The Senses Say...

Sight.

Holmes' eyes read that Watson is drunk. He's stumbling, tripping over the pile of bricks near the doorway. Watson had known that Holmes was endeavouring to create a sort of brick oven, so he had learned to step over the bricks. He wouldn't trip over the bricks if his senses were not down. The eyes of Watson, a set that had the most peculiar colouring, Holmes might add, are not only glassy but his pupils are dilated, as well.

"Holmes! What the- hell is this?" Watson yells, not loud enough to be considered 'loud' in Holmes' ears, but enough to startle the dubious nanny downstairs.

"My dear dingy bird... What poison have you picked tonight?" Holmes replies, pulling himself away from the festering experiment he was working on.

"You... You pick poison, not I," Watson mutters, stepping forward. He stagger, catches himself on a faux corpse hanging from the ceiling. His eyes travel up the dummy, a look of amusement in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but, instead of coherant, the words come out slurred.

Sound.

"I admit to it, now and again. There's not any harm. However, seeing as how you are constantly berating me, I know for a fact that you do not resort to any poison to the human mind unless reason calls."

"Don't be ridiculous," Watson mumbles. It is so near incoherant that no one except Holmes and his trained ears would have heard it.

"Oh, never, never. Wouldn't dream of it," he muses as he crosses the room to join his friend.

Touch.

Watson leans against him heavily and, stout as he is, Holmes almost staggers. To his defense, he hadn't quite expected Watson's dead weight. Albeit a surprise, another tick on his deductions.

Smell.

To overlook the general smell of the bar is the wisest move for Holmes. Instead, he focuses in on the particular scent following Watson's body. The scent has sank into his clothes, his skin, and will soon taint the fresh air of 221B.

It smells familiar, something common. Popular to the time period, then, Holmes imagines. Taking in the time period, taking in Watson's state, and taking in the smell, distinct and demanding. Holmes breathes in, lets out a sigh before he smiles.

Dark Star Original.

He is almost positive.

The only thing he really could do to tell is...

Taste.

Holmes grips Watson's shoulders and turns him to face him before he rocks forwards on his feet. His lips land, directly and indifferently, on Watson's.

His deduction is nearly proven from the first second, and it really is a good thing, because Watson reacts quite quickly for someone of his state.

"Holmes!" he hisses, shoving him away. It's a slight bad move; Holmes stumbles backwards, but so does Watson, the latter falling back into the chair. "What are you- what- I'm married, Holmes!"

"That is very evident, friend. You're wearing a wedding ring, plus there is the outstanding fact that I was your best man," Holmes replied as he licks his lips. Yes. Definitely Dark Star Original. He doesn't like the stuff much himself, although he doesn't drink much of the stuff to begin with.

"You just kissed me!"

"Well, you wouldn't tell me what you had been guzzling. As your friend, I believe that I have a right to know."

Watson gives him a dirty look as he scrubs his mouth. "I think I might need another trip to the pub, now!"

"Oh, come now. My mouth is very clean," Holmes replies airily, waving his hand as he walks away. "I'll tell Nanny to call Mary. She'll pick you up accordingly."

He heads for the door with a smile.

Deduction: complete.

I'm actually not writing something for Sherlock! Just Sherlock... Holmes. Haha. Well, I had this crazy idea one day, finally got around to typing it up, and nope, it's still not slash, although if you put on your... goggles or whatever is you crazy slash fans wear nowadays for Holmes/Watson (xD), you will read it as so. But, my intention was not as so. I don't like the pairing here anymore than I do in Sherlock.

Reviews are great, but you already know that, yeah? Bring them on!