Here's an idea I came up with while I was at home for a weak because of a very bad cold. Once I told it to my bff she was all for it and made me write it. She is so kind and corrects it and delivered the title for the story.

Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters

Usually John wasn't someone prone to get himself really drunk. Yet he did have a bad day and he figured one beer wouldn't hurt.

One beer turned to a second beer that day and before he knew it he felt a decent buzz in the back of his head. Figuring out that he should probably stop now, he stood up from his cosy chair in front of the fire and made his way into the kitchen only to stop at the sign before him.

There, at his kitchen table, sat a handsome bloke looking down a microscope (John was pretty sure he didn't own one) as if this was his flat.

At first John thought he might have had a beer too many, especially when that bloke seemed semi-transparent. But when he blinked a few times and hummed in confusion the scene settled. Not a hallucination then, probably, maybe.

John still wasn't to do something.

"Uhm…"

"Just a moment" came the uninterested reply. The bloke didn't even look up from the microscope, which was a good thing because that voice sent a shiver down John's spine for a moment. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Actually, no, I would like to know now what you are doing in my kitchen." Finally voicing his confusion and irritation he held his breath and waited.

The other turned around at last, saying something. John though he should listen to what the other had to say but he was pretty sure that words (or ears) failed him for a moment. That bloke really was handsome, now that he could also see his face.

Dark curly hair, a pale complexion and the strangest face. The lips sported a beautiful cupid's bow, high cheekbones made him look kind of otherworldly. And then there were the eyes. John could probably spend a whole book page about what those eyes looked like. The first word that came to his mind was piercing.

After his inspection was over he noticed that the room had gone quiet again. The guy was looking at him in a bored and mildly irritated way.

"Uhm…sorry, I..what?" he stammered.

"I do hate to repeat myself" the disdain was quite clear in his voice. "I said, clearly you aren't a client. You don't look like someone who needs my help. The fact that you are drunk and have cushion impressions on your skin points out that you were relaxed a few minutes ago. Though I haven't worked out what you are doing in my kitchen. I don't like not knowing. Could it be that you walked in here, in your drunken stupor?"

Colour rose to John's cheek. "So what, I may have had a beer or two" The bloke snorted here. The reason for his light blush changed from anger to embarrassment rather quickly. "And…and I didn't walk in here in a 'drunken stupor' I live here. Rightfully. So what the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Oh I see, you are the angry kind of drunk and-"
"You make me the angry kind!"
"- I am living here for a few months now. I think I would have noticed if I had a retired army soldier as a flatmate"

"What?" What? echoed the word in his head. His anger vaporised and confusion took its place. "How do you know about that? Do you stalk me?"

The bloke made a dramatic hand gesture and stood up, towering over John. "Easy" came the almost lazy drawl before the speed in which the guy spoke picked up. "It may have been a while but you still have a tan, though not above the wrists, that you won't get anywhere in London. The way you immediately straightened out into military stance when you saw me was another clue. Also your haircut, it's a bit grown out but I can see you with the typical military haircut, it fits the whole picture quite well" How curly hairs didn't need to speak was a mystery he couldn't solve while drunk, so he didn't think too much about it.

"Wait, you got that from simply looking at me? Just like that? That's amazing" John earned a sceptic expression after is exclamation.

"That's not what people usually say, you must have more alcohol in your bloodstream than I thought"

"What do people usually say to you?" John wondered when this conversation turned from 'What are you doing in my flat' to 'Tell me everything I want to know about you'.

"Piss off" John slowly started to grin with that answer and couldn't help himself, he just snorted and started to laugh. "Really? I can't imagine why." Once he stopped laughing he simply stood there and met the others eyes.

Silence reigned in the room. John could feel the gaze traveling over him, taking him apart to get answers even he wasn't sure he could give. He cleared his throat and blinked a few times, for good measure.

"So, what about the flat? What's even your name?" Clearly, he had his priorities but he was still curious about that the guy, starting with the name. "I'm John, John Watson, by the way" John even held out his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes", came the simple reply. At first Sherlock (what a strange name) made no movement but then moved forward to grab the hand only to simply pass through it.

Both stared at John's hand. It tingled in a kind of nice way but that could have been his imagination.

"So…I really just drank a beer too much and you are a hallucination or I fell asleep and this is some really weird ass dream." Pity. Sherlock really was handsome and he would have been thrilled to get to know someone as strange as he seemed to be. John could imagine all the people Sherlock pissed off.

It was probably hilarious and frustrating at the same time.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head which made his curls move around. "I'm not a hallucination, I can assure you that. But…I must confess that I'm not sure what just happened or why my hand didn't touch yours" Sherlock even looked unsure and uncomfortable about it. He really wasn't used to not knowing, mused John.

"Or maybe one of my experiments went wrong and you are the hallucination" Sherlock mused, starring up and down Johns figure.

This wasn't getting them anywhere. John sighed weary. "You know what? It's been a long and not pleasant day and I'm tired. I'll just go to sleep. The only positive thing about this is that I now know that my mind can make up quite interesting blokes. Night"

John made a lazy wave with his hand and started to walk through the kitchen, moving around Sherlock. Just because he was a hallucination or dream didn't mean it wasn't impolite to walk directly through the body.

He made it to the door of his bedroom when he heard Sherlock talk from the kitchen.

"Where are you going, that's my bedroom!" he complained. John couldn't care less, since the other wasn't real. John just continued to the bed, still the way his looked, and flopped down on it. He braced himself mentally for the discussion Sherlock would probably start and moved his face away from the pillow to stare blearily at the door.

He had forgotten to turn off the light.

John blinked a few times but when no one entered his bedroom door he snorted. So he had been right.

Really, a pity.

He closed his eyes without thinking about his state of dress and succumbed to sleep.

John woke with a start. It wasn't a slow or gentle process. He was suddenly awake and his head was pounding behind his eyes.

He groaned into the room and tried to will he pain away by breathing in and out in a calm way. It didn't really work. With a final exhale through his nose he pushed himself up and stretched and rolled his shoulders.

Still a bit sleepy he put his feet out of the bed and onto the floor. John stood up and went into the bathroom, taking care of his morning routine and taking something against the headache.

Once that was done he went into the kitchen and simply stood there starring at his table.

There was no microscope or some dark haired bloke named Sherlock.

"So it had been a dream" he mumbled to himself and went to make himself a breakfast that wouldn't upset his stomach. Some toast probably. While he wasn't exactly sick he had a distinct queasy feeling in the pit of it.

Sitting down at his kitchen table (still no microscope) John wondered how he came up with the name Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't really something that someone just knew. Was this even a real name?

John resolved to look it up on the Internet.