Getting high with Sherlock
Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact with, weed mentions, I'm a stoner myself so it's kind of my Pov in a way, Benedict just has me by the throat.
Ever since John moved out to raise Rosie you responded to a new flat mate ad Sherlock had put out. After finally moving into Johnâs old room fully, you sat on the bed and decided to pull out your secret stash of weed you brought with you. Hoping the skilled detective wouldnât smell it, you sat by the window discreetly and decided to smoke. Getting lost in your creeping high, someone decided to knock on your door. Startled back to reality you hid your weed stash under your pillow and answered the door nervously. Shocked, but not surprised, you were face to face with said detective. You felt singled out as he stared down at you. Your cheeks flushed because no one had told you that the famous detective was very attractive. As he stared at you, probably deducing that you were high right now in front of him. He gave a sniff to the air, momentarily taking his gorgeous eyes off of you, you stepped back a bit and avoided eye contact just encase your eyes were droopy and red.
âWhere is it?â he asked, breaking the awkward silence. âWhere is what?â you stupidly asked. You knew exactly what he was asking but you didn't want to admit it. âYou know exactly what I'm talking about. The weedâŠ.â he hissed. For a second you panicked thinking he was mad at you for having the paraphernalia on you but then you remembered the rumor about his âhabitsâ. âYou could smell it even if I had the window open?â you remarked stupidly. He squinted at you and stepped into your room. He took a few seconds looking around the room deducing where you couldâve hidden it. He easily narrowed it down to under your pillow. âAmateurâŠ.â he muttered out loud.
You shut the door and lightly kicked your feet on the ground like a little kid in trouble for breaking momâs favorite vase. He turned around and looked at you and reached his hand out expecting you to hand him the lighter still in your hand. Not thinking clearly as you hand it over to him before you realise what you are doing. âYouâre tossing it arenât you?â you ask. âGod noâŠ.thatâd be a waste. What strand is it? Birthday Cake?â he asked as he guessed. âAn indica hybrid of Birthday Cake, yesâŠâ you responded sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling your stash out from under your pillow like he had guessed. Damn this man is smart. âIâm assuming you came to confiscate this?â you asked looking at the almost ashed weed in the glass pipe bowl you were just smoking not even 20 minutes ago from. He chuckled and shook his head.
âWhy waste perfectly ... .no, scratch that⊠mildly perfect weed?â he said. âOutta everything that I heard you do, I wouldnât have guessed that you smoke weed?â you said surprised when he grabbed a chair and sat across from you. He crossed his one leg over the other and just stared at you, just waiting. You handed your bowl over to him slowly and watched. âI thought you donât do this sorta thing?â you asked. âI wonât tell Mrs. Hudson about this, as long as you donât tell her Iâm doing this right now. I suppose this is one way to get âhighâ. Itâs boring and dull. But Iâll take what I can get.â he said, putting the bowl up to his lips and lighting the green that was in it. He took a few long puffs before finally admitting defeat and the coughing fit that followed managed to put a smile on your face. âSorry, I meant to say: Medical grade Hybrid Indica Birthday Cake strand. Very potent.â you lazily giggled taking the lighter and bowl from him as he still was coughing up his lungs. You went and grabbed him a glass of water. âDrink. Itâll help the coughing stop.â Your eyes widened upon seeing just how red his eyes were. You then chuckled loudly. âThe Infamous Sherlock Holmes canât take medical grade weed?â you joked.
He sneared at you after taking a sip of water. âWhat rumors have you heard? If itâs about my âdrug habitâ, I donât have one, itâs a lie. Never believe a word the press says unless it involves a case. Speaking of which, donât tell John about this either.â he said, reaching back for the bowl and lighter again. You just nodded, not being able to form words due to brain fog. After about an hour of passing the bowl back and forth and refilling it 4 times the both of you were completely gone past outer space. Giggling and ranting on about nothing and everything at once is where you both found yourselves. You canât remember when he did it but somehow the both of you were lying in your bed next to each other. Suddenly a yawn took you by surprise and he followed suit with his own.Â
You're not sure when you both ended up falling asleep, but you woke up cuddling the detective bare chested. Bare chest to bare chest. What the hell happened? What did you do in your blacked out stoner state? Oh god did you screw him? Why do your legs hurt and feel weak? So many questions left to be answered, that is till HE woke up staring you in the face with the same confusion mirroring your own.
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