not you.." he mused aloud, licking his lips unconsciously at the way John's hands felt holding onto his thighs as they were. "Wait.." he said, squinting at John and leaning in closer before breaking into a grin. "Izzit me?" he asked, sure that he must be right this time being that John and himself were the only people he would consider himself 'personable' with considering everyone else were mostly all idiots, psychopaths and his brother. "It is, isn't it?" he said, chuckling at John and lifting his hand to press his finger to John's nose. "Clever, clever John."
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He unconsciously bit his lower lip against an amused smile as he watched and listened to Sherlock, wondering just how long it was going to take the clever clever man to figure out that he was really just himself. When his friend leaned in closer and finally made that guess, a broad grin spread out upon John's face. "Ding ding ding! By George, I think he's got it," he said in a sort of sing-song voice, that was interrupted by more giggles - especially when Sherlock touched his nose like that. "Oh, pssh, I'm not clever," he shook his head, reaching out to take Sherlock's hand in his own and squeeze it, just because. He pointed at Sherlock with his other. "No, you're the clever one... and the frustrating one... and the... pretty one with hair like a girl's." He erupted into giggles again, leaning over Sherlock's knees a bit for balance... before remembering he still had a bit of paper stuck to his forehead. "Wait now. Who am I... Sherlock! Who am I? You don't even know, do you?" Grinning like a madman, he reached up to finally take the paper off his forehead, and squinted his eyes so he could read it better. He frowned. "You don't know who Madonna is?" More giggles. "Come on now, Sherly!" AS if Sherlock would possibly know who the pop idol was, of course.
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"But you are clever, John." he insisted, smiling warmly at the way John was complimenting him. "You think I'm prettyyy." he said, giggling dumbly and lifting his hand from John's knee to ruffle his own hair. " 'S it really girly?" he asked, squinting up at his own hair as he let his hand brace itself on John's leg again. He blinked at John's face to try to bring it into focus at his question, shrugging at him when asked who he'd picked for John's paper. "No idea." he replied, John's new fit of giggles sending him back into hysterics himself. "Who is it, then??" he asked, though he didn't really care at this point. He wasn't sure he'd care if the most interesting murder yet were to happen right downstairs, refusing to let anything tear him away from this time with John. He stroked his thumb idly over the back of John's hand as he chuckled warmly at John, appreciating human contact for perhaps the first time in his life here with him.
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But that was neither here nor there, because John was completely focused on his friend, and the way his hand felt so warm and real in his own. "She's just... a singer," he shrugged his shoulders clumsily in reply. "S'not important." What was important? Well, just being there with Sherlock, not some silly game. They could have been doing anything and he'd be enjoying himself. Of course, the alcohol in his system helped, but... he wouldn't have done this with just anyone. He was just smiling goofily at his friend... before holding their linked hands up very close in front of his eyes. "Why's your hand so bloody big? I mean it's... graceful, and... nice, your fingers. I mean, it's like you're out of a... a bloody Victorian painting. Your face is just so... unusual, y'know? I mean, it's just... nice, really, really nice."
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He hummed to show he was listening as John spoke about the singer that he'd already forgotten the name of. "No, 's not." he agreed, still fascinated with carding his fingers through John's hair again and again. He only tore his gaze away when John lifted their linked hands, making a perplexed face at John's question. "I don' know, John. What kind of a question even is that?" he asked, forgetting his own question seconds later when John continued on about how nice his hands and face were, far too elated with hearing about that to care much about anything else. "Is it?" he asked, leaning back just a bit to try to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror so he could see what John was talking about. He huffed when he didn't manage it, though he didn't mind all that much because he could still see John. "I like your face too, John. I love these little creases you get between your eyes when you're annoyed with me." he said with a small giggle. "And your eyes and nose and all of it, the whole thing." he added with a wave of his hand to indicate John's entire face. "Good face. Good job on your face, John." he blathered on, still giggling away and thoroughly enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his system.
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