#drunk!sherlock

“I think I’m going to pass out” Sherlock groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

Your eyes found the clock that sat on the mantle place.

“Sherlock, it’s only seven o'clock.”

“And your point?”

You chuckled slightly at Sherlock’s dishevelled appearance as he knocked back the last of the wine in his glass.

“You are such a lightweight.”

Sherlock shook his head in disagreement as he placed the glass aside and tried to stand. However, your point was proven as he quickly lost his footing and fell back into his chair.

The detective let out a long huff before waving his hand through the air in defeat.

You found it rather hilarious how expressive Sherlock became whilst intoxicated, how he let the cold facade melt away for as long as he was under the alcohol’s influence.

“Alright,” you smiled, standing from your seat across from Holmes and taking a moment to steady yourself.

“You,” you pointed an accusing finger at the detective, “are absolutely wasted.”

“So that’s enough of this for one night,” you stated, snatching the wine bottle and faltering your way into the kitchen to put it away before Sherlock could tempt you to another glass.

You weren’t nearly as smashed as Sherlock but you were definitely feeling the alcohol’s effects. The room was spinning slightly and it took you longer than it should have to co-ordinate your next step.

Not to mention you and Sherlock’s unusual forwardness with each other and the fact that your verbal filter had gone out the window around two glasses ago.

Yep, you were definitely drunk.

After sliding the bottle back into the damp cupboard you turned on your heel, and using the counter for support, stumbled back into the living room.

You found Sherlock attempting to tidy away the wine glasses, but by state of his shaking hands and the large wine stain already seeping into the carpet at his feet, you had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job.

You shook your head slightly as you made your way over to the man who was clearly struggling with the mundane task.

However, Sherlock began to panic when he noticed you approaching, like a child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Another out of character act brought on by drunkenness.

“I-I’m sorry, I can clean it up, I’ll just-”

“Leave it, Sherlock” you smiled, gently prying the glass out of his trembling hands and easing him back into his seat, “I’ll do it.”

“But I-” Sherlock struggled to form his sentence and instead settled on giving you his best pout, briefly reminding you that Sherlock Holmes was a cute drunk.

“Sherlock, It’s okay. Let me do it,” you smiled, struggling to stay balanced when you were so focused on the detective.

Sherlock didn’t argue with you and instead let his head fall back against the chair. He groaned loudly, rubbing at his eye’s to block out the light.

“I am never drinking with you again.”

You chuckled slightly.

“You said that last time.”

“Yes, well this time I mean it,” Sherlock moped as he crossed his arms over his chest like a sulking child. He knew he’d regret drinking too much.

You placed the glasses on the table and threw an old towel over the wine stain. It did absolutely nothing to soak up the mess and you would definitely be hearing about it from Mrs Hudson, but that was a tomorrow problem.

Flopping back in your own chair, you closed your eyes for what felt like the first time all night. You knew that you should probably go to bed if you didn’t plan on sleeping in the armchair, but you were already far too comfortable to even consider moving.

After a few moments of prolonged silence (which was rarely a good sign when you were with Sherlock) you opened your eyes in speculation, thinking maybe the detective had dozed off.

So, you did a slight doubletake when you realized that Sherlock was staring at you, hand resting under his chin as he smirked in thought.

“Sherlock, you’re staring”.

“It’s an accident” Sherlock responded in a tone that sounded far too matter of factly.

You laughed slightly, partially in an attempt to break the awkward silence, and partially to brush Sherlock’s statement off as a joke. But when you quietened back down, you found that the detective’s eyes were still fixed on you.

“You’re still staring.”

“It’s still an accident,” Sherlock smiled and you were caught off guard by the sudden sensation of butterflies filling your stomach.

Pushing the feeling deep down and doing your best to hide your blush, you attempted to laugh off Sherlock’s comment again.

Standing and gently taking hold of Sherlock’s arm, you tried to hoist him up to stand with you.

“Okay, you should go to bed,” you ordered more than advised, “it’s been a long night and you are way too drunk for me to deal with right now.”

You were well aware that part of the reason you were trying to coax the detective into calling it a night was because Sherlock Holmes had just flirted with you, whilst drunk and you had no idea how you were supposed to proceed in that situation.

“No,” Sherlock mumbled, catching your wrist gently and pulling you down to join him. Sherlock was still surprisingly strong despite being completely wasted, not that you put up much of a fight.

Considering Sherlock was already occupying it, the chair was seriously lacking in space. You found your personal space being abolished as Sherlock pulled you into him.

“I want to stay here,” he mused, wrapping his arms around you to the point you were resting on Sherlock more than the chair.

“Here with you.”

Your breath hitched and you were suddenly very grateful that Sherlock’s chin was resting on your head so he couldn’t see your burning blush.

Sherlock Holmes was shamelessly flirting with you, everything he locked away and pretended to be devoid of was suddenly flowing past his lips freely. And he seemed blissfully aware and pleased about it all.

You swallowed thickly and attempted to not let Sherlock’s words or actions reach you. Sherlock rarely meant anything he said whilst sober, so this, this was just a drunken game.

Even men made of stone could smile after a drink, and though Sherlock may be made of something a little softer than that, the same rules applied.

He’d forget about all this by morning and if he didn’t, he’d just assume you didn’t recall anything and carry on as usual.

And besides that, you couldn’t do it. You cared about Sherlock, and you’d definitely admit to having a crush on your devilishly handsome friend.

But you had accepted that it wasn’t going to happen. It was Sherlock, for god’s sake. It didn’t stop you from falling, of course. But it made it a hell of a lot harder.

And even if there was a sliver of a chance, you wouldn’t want it to happen like this. Not when you were both drunk off your faces and could barely form a sentence. You couldn’t take advantage of such a hazy moment.

Besides, you were already an unlikely pair as friends. Being in a relationship would draw all sorts of attention from all the wrong people. Something you were reminded of every time you set foot in Scotland Yard together.

The teasing was already bad enough, and you didn’t want to give anyone, especially Donovan, a reason to take another cheap shot at you. If it wasn’t about your relationship with Sherlock, it was something else. From the way you spoke, to what you were wearing, no matter what, she always found something to put you down over.

What she said never bothered you, not really. You were best friends with Sherlock Holmes, after all, caring about what other people thought of you was pretty low on your to-do list.

But you were human. Even the side comments made by Donovan and Anderson got to Sherlock sometimes, you could tell. But he was just a hell of a lot better at hiding it than you were.

And it was also hitting half seven on a Saturday night. And you were cuddled up with your drunk crush who will most likely never feel the same; so if you wanted to feel sorry for yourself then by god you were going to do it, self-esteem be damned.

You’d held it together long enough. Giving yourself a break, a chance to exhale, was exactly what you needed at this point.

You wanted to talk to Sherlock. He was your best friend, you trusted him. Given, he was part of the problem but through no fault of his own. And as of right now, he seemed too drunk to hold any judgement. So why the hell not?

You swallowed thickly, before shifting slightly in Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock” you chanced, “are you still awake?”

It was quite for a moment before you received a groggy reply.

“Yes, why?”

The tiredness in his voice and the slight delay of his words made you feel guilty enough to drop the subject; Sherlock was obviously wrecked.

“No reason,” you mumbled into his chest, too awkward to meet his eye but too content to even consider the idea of leaving his embrace.

Sherlock breathed out what you could have sworn was a drunken attempt at a laugh.

“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t have a reason,” he slurred in response and you could practically hear the smile on his lips. Because Sherlock knew you. Even whilst drunk as a Lord, Sherlock picked up on your little attributes that he had grown so fond of.

And just like that, you felt the butterflies fill you, and a world of nasty stares and comments suddenly all seemed worth it if it meant being with Sherlock.

However, your moments’ hesitation didn’t escape him, not that anything ever did.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, Y/N.”

And you knew that you could, you could tell Sherlock what was upsetting you, what you had to down a bottle of wine before even considering to talk about. And whether he remembered it in the morning or not, you knew it was okay. Because Sherlock would listen.

“Sherlock,” you choked, fighting to keep your voice steady, “do you think I’m-”

You bit your lip, trying to find the right word.

“Odd?”

You froze as you felt the rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest slow beneath you. There was a long pause and you suddenly regretted saying anything at all.

“No,” Sherlock spoke gently into the quiet of the flat, it almost sounded as if he was talking to himself rather than you, “I don’t think you’re odd.”

“I think you’re just a little different,” Sherlock murmured, shifting to look at you and raising a hand to brush some stray hair out of your face.

“And people don’t like thing’s that are different.”

You pondered Sherlock’s words as you let your head fall against his chest. You’d both sobered up quite a bit in the past few minutes. But seemingly not enough to remember the meaning of ‘personal space’.

“But I think they’re wrong,” Sherlock’s next words surprised you, you’d assumed he’d given his answer and dropped the subject altogether. But it appeared he had more on his mind.

Shifting as much as he could in the little space you both had left in the chair, Sherlock did his best to manoeuvre himself into a better position.

After an awkward few moments of moving around, you found yourself eye to eye with the detective. Sherlock’s expression was genuine and there was the hint of a smile resting on his lips.

“I think you’re brilliant.”

You froze, shocked into silence. Sherlock noticed, as he always does, and allowed his smile to broaden. And you knew he was telling you the truth, Sherlock was telling you what he really thought.

Drunk or not, Sherlock Holmes thought you were brilliant.

The most amazing, intelligent and extraordinary man you’d ever met thought you were brilliant.

You didn’t know what to say or how you were supposed to answer, but by the way Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair, you could tell he didn’t expect one.

You smiled slightly, allowing your worries to melt from your shoulders as you leaned into Sherlock.

“Thank you, Sherlock” you sighed.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” Sherlock replied, holding you close, “not for something like this.”

Sighing contently, you began to doze with a smile on your face. Everything that worried you before seemed to fade away to nothing.

But just before you gave in to sleep, you felt a gentle kiss against your forehead before Sherlock whispered something quietly in your ear.

You smiled again, cuddling further into his chest and closing your eyes.

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

~~~~~~