Red Solo Cup - A JOHNLOCK Oneshot

"Sherlock, I made tea." John said from the kitchen.

Sherlock walked in from the living room, and immediately it caught his attention that there were red plastic cups sitting on the counter rather than the usual mugs. "Why are you using plastic cups?"

"Well you cracked the last of our mugs with your last experiment, making them unusable, so this is all we have." John replied while handing Sherlock one of the red solo cups filled to almost to the top with tea. The detective noticed a slightly different aroma coming from the tea. "I didn't make it as hot; I didn't want the plastic to melt." John drank his tea, but Sherlock was simply examining the outside of the cup.

"Did you know that the lines on the outside of a solo cup are actually measurements for different kinds of alcohol, John?"

"Yeah, I did know that actually."

There was moment or so of silence before Sherlock replied. "...You spiked the tea didn't you?"

Yes, John actually had spiked the tea. And what's even more surprising - John had actually convinced Sherlock to drink with him. Perhaps it was boredom which caused Sherlock to agree so easily - There hadn't been any cases the past few days, and he had already done all the experiments he had in the flat. Whatever the case may be, John was pleasantly surprised.

There was a reason why Sherlock didn't indulge in drinking very often, if at all. When Sherlock consumed alcohol, it affected him at a much faster rate than most other people. And the way Sherlock acted when he was drunk was completely different than normal.

Sherlock agreed to drink with John simply because he knew that no matter how different he acted, John wouldn't mind.

Sherlock trusted John.

So the two flat mates drank together. Starting with the spiked tea, and ending with drinking various alcohols directly from the bottle. (Who knew that John had hid that much alcohol around the flat?) As expected, Sherlock ended up getting drunk first. However, it wasn't long after that John was just as far gone as the detective was.

In their drunken state, the two flat mates had the genius idea of playing Cludo. They played the game, not exactly following the rules - they honestly couldn't remember all of them right now - but still having fun. Halfway down the line though, Sherlock got mad at the game and flipped the board over in anger and frustration, before sitting down and sulking.

John didn't care to pick up the game pieces. He sat next to Sherlock.

"Hey-Hey, Sh-Sh'lock." John said. "You know what'll cheer you up?"

"What?"

"Pr-prank call Mycroft and Lestrade."

Sherlock loved the idea - anything having to do with messing with Mycroft was A-Okay with him - He walked over to his jacket and fished out his phone. He handed it to John. "Here, You-You call Lestrade."

John found Lestrade's number in the contact list and pressed the green call button. The ringtone sounded on the other end and then Lestrade answered.

"Hello?"
"Hello sir! Is your refrigerator running?"
"What?"
"Then you better go catch it!"
"John? That you?"
"Yup! But I’m - I’m going by a new name! I-I am The Doctor! One and only Time Lord left from the planet Gallifrey! Have you seen my TARDIS!?"
"You're drunk aren't you?"
"Gotta go, ’strade, Sh’lock wants to use his phone, Bye!"

John hung up, and then he and Sherlock both broke into laughter. John handed the phone to Sherlock. The detective calmed his laughter and then called Mycroft.

"Ah, Sherlock, to what do I owe the pleasure of receiving a call from you?"
"Hey, Hey Myc'oft, the bakery called, they want the stolen cake back!"
"Sherlock have you gone and gotten yourself drunk?"
"No, of course not!"
"DI Lestrade just told me that John called him and he was drunk off his ass."
"So you are with Lestrade! I had my suspicions about you two. Should I be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
"What!?"

John and Sherlock broke into a fit of ridiculously loud, full body laughter. Sherlock barely was able to hang up his phone before he dropped it on the floor. The laughter quickly made both of the occupants of 221B collapse to the floor, lying next to each other. This continued on for a full 5 minutes or so longer until they were laughing so much that they could barely breathe. They gasped for a breath of air, and started to calm down. When they did so, there were a few moments of silence in the flat, but that didn't last long. The two looked at each other, and that was all it took for them to laugh again.

Remember that they had fallen on the floor, a sudden moment of pain - that quickly went away but still lingered a bit - John said, "Ah, gravity... thou art a heartless bitch."

"John... I'm confused." Sherlock said.

"'Bout what?" Asked John.

"Yer eyes. What color are they? I can't tell."

John giggled slightly before answering. "M'eyes are blue.

Sherlock turned his head and looked closer at his flat mate’s eyes. He was so close that there was only a few inches of space that were separating the two faces. "Oh, I guess they are.... I like yer eyes, John, they're pretty."

"Yers are prettier, Sh'lock." John disagreed with Sherlock. "Yers are grey but they have those swirls of blue, and sometimes they look like the change color."

"They do change color... kinda... heterochromia."

"Oh, that explains it then."

Even while under the influence of alcohol, Sherlock's deductive abilities - while pretty skewed - were still able to work and analyze John. "Yer eyes're dilated."

"Yeah, so'er yers." John pointed out.

"It's dark in here."

"No s'not! We turned on all the lights 'member?" After speaking, John pointed upwards, and looked towards the ceiling. In the midst of all their drunken antics they had managed to turn on anything that produced light: Lamps, the telly, the ceiling fan, flashlights, and who knows what else. They didn't know the reason why they did so, but they didn't care.

Sherlock looked around the room before he turned his head back to John. "Oh yeah... forgot..."

The doctor couldn't help but laugh at this. "And you say yer observant!"

"Oh hush." Replied the detective. "I am still observant enough to notice that yer breathing has gotten quicker, and-" Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's wrist, after a moment he continued speaking. "And yer pulse is elevated."

"Well yeah, that's 'cause I’m with you." John said honestly. You see, John Watson was that sort of drunk who if he had enough alcohol in his system, he was blatantly honest about everything. He would say whatever thoughts came to him, and he couldn't censor himself either. If he disliked someone, he would tell them straight to their face. If he found someone to be annoying, like Anderson, he would tell them straight out, possibly adding a few curse words in there depending on who he was talking to. John also couldn't lie when his blood-alcohol level was so high. He was mentally incapable to lying or hiding his feelings.

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit, which went unnoticed by the doctor. "Y - You mean that?"

"Mean what?" John asked. The alcohol did cause his mind to stir and for a moment he was confused as to what Sherlock was asking.

"How... you feel about me." Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, that, 'course I do."

Sherlock looked at John, staring closely at his eyes. "You do?"

John stared back, unable to look away from those grey eyes. They had some sort of hypnotizing effect to them, and John was completely under their spell. "Yeah. Why else would I still be lettin' you hold m'hand?

Sherlock looked down and noticed that he was holding John's hand. When he took John's pulse he must not have let go, and his hand instinctively moved into John's. "Oh..."

"Sh... Sh'lock?"

Sherlock returned his gaze to John. "Yeah, Jawn?"

"Do... Do you feel the same for me?"

Sherlock's face went slightly red at the question. This however did not go unnoticed by John. "...Ye.. Yeah. I have for... quite a while actually." Said Sherlock.

John smiled warmly at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I - I wasn't entirely sure if you felt the same... My powers of deduction... they failed me when I tried to figure out how you felt..."

This caused John to laugh a bit. "Sh'lock, yer adorable."

"No, yer the adorable one, Jawn." Sherlock replied. "Yer like a hedgehog. You come across as dangerous, but you're really kind and caring on the inside. Once you get past the prickly spines, you see the adorable little personality underneath."

"We're both adorable then." John concluded after Sherlock finished his explanation.

"Okay, I can agree with that."

Silence came yet again, as the two simply laid there on the floor of the living room, staring directly into the other's eyes - it was hard not to, when they were this close to each other.

So close, only a few centimeters separating them.

John's eyes wondered for a second, catching sight of Sherlock's lips. So smooth looking: So close to John’s. He could move his head forward just slightly, ever so slightly, and he'd be able to capture those lips with his own, like he had imagined doing many times before. "Sh.. Sh'lock?

"Yeah?"

"Can... C-Can I kiss you?" The question came out shaky and he stuttered.

The detective hesitated before responding simply with a nod.

With that permission, John moved his head, closing that tiny distance between their faces and kissed Sherlock's lips, gently at first, but then increasing in pressure. Sherlock responded and tried to follow John's movements. The kiss was a bit sloppy - Drunken kisses usually are - Definitely not one the best. But even despite that, it was perfect for both of them. It was something that they had both wanted to do for a while now.

After they broke apart - the need for air separating them - Sherlock's eyes were wide, and he stared in wonder at John. "...Wow... That... That was... nice." Words seemed to fail him, and he feared that he sounded ridiculous.

John grinned at Sherlock and laughed quietly. "Oh come here you adorable sociopath, you." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him closer, so that the detective's head was lying on his chest. The two laid there on the floor in their cuddled positions and were blissfully content.

"Jawn?"

"Yes, Sh'lock?"

"I... I love you."

"I love you too."

The detective and his blogger fell asleep together in that cuddled position.

---

Early the next morning, both the occupants of 221B were experiencing all the after effects of overzealous consumption of alcoholic products. Both had massive headaches, every little sound and every tiny flicker of light hurt their heads. When Sherlock’s phone rang, rather than answering it, he grabbed it and chucked it across the room – luckily it landed on the couch, rather than hitting the wall and breaking completely.

Neither of them wanted to do anything. They just wanted to go back to bed and sleep until the afternoon.

And they actually did just that. They each went to their rooms, not saying much to each other, and curled up in bed, falling asleep quickly.

Later in the day – 4pm according to John’s clock – He woke again, feeling considerably better than he had before. For a while he still just laid in bed, curled up with his blanket and enjoying the warmth. His mind wandered off, jumping from one thought to another and back again. For the most part, John didn’t really pay attention to many of the thoughts, but one of them just couldn’t be ignored.

The doctor remembered part of the events that happened the night previous. His recollection was quite hazy, yes, but nonetheless he still remembered. And he remembered what Sherlock had said to him before they both fell asleep on the floor. ”He said it…” John thought to himself. ”... but… will he remember it?” Even though John was beyond drunk last night – just as Sherlock was – He knew what he heard. John knew what Sherlock said… and what he said to Sherlock.

After a few more moments John decided to get out of bed.

Once he was downstairs, making his way into the living room, he noticed that Sherlock was already awake, laying on the couch in his usually thinking position.

John had contemplated asking Sherlock what he was thinking about; contemplated asking him is he remembered what happened last night, if he remembered what he said, or what he heard John say. There were a lot of questions that John could ask Sherlock, but he decided against saying anything at all, and simply made his way into the kitchen.

After only a few moments of being in the kitchen, before he knew it, John felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. Sherlock was hugging him, and then rested his head on John's shoulder. "Good afternoon."

While at first it took him by surprise, the gesture immediately made John smile. "...So you do remember."

"Of course I do." The detective said. "My memory is impeccable even when I’m under alcoholic influence"

Jphn turned himself around in Sherlock's arms and looked up at him. "Good."

"I do have one thing to say to you, John."

"Oh? What’s that?" John questioned, not knowing what Sherlock meant.

Sherlock didn't reply for a few moments, and mearly grew a wide smirk on his face and laughed slightly. "Clever plan."

"I... have no clue what you're talking about." John responded, although he had a good idea about what Sherlock was talking about now.

"Oh come on, John. I know that you purposely planned on having both of us drink until we were drunk past the point of rational." Sherlock stated. His tone of voice was slightly different from when he normally gives his brilliant deductions. It was much softer and less harsh, and he spoke slower than he usually would have. "You started it off by calling Lestrade and asking him not to give me any cases. That way I'd be left confined to the flat and the impending boredom. You then strategically hid different bottles of alcohol around the flat, thinking that I wouldn't notice - Really, John you underestimate me sometimes. Most observant man in London, remember? - The red solo cups came into play not only because we didn't have any mugs left, but so you could correctly measure the exact amount of alcohol you were putting into the tea, enough to get us buzzed, but not yet fully drunk. The alcohol took a quicker hold on me simply because I don't drink very often and my body has little immunity to it. You, however, didn't last much longer, seeing as we were downing some pretty strong alcohol in the first place. With both of us out of our wits, wild antics ensued. You... you knew that when our blood-alcohol level is high enough it affects your mind in such a way that you become mentally incapable of lying or, more specifically, hiding you're feelings. You did all of this... just so you could force yourself to confess how you feel."

"…Can't really hide anything from you, can I?"

"No... But that dosen't mean I don't appriciate the attempt." Sherlock replied, smiling again.

The two stood there for a few moments, simply staring at each other.

"John."

"Yeah?"

"May I kiss you?"

John immidiately caught on to what Sherlock was doing. It was like last night. John had asked Sherlock that same question. John replied in the same way Sherlock had the previous night; not with words but with a simple nod.

And then the two of them were kissing. Sherlock had his hands on either side of John's face, and John's found their way into Sherlock's curly hair. Unlike last night, this kiss was much less sloppy and much more passionate. More precise, less of a suprise, but still just as spontanious.

After they pulled away from the kiss, Sherlock was the first to speak. "I meant what I said, John."

"Hm?"

"Last night... when I said that... I love you..." Sherlock replied. "That wasn't the alchohol talking... I meant that... for real."

John smiled again. "Good... 'Cause I meant it too."