Laughing. Uncontrollable laughter...

Car horns screamed as they whirled past.

Something cold slipping around my finger...

People, making mindless chatter.

His face, coming so close...

John would have woken up straight away but he had to wait for the world to stop spinning around in his head first. Hard cement pushed against the back of his head as the pounding flash of lights exploded into his eyes. He heard the familiar click of camera's and the not so familiar sound of mocking voices. John let his eyes slide open and instantly regretted it. The doctor found himself staring up at the grand black and gold gates that could only surround one building, Buckingham palace.

What...? John desperately sorted through his clouded mind, trying to make sense of things. Last night had been the London police forces annual awards night. John remembered the invitation coming through in the mail and Sherlock wrinkling his nose up at it like Lestrade had mailed him a dead rat.

"Throw it away. I get sent one of these every year. This 'awards' night is just an excuse to have one last celebration together where they can all give each over awards and a pat on the back and make themselves feel a little accomplishment in their dull lives before the year is out" Sherlock grumbled from his perch on the couch. Offcourse John convinced him to go, who could say no to a big blue eyed man in a teddy bear sweater?

How did we get from the precinct... to Buckingham? John thought. Then it stuck him. Why did I just think 'we'. A long skinny figure stirred next to him. Oh god, kill me now. Sherlock's dark curls were matted and twisted, bits and pieces of food clinging for dear life onto his scalp. He slept with his back up against the dark iron bars, his ghostly pale face titled up to the sky and a slither of drool running down the side of his open, snoring mouth. A long pink party streamer replaced his usual blue scarf, hanging in a noose around his neck. Something was scrawled across Sherlock's forehead but John's eyes couldn't focus long enough to read what it said.

John thanked the lord that he woke before his flatmate, because a normal person reacting to this sort of situation wouldn't be pretty and Sherlock wasn't normal. He made a move to get up. CHINK! A sudden jerk yanked John back. His feet failed him and he went crashing down. Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought... He looked down to his wrist to find another surprise. A pair of shiny metal handcuffs twinkled up a cheerful good morning to him. That wasn't the scary part, no. the scary part was that the other cuff was being occupied by the unconscious consulting detective in next to him.

A sudden 'slorking' noise made John jump violently.

"John..." That deep voice murmured.

"Sherlock" John said, looking over at his partner. "Glad to see you're awake"

Sherlock's eyes were different. They had a gleam in them he never seemed to posses, that gleam that his mind was off in wonderland.

"John" He said again. "Your face. It's all... liney" The detective slurred.

"Liney?" John repeated. So, this is what drunk Sherlock was like. The detective held his flatmates stare as he tried to raise his hand. CHINK! Sherlock's eyes flew down to his wrist. Suddenly, John felt himself being hoisted to his feet, his face smashing into bars. Sherlock was on his feet, fingers pressing into his temple.

"Handcuffs? No..." Sherlock's eyes went wide, forcing drunk Sherly back down the drain. "No no no no" He repeated to himself. "This isn't what happened. I remember it... we were at the precinct and they were handing out drinks and that's when you said..." Sherlock's glare shot to John. "You said I should have drink to calm my nerves!" He roared angrily.

"What? So this is my fault now?"John growled back.

"If you hadn't forced that drink on me..." Sherlock started.

"I didn't! It was one drink! And that wasn't me who gave it to you anyway"

"Yes it was. You handed it to me and said 'just to calm your nerves'" The detective shouted.

"Anderson gave it to me to give to..." The penny dropped.

"Anderson" They both cursed. Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably and began to tug at the fabric around his thighs.

"What?" John asked.

"Its these pants..." Sherlock grunted. "They feel funny" John knew why.

"Are you wearing my pants?" He squeaked, his voice catching in his throat.

"It is possible" Sherlock mumbled. Possible was the understatement of the year. The pant legs ended up around Sherlock's calves and the waist band struggled to keep hold of Sherlock's thin hips. The most supporting of all evidence was the fact that John was wearing Sherlock's. John felt his legs fail him once again and he crumpled to the ground.

This cannot be happening... Sherlock and I didn't... we couldn't have, he is Sherlock for crying out loud! He cupped his hand over his face, not daring to meet eyes with his flatmate.

"John. I understand you are having trouble comprehending our situation and are responding in a typical way that any man your age would, by having a 'melt-down' but I need you to send a text" Sherlock said from above. John ran his fingers through his hair and took a few deep breathes. I have to stay calm. The last thing I want is Sherlock to see me cowering up like a child.

"Pass me your phone" John said with a sigh, holding out his free palm.

"In my trouser pocket" Sherlock stated. John bit down on his lip as his stomach knotted again in panic, another reminder of that worried feeling. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his oversized pants and pulled out the sleek mobile phone.

"Sherlock. You might want to look at this" John muttered. Sherlock didn't have to crane his neck, the handcuff's were doing their job of keeping them both close together perfectly. There was a blurry frame with a small triangle in the centre. A video shot from last night. John held his breathe and pressed play.

"HEY SHERLY!" The pair immediately recognised Anderson's voice. Since he wasn't in the frame he must have been holding the camera. The image of a large chapel shook under the officers drunken grasp.

"Sherly! Oi! Sherly!" The doors to the chapel swung open and two figures were seen stumbling towards Anderson but it was too dark to get a good look. Suddenly, one of them fell to the ground and in a heap of laughter. "You alright there Sherly?" Anderson asked between fits of chuckles. The camera zeroed in as the intoxicated persons face came into view. Sherlock felt his heart fall into his stomach.

"Andy! Andy my lad? What are you doing up in the sky?" Drunk Sherlock asked in a dazzled tone. The consulting detectives eyes were so wide you could see all the whites wrapping around the icy blue and then to the over stimulated pupils. The two broke out into furious laughter like Sherlock had told the most world class joke on earth. Sherlock rolled around a bit before sitting up with a big stupid grin on his face. "You know what Andy?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Anderson replied, making sure to keep the camera fixed perfectly on Sherlock.

"I'm sah... so sorry that you couldn't come, mate" Sherlock said, a dopey pout spreading out across his features.

"Couldn't come where?"

"To the wedding offcourse" Sherlock stumbled back onto his feet, amazed as he began to rock back and forth.

"Wedding? Who's the bride?" Sherlock didn't reply, he was giggling about something. "Who's the bride?" Anderson asked again, pocking Sherlock. "Who is she?" Sherlock turned to face the camera and put a finger to his lips.

"Can you keep a secret?" He whispered.

"Yeah, yeah" Anderson whispered back, getting in close. The camera had now entirely swallowed up Sherlock's face.

Sherlock Holmes then said one word. One name. The name that made them both freeze. The name that made time feel like it had stopped itself.

"John" Sherlock shouted into the night. "Where are you my bride? JOHNNY!" He sung in a voice that almost fit Moriarty's. Sherlock tore himself free from Anderson and started to skip merely under a nearby street lamp. "I know you are out there John, my little wife"

"I'm not little!" The camera dramatically spun to face the other way. John stood with a bouquet of flowers stuffed down the front of his shirt.

"Johnny! I thought you had run off with another man!" Sherlock called back in a horribly dramatic voice.

"Another man you say? No other man could work a purple shirt like you my darling" John said, gesturing towards the other way. Sherlock's face lit up with that idiotic grin again and he began to trot towards his drunken friend. Anderson's laugh could be heard as John broke into an equally sloppy run. Sherlock stretched out his arms and locked them around John's frame. John squeezed his flatmate to himself and buried his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"I looooooove you John. You are mine. You are my John" Sherlock moaned in a way similar to a possessive child. John laughed and rocked himself back and forth in Sherlock's arms. What came next made John's fingers become numb because he simply couldn't watch any longer. Sherlock was leaning in for a kiss and the smaller man in his arms obliged.

The phone clattered to the ground. John and Sherlock's eyes met and for the first time in his life, John saw pure fear spread out across Sherlock's features.

"Sherlock. What does my forehead say?" He asked, his voice shaking. Sherlock's eyes bounced up and down from John's eyes, to his feet, to his forehead.

"Just" Sherlock stated.

"I was afraid you were going to say that" John muttered.

"Why?"

"Because yours says 'married'"