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After asking nearly everyone at the party where John had wandered off to, Sherlock found him in a bedroom on the second floor of Mike’s house, lying in Mike’s bed and mumbling to himself. Sherlock sighed, closing the door behind him and sitting down by John’s feet. “You’re drunk.”
John hiccoughed, but didn’t open his eyes. “Maybe a little,” he slurred. “But don’t tell Sherlock!”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why not?”
“Cuz I can’t stop talking when I’m drunk. And I might tell him my secret.”
“You don’t keep any secrets from him, he would know,” Sherlock snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
John laughed. “He thinks he’s so smart, with his deductions and his cheekbones.” Sherlock bit his tongue to keep himself from telling John how little sense that made. “But he doesn’t know everything about me.”
Sherlock regarded his friend, hesitating. After a few moments, his insatiable curiosity won out over his desire to be a decent person. “Like what?” He asked softly.
John breathed a heavy sigh. “Like the fact that I think I might be in love with him. And how even if he doesn’t feel the same way, I’d probably follow him anywhere if he let me.”
Sherlock’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Why don’t you want him to know those things?"
John smiled ruefully, eyes still closed. “Because he doesn’t like all that emotional rubbish. Says it messes with his mind.”
“He would probably make an exception, for you.”
“Why would he do that?”
Sherlock hesitated before answering. “Because he thinks you’re extraordinary,” he said in a breath barely above a whisper.
John smiled again. “Nah, I’m not. That’s Sherlock. I’m ordinary.”
Sherlock huffed a humorless laugh. “Wrong, John, as usual.” John broke into a sudden, uncontrollable fit of giggles.
“That sounds like exactly something he’d say, the bastard. Except I’m not wrong, this time.” He sighed and burrowed his face into the pillow. “M’probably just gonna sleep here. You should tell Mike.”
Sherlock stood up, gently easing the comforter out from underneath his friend to drape it over his body. “I will, John.” He started to walk towards the door.
“Don’t tell Sherlock, though,” John said a little louder, his voice slurring even more as sleep started to overtake him. Sherlock stopped and half-turned to look at him. “Cuz he'll come find me. And I can’t tell him…” he drifted off, and his breathing became slow and rhythmic.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Sherlock whispered before walking across the room and pausing at the doorway. He turned around once more to look at John, the object of his affection, perfect now even in a drunken sleep, then turned off the lights and closed the door.