Author’s Summary: John is very very drunk. Sherlock is not. John's mouth and brain run away with him.
Well, they're very pretty, both of them. And the joy of drunkenness leads to several confessions.
My Summary: This one felt like watching two people learn to dance. Sherlock keeps saying things while meaning another, while John insists he is sure he knows whats going on, but is definitely confused. Drunken flirting as retaliation, no dubious consent here.
IS IT REAL WE GET DRUNK SHERLOCK FOR ENOLA HOLMES 2? IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES
Thats what it looks like. Apparently it was filmed on my birthday and now all I can think about is what it would be like for drunk Sherlock to show up at your door being all like:
"Happy Birthday my love. I accidentally drank the wine I was going to give you, very bad form, I know. But I do have ways of making it up to you..."
Summary: After a night in together, you find that Sherlock Holmes is rather endearing whilst drunk.
Word Count: 2,236
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Insecure Reader
“Are you sober?”
Sherlock titled his head slightly to the side.
“I’m moderately functional.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
It had only been a few hours but you could easily confirm that getting Sherlock Holmes drunk was one of your greatest achievements in life.
Seeing the usually stoic man giggling like a giddy toddler was definitely a sight to behold, and you found it more and more amusing as the night progressed.
“I think I’m going to pass out” Sherlock groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
Your eyes found the clock that sat on the mantle place.
“Sherlock, it’s only seven o'clock.”
“And your point?”
You chuckled slightly at Sherlock’s dishevelled appearance as he knocked back the last of the wine in his glass.
“You are such a lightweight.”
Sherlock shook his head in disagreement as he placed the glass aside and tried to stand. However, your point was proven as he quickly lost his footing and fell back into his chair.
The detective let out a long huff before waving his hand through the air in defeat.
You found it rather hilarious how expressive Sherlock became whilst intoxicated, how he let the cold facade melt away for as long as he was under the alcohol’s influence.
“Alright,” you smiled, standing from your seat across from Holmes and taking a moment to steady yourself.
“You,” you pointed an accusing finger at the detective, “are absolutely wasted.”
“So that’s enough of this for one night,” you stated, snatching the wine bottle and faltering your way into the kitchen to put it away before Sherlock could tempt you to another glass.
You weren’t nearly as smashed as Sherlock but you were definitely feeling the alcohol’s effects. The room was spinning slightly and it took you longer than it should have to co-ordinate your next step.
Not to mention you and Sherlock’s unusual forwardness with each other and the fact that your verbal filter had gone out the window around two glasses ago.
Yep, you were definitely drunk.
After sliding the bottle back into the damp cupboard you turned on your heel, and using the counter for support, stumbled back into the living room.
You found Sherlock attempting to tidy away the wine glasses, but by state of his shaking hands and the large wine stain already seeping into the carpet at his feet, you had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job.
You shook your head slightly as you made your way over to the man who was clearly struggling with the mundane task.
However, Sherlock began to panic when he noticed you approaching, like a child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Another out of character act brought on by drunkenness.
“I-I’m sorry, I can clean it up, I’ll just-”
“Leave it, Sherlock” you smiled, gently prying the glass out of his trembling hands and easing him back into his seat, “I’ll do it.”
“But I-” Sherlock struggled to form his sentence and instead settled on giving you his best pout, briefly reminding you that Sherlock Holmes was a cute drunk.
“Sherlock, It’s okay. Let me do it,” you smiled, struggling to stay balanced when you were so focused on the detective.
Sherlock didn’t argue with you and instead let his head fall back against the chair. He groaned loudly, rubbing at his eye’s to block out the light.
“I am never drinking with you again.”
You chuckled slightly.
“You said that last time.”
“Yes, well this time I mean it,” Sherlock moped as he crossed his arms over his chest like a sulking child. He knew he’d regret drinking too much.
You placed the glasses on the table and threw an old towel over the wine stain. It did absolutely nothing to soak up the mess and you would definitely be hearing about it from Mrs Hudson, but that was a tomorrow problem.
Flopping back in your own chair, you closed your eyes for what felt like the first time all night. You knew that you should probably go to bed if you didn’t plan on sleeping in the armchair, but you were already far too comfortable to even consider moving.
After a few moments of prolonged silence (which was rarely a good sign when you were with Sherlock) you opened your eyes in speculation, thinking maybe the detective had dozed off.
So, you did a slight doubletake when you realized that Sherlock was staring at you, hand resting under his chin as he smirked in thought.
“Sherlock, you’re staring”.
“It’s an accident” Sherlock responded in a tone that sounded far too matter of factly.
You laughed slightly, partially in an attempt to break the awkward silence, and partially to brush Sherlock’s statement off as a joke. But when you quietened back down, you found that the detective’s eyes were still fixed on you.
“You’re still staring.”
“It’s still an accident,” Sherlock smiled and you were caught off guard by the sudden sensation of butterflies filling your stomach.
Pushing the feeling deep down and doing your best to hide your blush, you attempted to laugh off Sherlock’s comment again.
Standing and gently taking hold of Sherlock’s arm, you tried to hoist him up to stand with you.
“Okay, you should go to bed,” you ordered more than advised, “it’s been a long night and you are way too drunk for me to deal with right now.”
You were well aware that part of the reason you were trying to coax the detective into calling it a night was because Sherlock Holmes had just flirted with you, whilst drunk and you had no idea how you were supposed to proceed in that situation.
“No,” Sherlock mumbled, catching your wrist gently and pulling you down to join him. Sherlock was still surprisingly strong despite being completely wasted, not that you put up much of a fight.
Considering Sherlock was already occupying it, the chair was seriously lacking in space. You found your personal space being abolished as Sherlock pulled you into him.
“I want to stay here,” he mused, wrapping his arms around you to the point you were resting on Sherlock more than the chair.
“Here with you.”
Your breath hitched and you were suddenly very grateful that Sherlock’s chin was resting on your head so he couldn’t see your burning blush.
Sherlock Holmes was shamelessly flirting with you, everything he locked away and pretended to be devoid of was suddenly flowing past his lips freely. And he seemed blissfully aware and pleased about it all.
You swallowed thickly and attempted to not let Sherlock’s words or actions reach you. Sherlock rarely meant anything he said whilst sober, so this, this was just a drunken game.
Even men made of stone could smile after a drink, and though Sherlock may be made of something a little softer than that, the same rules applied.
He’d forget about all this by morning and if he didn’t, he’d just assume you didn’t recall anything and carry on as usual.
And besides that, you couldn’t do it. You cared about Sherlock, and you’d definitely admit to having a crush on your devilishly handsome friend.
But you had accepted that it wasn’t going to happen. It was Sherlock, for god’s sake. It didn’t stop you from falling, of course. But it made it a hell of a lot harder.
And even if there was a sliver of a chance, you wouldn’t want it to happen like this. Not when you were both drunk off your faces and could barely form a sentence. You couldn’t take advantage of such a hazy moment.
Besides, you were already an unlikely pair as friends. Being in a relationship would draw all sorts of attention from all the wrong people. Something you were reminded of every time you set foot in Scotland Yard together.
The teasing was already bad enough, and you didn’t want to give anyone, especially Donovan, a reason to take another cheap shot at you. If it wasn’t about your relationship with Sherlock, it was something else. From the way you spoke, to what you were wearing, no matter what, she always found something to put you down over.
What she said never bothered you, not really. You were best friends with Sherlock Holmes, after all, caring about what other people thought of you was pretty low on your to-do list.
But you were human. Even the side comments made by Donovan and Anderson got to Sherlock sometimes, you could tell. But he was just a hell of a lot better at hiding it than you were.
And it was also hitting half seven on a Saturday night. And you were cuddled up with your drunk crush who will most likely never feel the same; so if you wanted to feel sorry for yourself then by god you were going to do it, self-esteem be damned.
You’d held it together long enough. Giving yourself a break, a chance to exhale, was exactly what you needed at this point.
You wanted to talk to Sherlock. He was your best friend, you trusted him. Given, he was part of the problem but through no fault of his own. And as of right now, he seemed too drunk to hold any judgement. So why the hell not?
You swallowed thickly, before shifting slightly in Sherlock’s arms.
“Sherlock” you chanced, “are you still awake?”
It was quite for a moment before you received a groggy reply.
“Yes, why?”
The tiredness in his voice and the slight delay of his words made you feel guilty enough to drop the subject; Sherlock was obviously wrecked.
“No reason,” you mumbled into his chest, too awkward to meet his eye but too content to even consider the idea of leaving his embrace.
Sherlock breathed out what you could have sworn was a drunken attempt at a laugh.
“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t have a reason,” he slurred in response and you could practically hear the smile on his lips. Because Sherlock knew you. Even whilst drunk as a Lord, Sherlock picked up on your little attributes that he had grown so fond of.
And just like that, you felt the butterflies fill you, and a world of nasty stares and comments suddenly all seemed worth it if it meant being with Sherlock.
However, your moments’ hesitation didn’t escape him, not that anything ever did.
“Tell me what’s bothering you, Y/N.”
And you knew that you could, you could tell Sherlock what was upsetting you, what you had to down a bottle of wine before even considering to talk about. And whether he remembered it in the morning or not, you knew it was okay. Because Sherlock would listen.
“Sherlock,” you choked, fighting to keep your voice steady, “do you think I’m-”
You bit your lip, trying to find the right word.
“Odd?”
You froze as you felt the rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest slow beneath you. There was a long pause and you suddenly regretted saying anything at all.
“No,” Sherlock spoke gently into the quiet of the flat, it almost sounded as if he was talking to himself rather than you, “I don’t think you’re odd.”
“I think you’re just a little different,” Sherlock murmured, shifting to look at you and raising a hand to brush some stray hair out of your face.
“And people don’t like thing’s that are different.”
You pondered Sherlock’s words as you let your head fall against his chest. You’d both sobered up quite a bit in the past few minutes. But seemingly not enough to remember the meaning of ‘personal space’.
“But I think they’re wrong,” Sherlock’s next words surprised you, you’d assumed he’d given his answer and dropped the subject altogether. But it appeared he had more on his mind.
Shifting as much as he could in the little space you both had left in the chair, Sherlock did his best to manoeuvre himself into a better position.
After an awkward few moments of moving around, you found yourself eye to eye with the detective. Sherlock’s expression was genuine and there was the hint of a smile resting on his lips.
“I think you’re brilliant.”
You froze, shocked into silence. Sherlock noticed, as he always does, and allowed his smile to broaden. And you knew he was telling you the truth, Sherlock was telling you what he really thought.
Drunk or not, Sherlock Holmes thought you were brilliant.
The most amazing, intelligent and extraordinary man you’d ever met thought you were brilliant.
You didn’t know what to say or how you were supposed to answer, but by the way Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair, you could tell he didn’t expect one.
You smiled slightly, allowing your worries to melt from your shoulders as you leaned into Sherlock.
“Thank you, Sherlock” you sighed.
“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” Sherlock replied, holding you close, “not for something like this.”
Sighing contently, you began to doze with a smile on your face. Everything that worried you before seemed to fade away to nothing.
But just before you gave in to sleep, you felt a gentle kiss against your forehead before Sherlock whispered something quietly in your ear.
You smiled again, cuddling further into his chest and closing your eyes.
Can you please do a Sherlock and Mycroft x ticklish! Little sister! Reader for “I’ll always be here for you.” I just love your works! 🥇
I’m so happy you’re enjoying everything! Ugh, why can’t I write for Mycroft????/ Lmao I hate his character most of the time XD Sherlock is easier for me but I’ll take the challenge ;)
“I’ll always be here for you.”
Sherlock didn’t make a noise, even though you expected him to make a small huff or something of the sort as he normally does.
He had been drinking and doing drugs heavily for an entire night, a case really having him on edge. You had woken up to a loud crash in the middle of the night and ran out of bed, seeing Sherlock swinging his arms around and screaming about something you had no clue of. He had knocked down a vase Mrs. Hudson put up the other day.
You had called Mycroft to inform him it was bad. But in the meantime, you got Sherlock to sit down in his chair and you knelt on the floor by him. Never in your early life would you have thought you’d be taking care of your brilliant big brother.
With a hand on his knee, thumb brushing it gently, you stared up at Sherlock, seeing his eyes puffy and glazed over. A hand was resting near his mouth and he was staring at the kitchen opposite of him.
“Would you like some tea?” you offered. You didn’t get a response and you sighed, shaking your head and looking down. You hated when he was high, and it was worse now that he was drunk, too. So half of him wanted to jump off the walls in hallucinations and the other half wanted to pass out from the lethargic effects of alcohol.
“I know you’re here for me.”
You looked up at him again, squeezing his knee tighter.
“Sit on my lap,” Sherlock suddenly said, a slight bounce to his voice. But you knew it was all play as caused by the game of drugs.
You rose a brow, “Noho, Sherlock.”
“Sit. Come on, now, I won’t bite,” he took your arm and pulled you up against your will and he plopped you down onto his lap.
You huffed and smiled slightly, “Happy?”
Sherlock paused, thinking of an answer, “Well, no. I haven’t been happy since… hmmm, since I made Gavin walk from the bridge to here and didn’t allow him to take a cab,” he let out a bubbly giggle, brief but incredibly drunk sounding.
“You mean Greg, Sherlock. His name is Greg,” you corrected, carefully thumbing your fingers through your brother’s curly dark locks.
“Oh whatever,” Sherlock brushed that off, looking around 221B.
You didn’t want to bring up the case, thinking it would set him off again. And you just prayed he wasn’t still thinking of it. Maybe you had calmed him down enough to keep him in a mellow state.
“Something just crossed my mind. Well, many things are currently crossing. Quite a lot of traffic up there. You’re still ticklish, aren’t you?”
The sudden question took you off guard and you huffed, smiling, “What kihind of a question is that?”
“I’ve been lightly brushing my fingers across your side, and you’ve been tensing every time I did it. You obviously want to hide it. But it’s equally as obvious that you’re still extremely ticklish.”
“Extremely, huh?” you grinned, “And what about yourself?”
“I’m not. Never have been.”
You scoffed, “Youhu are such a liar, Sherlock Holmes!” you chuckled and reached towards Sherlock’s stomach, able to get in a few wiggles with your fingers since his reflexes were slowed.
Sherlock grunted but he did let out small laughs, squirming under you. You smiled. It was nice to see him laugh even though it was under the influence.
“Stohohop thahahat!” Sherlock snorted and he pushed your hands away finally.
You chuckled, “Juhust as I suspected. The brilliant Sherlock Holmes is still ticklish. I think I’ve cracked the case,” you joked around, reaching over for Sherlock’s pipe and sticking it in your mouth.
Sherlock smiled at you, taking a beat before he clumsily massaged his fingers into your side with one hand to hold you in place as his other hand slipped under your shirt and scratched its short nails along your skin.
“Aha!” the pipe fell from your mouth and you squirmed in your big brother’s lap, “Sheheheherlock! E-Eeheep! Nohoho wahahahaHAHAIT!” you squealed when he got fingers up to your ribs.
“Hmm, looks like I wasn’t far off either, darling,” Sherlock smiled, continuing to torment you with tickles.
“Was I really summoned for this?” the voice of Mycroft came from the doorway.
“Summoned? Why did you even– oh, never mind. She called you,” Sherlock spoke to the eldest Holmes but still did not stop the tickles. He now had his thumbs pressing into the hollows of your armpits.
You shrieked, “AHAHA! MYHYHYCROFT, HEHEHEHELP!”
Mycroft rolled his eyes, “He’ll tucker out soon enough. This isn’t the worst I’ve seen him, sister mine.”
“Well, you’re not looking…. well,” Sherlock tried to act snarky but it didn’t work so well.
“Don’t torture her too much, Sherlock? She’ll need to breathe,” Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor before turning to leave again.
Sherlock grinned when Mycroft had left and he scribbled his fingers next on your bare belly.
You arched your back, kicking your legs that were hanging off the couch, “NOHOHO HEHEHELP MEHEHE! AhahahaHAHAHA SHEHEHER-SHEHERLOCK STOHOHOP!”
Sherlock giggled in glee but he did soon stop when a yawn interrupted him.
You panted and laid out on his lap, “B-Bloohoody hell…. that was uncalled for….”
“Mmm… I’m tired,” Sherlock announced, “Are you?”
You rolled your eyes and stood up off his lap, “Come with me. You’re sleeping in bed tonight.”
Sherlock stood when you tugged on his arm, probably not paying attention to you anymore. You led him into the bed and tucked him in, “Goodnight, Sherlock.”
“Goodnight, Y/N. Thank you… for being here for me.”
Your heart swelled with warmth and happiness when you heard him say that. You kissed Sherlock’s forehead and sat by him until he drifted off to sleep.
