"What are we doing here John?" I heard Sherlock say over the music.

"I told you already, I need some time off. And having a couple of pints might help."

"Fine, let me rephrase," he scoffs, "What am I doing here John? You know I don't do this kind of thing."

"Well you are tonight." I said shortly.

"Why?" He is the world's only consulting detective and he still found time to ask the childish question.

"The great Sherlock Holmes should have a little bit of actual fun."

"Dull." He paused for a moment. "Why?"

Rolling my eyes, "Just shut up and drink."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sniffed his drink. "I don't drink anything stronger than wine. Wine contains a mere 12% of alcohol, whereas this here hard liquor contains almost… 50%. Really John?"

"Just think of it as… As an experiment." I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I left him with a couple of shots and went to find someone less irritating to talk to. It wasn't long before I heard him. "John! John!" I could hear Sherlock running about. Rather just ignore him. "John! Where are you?" But after a few minutes of watching him stumble around I decided to intervene. But not before I caught him grinding up against some poor girl, who looked very suprised and awkwarded out.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you doing?!" I asked pulling him away.

"Dancing!" He replied with a hiccup.

"How many drinks did you end up having?"

Sherlock leaned up against me, "I don't know. I lost count."

"Sherlock, I think it would be best if we left."

"No! I am not leaving." He climbed up onto a table.

"Sherlock, be reasonable. You're drunk and out of control. Let's get a cab and go home."

"Dull." He said, dancing. "Dance with me Dr. Watson."

"No." Oh god, I thought to myself. What have I done?

Sherlock pouted, "Well why not?"

I couldn't help but stare at his bottom lip and wonder what it would taste like if I just... I shook off the feeling. No need for that now. He's drunk. Completely slammed. I couldn't take advantage of him in that way. "Because you're drunk and you're doing things you normally wouldn't. Plus, I don't dance."

"That is a lie. I've seen you dance when you get intoxicated!"

I didn't reply. "If you're going to be this difficult, I will call your brother."

Sherlock shrugged and jumped onto the bar, knocking some poor bloke's drink down his front.

"Sherlock! Have you no self-control?!" I yelled at him, whipping out my phone and sending Mycroft a quick text.

I'll be right there. He replied within the same minute.

I managed to get Sherlock off the bar and away from anyone that wanted to start a brawl. The last thing he needed was to end up in jail on a night like this.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?" I asked catiously.

"Will you buy me one of those funny-looking pink, icy drinks?" He asked pointing at some bartender topping off a strawberry margarita with an umbrella.

"No."

"Why?" He whined.

"Because, you don't need anymore alcohol. This experiment is over." I claimed as Sherlock laid down across an empty table.

Sherlock was just about to start a tantrum fit for a 5 year-old, when Mycroft walked in carrying his favorite black umbrella. But looking quite out of place having ditched his normal designer suit for a jeans and a t-shirt.

"Both of the Holmes in a pub and one of which is wearing... Mycroft what is that?!" I asked curiously.

"My causal clothes. I thought if I was going to a pub, I would wear this."

"Hold up, let me just get a photo…" I said with a grin.

"Don't."

Sherlock tackled Mycroft. "Brother!"

"Oh dear. He is rather intoxicated." Mycroft muffled from his brother's awkward embrace. "John, you really shouldn't let him experiment on things like this. It can get rather ugly."

"I…I…wait, this has happened before?"

Mycroft sighed. "On multiple occasions I'm afraid. You know, Christmas dinners, New Year's Eve parties... We'd best get him out of here."

"No!" Sherlock protested angrily. "I will not leave."

"Why are you so stubborn?" I asked, annoyed.

"Honestly? Sometimes the only way people who feel out of control may sense they have control, is when they say "NO" to you. They are stubbornly oppositional to your suggestions, your solutions, ideas, requests, demands, pleas and typically criticize you while they are at it. Even when they are hurt or devastated by their decisions of not following your lead, your advice and/or your cajoling, they still refuse to even reconsider their way of thinking. What really makes them feel pleasure, self-empowerment and self-control is adamantly resisting to believe, accept and/or appease your efforts to convince them of your point of view. To these "ornery" people it means that you are wrong and they are right…even if it makes no sense or even if they lose money, health, trust, a good relationship or whatever. But me? I just like to piss you off." Sherlock ranted.

I stood there, stunned by way he could rant off. Sober, or wasted. The guy really was a complete mystery.

"Sherlock, do you ever stop showing off?" Mycroft asked, pulling him towards the door.

"Of course not." He answered tartly. He ran out into the empty street. "TAXI!"

"Hush, you won't get a cab here." I said, pulling him off the street.

Mycroft's sleek, black car pulled up and Mycroft opened the door. "Let's go children. It's bedtime."

"I'm not a child!" Sherlock complained, stretching across the whole backseat.

"Then sit up and shut up." Mycroft commanded.

"Fine Mr. Bossy Pants," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Mycroft inquired.

"Nothing... Mom."

I snickered but quickly shut up when Mycroft shot me a warning glance.

"Sorry. I suppose I should thank you." I said awkwardly.

"For?"

"The ride..." I replied. "And coming to help with Sherlock."

"It's really no problem. But please, for the both of us; don't let it happen again..."

"Yeah, right... Of course."

The car stayed silent for a while. The quiet louder than any words. When Sherlock randomly jumped in his seat. "Shhhhhh!"

"I didn't say anything." I said defensively.

"But you were thinking and it's so annoying..." Typical Sherlock.

Arriving at the flat, Mycroft got out to open Sherlock's door and he tumbled out, crumpling against the hard pavement. "Ow."

"For God's sake…" Mycroft muttered.

Getting out of the car I pulled Sherlock up and steadied him. "Uh… Thanks again."

"Please don't make a habit of this John."

Sherlock grabbed at me suddenly. "I need a cigarette."

"No." I said quickly. He hadn't had one in months. He wasn't starting back up now.

Frustrated, he jumped on Mycroft. "I need some, get me some!"

"For God's sake Sherlock! Grow up!" Mycroft cried, pushing him away.

"I'm really sorry Mycroft; I think I can handle it from here."

Mycroft dusted himself off. "Yes, stay with him tonight John. He is rather… wasted."

Sherlock leaned up against me and I couldn't help but notice the musky cologne he was wearing. "Whatever brother… I'm… barely buzzed! Buzz… Like a bumblebee! I love that word… Bumblebee. Did you know? A returning honeybee forager performs a figure-of-eight dance on the combs which tells her workmates the whereabouts of a good source of food." He attempted the the figure eight dance and passed out right there on the street.

Mycroft sighed. "Oh brother…"

Chuckling, I lifted Sherlock up for the millionth time. "Thanks for everything Mycroft"

"Say that one more time and I'll never help you again John."

"Right, umm... Sorry." I stumbled and reached the door of our flat.

"Good-bye John. See you very soon." He said getting into his car and pulling off.

I managed to get Sherlock up the stairs, but accidently bumped his head against the wall. "Ah. Sorry." But he didn't seem to notice. I pushed him into his bed but he rolled right off the edge. Trying to lift him up, I suddenly got lightheaded and about fell on top of him. "Screw this! Night Sherlock."

"Buzz." He said sleepily.

"Yeah...You're welcome." I answered awkwardly. Aware of how close my face was to his...

"John…"

"Sherlock?" My heart beating too fast.

"No one cares about the solar system."

"Primary school." I sighed. Of course he would bring this up, yet again.

Sherlock mumbled. "Round and round the garden like a teddy bear…" He rolled over to his side.

I kissed his forehead lightly and got up to leave.

"John?"

"Sherlock?" I turned around, but he was passed out.

**The Next Morning**

Watching telly I glanced up to Sherlock, disheveled and downright looking like hell. "Well good morning sunshine."

"John… Would you be able to answer a few questions I have about the events of last night?" He asked droggily.

"What did you need to know?" I smirked.

"Did I get drunk last night?" He moaned and grabbed his head.

"Obviously. What was your first clue?" When he didn't reply. "How's the hangover?"

"Bloody brilliant! Thanks for asking!" He said sarcastically, flopping angrily into a chair.

"No problem. By the way, I'm never taking you out for a pint again."

"Why?" He looked at me curiously. "I had a great time... I think."

"You are a horrible drunk. You're hard to take care of and you are an awful dancer." I answered smugly.

"I am not!" He leaped up and fell down. "Well, that was a bad idea…"

My phone buzzed and I looked down. Text from Mycroft. How is he?

Hungover and annoying. I replied. Before saying, "Your brother wants to know how you are doing."

"Why would he care?" Sherlock asked the ceiling.

"Well I did have to call him last night."

"What?! Why?" Could he really not deduce these things for himself?

"Because you were out of control. I definitely couldn't handle you."

"That doesn't mean you had to call my brother…" Sherlock huffed.

"Yes it does. Did you want some tea?"

"…I suppose. Mrs. Hudson! Tea please?!" He yelled.

"Not your housekeeper!" She called from a different room.

I sighed, "I'll get it."

"I had the weirdest dream about bumblebees…"

Chuckling, "Of course you did."

Turning onto his stomach. "Never again John…"

"Yeah, okay. I regret it too." I said.

"You kissed me last night." Sherlock said matter of factly and my heart skipped a beat.

"Great observation."

"Why?" He asked quietly.

"You tell me Mr. Detective." I said slowly. I had no idea where this was going.

Sherlock got up slowly and walked over to me. His eyes sparkled and his lips were pulled into a small grin. "You want me to tell you something you already know?"

"Maybe I don't already know," I replied. That was at least partly truth.

"You lie, Dr. John Watson. Your cheeks are flushed. Pupils dialated. Pulse elavated..." He began before I cut him off.

"Alright, alright. Just shut up already." And I pulled his lips down to meet mine.

My first fanfiction, hope you guys liked it. Leave your reviews, I'd really appreciate it.

Good day. xxx ~James Moriarty