Work Text:
"I'm your best friend," slurs Sherlock as he takes the drink handed to him by John. "I'm your best friend."
John sniggers and half-falls down into his chair, only just setting his glass on the side-table as he does so.
"I am!" Sherlock sways.
"Shhhhh…" John's laughing. "Shhh. You'll wake up..." he waves a hand as he slides down further into his seat, "you know, Mrs Hudson." He peers at his watch. "If she's asleep."
"No," says Sherlock. He perches himself unsteadily on the arm of John's chair. "No you don't understand, John." He leans across."I am your best friend."
John gives him a wonky smile. "But I do understand, Sherlock. Because I told… I told you that." He slaps Sherlock on the arm. "I told you."
"No, John. No." Sherlock shakes his head and nearly slips from his perch. He holds his glass to his chest. "I am your best friend. And you," he pokes John's chest, "are my best friend." He grins lopsidedly. "You didn't say that. I said that just now."
John laughs some more, and slides so far down in the chair that he jostles Sherlock, who falls half on top of him, dropping his drink as he goes.
"Oh fuck," says the pile of ungainly limbs that was once Sherlock Holmes. He lolls his head to one side. "All on the rug."
"You tit," laughs John. "You're heavy."
Sherlock laughs too. "Fuck off."
"And you swear more when you're drunk."
Sherlock snorts. "No I don't." And he shifts himself onto one side, elbowing John's ribs in the process.
John flinches. "Ow, you bastard."
"Yeah," Sherlock grins at him, "but I'm your best bastard."
John gives Sherlock's arm another slap. "That doesn't even make any sense... Sherlock. But if you want," he gestures at the room, "you can be any… any kind of bastard you want."
Sherlock laughs. "Good. And you can be my best bastard." He cranes his neck awkwardly to look down at John. "You did mean it… You did… did mean it, right, John? When you said…" he shrugs, "those things. Those," he waves a hand, "all those things."
John frowns. "What things?"
"When you said you cared... about me," Sherlock tries to contain a belch, "and that."
"Of course." John attempts to lift himself up in the chair a little more. He grabs Sherlock's sleeve for leverage and only succeeds in dragging Sherlock down further. "You're my best friend an… and I love you, Sherlock." He pats Sherlock's arm. "I do. I love you. I do."
"And I love you," says Sherlock, smiling where he's pressed against John's shoulder. "I didn't say it before," he waves an arm, "but I'm say… I'm saying it now. I..." he sniffs, "love you."
"You really love me?" slurs John, lifting his head to look at Sherlock.
"I do," says Sherlock. "I do." He grins. "I love you like… one of those… things… That much."
"That means… That means a lot to me, you know," says John.
Sherlock frowns up at him. "Really?"
"Yeah." John attempts to nod. "You love me and I love you. That's…That's nice."
"That's nice," agrees Sherlock.
They smile.
"You know," says John.
Sherlock looks at him. "What?"
"Do you ever…?"
"What?"
"Do you…?" John looks down at him. "I mean…" says John. "Sometimes." He runs a wobbly thumb along Sherlock's jaw.
"Oh," says Sherlock. "Oh..." He takes a breath.
"Yeah." John's eyelids lower.
Carefully, Sherlock places a hand on John's neck.
The thumb on Sherlock's jaw trembles.
And Sherlock breathes in sharply. "Married," he says.
John frowns. "What?"
"You… You're getting married," says Sherlock.
"Oh," says John. "God." He pushes himself upwards. "I'm getting married. God." He looks down at Sherlock.
"We should…" Sherlock peers up at the ceiling. "We shouldn't…"
"Right," says John. "Yeah. No."
"A game?" suggests Sherlock. "We can play a game."
"Yes." John clambers up out of the chair. "Yes. A game. Good."
"Good," echoes Sherlock.
John casts his eye about the room and stumbles to one side. "Twenty questions?" he asks.
"Yes," agrees Sherlock. "Perfect. Yes." He looks at John. "What is it?"