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"Sherlooock!" John bellowed from his bedroom. "Come in here!"
"No!" Sherlock yelled back, blinking in his drunken haze.
"Yes! Come on. I've got an... er... an idea."
"What kind of idea, John?"
"Uh... an experiment!" John exclaimed, his lips curling upwards with the knowledge that Sherlock couldn't turn down an experiment.
Sherlock groaned. Pushing himself off the sofa, he stumbled clumsily down the hall. "What?" he moaned, turning the corner into John's bedroom and leaning against the door frame.
John's face lit up at the sight of the curly haired man. His cheeks were flushed, making the rest of his face look even paler than it naturally was. His hair fell across his forehead in little curly strands, and his shirt had come half untucked on his right side. John pushed himself up with a grunt so that he was standing on top of his bed. He reached out an arm dramatically, as if asking for a dance at an extravagant royal ball.
Sherlock's brows furrowed. "What are you doing?" he muttered, almost to himself, as if he was trying to deduce just what John had in mind through the fog of the alcohol misting over his usually sharp intuitive skills.
John stumbled, losing his balance, and almost falling off the bed. He caught himself with his arm. Pushing himself back up, he once again raised it towards Sherlock. "Come jump on the bed with me?" he asked, making a face akin to that of a two year old that has just lost their beloved stuffed animal.
Sherlock groaned and fell backwards onto the bed, his head resting next to John's feet. "No, John," he slurred dramatically. "I don't want to. That's ridiculous."
John frowned. "Come on, perhaps we'll even be able to wake up Mrs. Hudson. You know how funny it is when she's both sleepy and angry at once," he said, already beginning to bounce on the worn mattress.
Sherlock giggled at the memories of that. Still, ever stubborn, he stayed put.
John jumped higher, shaking the entire bed with the force of his weight on the weak frame. Sherlock laid as limp as a rag doll, allowing himself to flop about with the movement of the bed. "Well, if you aren't gonna jump, I might as well just jump all the higher to make up for all the..." John trailed off, losing his train of thought. "I have no idea what I was gonna say," he mused, taking a particularly high leap in an attempt to touch the ceiling. "Oh, crap," he mumbled as he landed, twisting his ankle and falling sideways on the bed, right on top of Sherlock, who groaned at the extra weight lying on his chest. Peering down with through his lashes with bleary eyes, he saw John lying across his stomach with a comical pout on his face.
"Hello, John," Sherlock murmured, attempting to conceal the fondness in his voice with a grumpy huff.
"Hi, Sherlock," John returned, giggling. He turned onto his stomach and dragged himself forwards until his face was close enough to Sherlock's that he could feel the other man's breath on his nose. "Hellooooooo," he giggled repetitively.
Sherlock frowned at him. "What do you want, John?" he inquired, blushing at the proximity.
John snorted. "You git," he muttered, bringing a hand to Sherlock's cheek. "Either you're drunk enough to be completely daft, or you're just generally socially inept." He laughed. "I'm gonna go with the latter," he murmured, leaning in closer, closer, until his lips almost touched those of the man under him. He grinned slightly, savoring his moment of complete control and the fact that for once, Sherlock was completely silent.
Suddenly, a pair of lips crashed into his own. Taken aback, John snaked a hand into the mesh of dark curls, trying desperately to keep up with the other man's eager pace. "You bastard," he muttered against Sherlock's lips. "Couldn't even wait to let me celebrate."
Sherlock pulled away abruptly. "Celebrate what?" he questioned, grinning dazedly.
"I just kissed Sherlock Holmes!"