Happy birthday...
It's 20mins past midnight here in the UK so....
HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY SKYLOCKEE!!!!
here is your birthday fic, hope you enjoy :-)
Title: A Drink Too Many
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Holmes has a rather nasty hangover, Watson acts as nursemaid.
In a rare moment of success, I had managed to persuade Sherlock Holmes to join myself and Lestrade for a celebratory drink. We had spent the last few weeks on the trail of a notorious forger and at last he was behind bars. We deserved our celebration.
Holmes isn't really much of a drinker, in fact it doesn't really take much to get him rather drunk and as a result he is usually very careful about the amount of alcohol that passes his lips. I on the other hand enjoyed a drink and was engaged in a drinking game with a very enthusiastic Lestrade. We were all rather tipsy, and I could see that Holmes was struggling to maintain his balance as he headed to the lavatory for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour.
"I'm surprised he's drunk the amount he's having to piss." Lestrade commented sipping his pint. I snorted into my glass and giggled as we watched Holmes emerging from the lavatory. "Should we tell him?"
"Why not?"
We turned our heads in his direction and looked directly at him.
"What?" Holmes asked sitting back down.
"Nothing, we're just employing your methods." I smiled drunkenly at him.
"Oh?"
"Yes." Lestrade jabbed his finger in Holmes's direction. "Observation, Sherlock Holmes has spent the best part of the evening with his fly open. Deduction, Sherlock Holmes has had one too many."
"Ha. Ha." Holmes fastened his trousers and turned a particularly fetching shade of red. <
"Which means..." I said downing the rest of my drink, "that it's your turn to buy the drinks."
Holmes groaned slightly, and Lestrade leaned closer to me. "I think that the great detective can't handle another drink."
"Oh of course he can!" I grinned at him.
Holmes shook his head and held up hand, "he's right, I can't."
"Oh go on Holmes, of course you can."
"Watson..."
"Come on, one more won't hurt."
"All right. All right." He stood, swayed slightly, and headed towards the bar. I glanced at Lestrade and we started to giggle uncontrollably. We watched him as he managed to slur our order to the landlord, and somehow managed to get back to the table without dropping the glasses. "What?" He asked setting the three drinks on the table and looking at the pair of us laughing.
"Oh nothing." I wiped my eyes. "Hey Lestrade, watch this..." I leaned over and tickled Holmes.
"Egeghge!" He squirmed in his chair and knocked his pint over himself.
"I'll remember that." Lestrade laughed.
The evening continued in a similar vein, as Holmes became more and more inebriated we teased him more and more until we decided to call it a night and I assisted Holmes back to Baker Street. I had imbibed a fair amount of alcohol myself and was feeling somewhat romantic, and thus we ascended the stairs to my room (Holmes's being a complete tip).
Whereas alcohol tends to go straight through Holmes, beer tends to make me somewhat flatulent so our love making (or what you could call love making since the alcohol had a less desired effect) descended into fits of not-very muffled laughter before we both passed out.
The next morning I awoke with a particularly nasty headache, which of course I had been expecting. I grunted and pulled the bedclothes up around myself and snuggled further into the bed.
I briefly wondered where Holmes was, although upon hearing the sounds of someone retching from the lavatory across the hall I knew exactly where my poor friend was. Sighing I reluctantly clambered out of the bed. I reached for my dressing gown, but finding the spot where it usually hung empty I groaned and hunted about for my nightshirt for I couldn't walk across the hall without wearing something!
I pushed open the lavatory door to find my friend leaning over the lavatory bowl, looking rather pale and wearing my dressing gown.
"Oh dear." I mused.
"This is your fault." He vomited violently
"Yes." I crouched next to him and rubbed his back. "Try not to get vomit on my dressing gown."
"Pi..." Unfortunately he wasn't able to finish. "Make it stop." He whimpered, resting his head on the edge of the bowl.
"I can't." I said softy, brushing the hair from his brow. "I'll get you a glass of water."
Ten minutes later Holmes had managed to leave the lavatory and was now lying on the sofa. For decency sake I had helped him dress and he was wearing a pair of trousers and his shirt, his feet, collar and cuffs bare. I placed a bowl near his head.
"Would you like something to settle your stomach?" He gave a small nod. "Would you me to hold you?" He gave another small nod and I smiled and kissed him lighting on the brow climbing onto the sofa next to him and pulling him into a gentle embrace. I looked up as the door open to admit our dear landlady carrying a tray of something divine smelling. Holmes flinched.
"My husband used to say that the best cure for a sore head was a good breakfast." She lifted the lid to reveal a stately spread indeed - all that a man could wish for! Black pudding, sausages, scrambled egg and crispy slices of bacon.
"That looks amazing, Mrs Hudson." I grinned, untangled myself from Holmes and plonked myself down at the table.
"Mr Holmes?"
"Oh god..." Holmes managed to grab the bowl just in time.
"Dear me." Mrs Hudson replied once he had finished making a mess. She exchanged a glass of water for the rather full bowl, smiled at him and left the room.
"Have some dry toast." I heard a muffled groan from the sofa which I presume was my companions way of saying 'no way'. I glanced over at the foetal detective and wondered whether I could work this incredibly adorable scene into one of my memoirs. Holmes whimpered again, and I decided to take action to cheer him up.
Making my way very carefully into his room, which looked like there had been a particularly large explosion, I hunted through the bed covers until I found what I was looking for.
"Holmes?" He looked up, "I have a visitor for you." <
From behind my back to brought out his stuffed mouse (which I have only just recently learned is named 'Percival') and proceeded to make it dance on the back of the sofa. He stared at me in amazement before breaking into a broad smile. "Ah, that's more like it, isn't it Percy?"
"Pervical." He corrected.
"Sorry." I handed him his mouse, which he placed under his chin and snuggled slightly. "Really." I smiled and wondered what people would think if they could see the great detective with his stuffed mouse.
"Say's the man who just made him dance..."
"Yes." I leaned over the back of sofa and kissed him on the lips. "Eugh. You need to brush your teeth."
"So do you."
I stuck my tongue out at him, "do you want that powder?"
"Yes please." He responded a little meekly.
I laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're adorable when you're ill."
HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY SKYLOCKEE!!!!
here is your birthday fic, hope you enjoy :-)
Title: A Drink Too Many
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Holmes has a rather nasty hangover, Watson acts as nursemaid.
In a rare moment of success, I had managed to persuade Sherlock Holmes to join myself and Lestrade for a celebratory drink. We had spent the last few weeks on the trail of a notorious forger and at last he was behind bars. We deserved our celebration.
Holmes isn't really much of a drinker, in fact it doesn't really take much to get him rather drunk and as a result he is usually very careful about the amount of alcohol that passes his lips. I on the other hand enjoyed a drink and was engaged in a drinking game with a very enthusiastic Lestrade. We were all rather tipsy, and I could see that Holmes was struggling to maintain his balance as he headed to the lavatory for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour.
"I'm surprised he's drunk the amount he's having to piss." Lestrade commented sipping his pint. I snorted into my glass and giggled as we watched Holmes emerging from the lavatory. "Should we tell him?"
"Why not?"
We turned our heads in his direction and looked directly at him.
"What?" Holmes asked sitting back down.
"Nothing, we're just employing your methods." I smiled drunkenly at him.
"Oh?"
"Yes." Lestrade jabbed his finger in Holmes's direction. "Observation, Sherlock Holmes has spent the best part of the evening with his fly open. Deduction, Sherlock Holmes has had one too many."
"Ha. Ha." Holmes fastened his trousers and turned a particularly fetching shade of red. <
"Which means..." I said downing the rest of my drink, "that it's your turn to buy the drinks."
Holmes groaned slightly, and Lestrade leaned closer to me. "I think that the great detective can't handle another drink."
"Oh of course he can!" I grinned at him.
Holmes shook his head and held up hand, "he's right, I can't."
"Oh go on Holmes, of course you can."
"Watson..."
"Come on, one more won't hurt."
"All right. All right." He stood, swayed slightly, and headed towards the bar. I glanced at Lestrade and we started to giggle uncontrollably. We watched him as he managed to slur our order to the landlord, and somehow managed to get back to the table without dropping the glasses. "What?" He asked setting the three drinks on the table and looking at the pair of us laughing.
"Oh nothing." I wiped my eyes. "Hey Lestrade, watch this..." I leaned over and tickled Holmes.
"Egeghge!" He squirmed in his chair and knocked his pint over himself.
"I'll remember that." Lestrade laughed.
The evening continued in a similar vein, as Holmes became more and more inebriated we teased him more and more until we decided to call it a night and I assisted Holmes back to Baker Street. I had imbibed a fair amount of alcohol myself and was feeling somewhat romantic, and thus we ascended the stairs to my room (Holmes's being a complete tip).
Whereas alcohol tends to go straight through Holmes, beer tends to make me somewhat flatulent so our love making (or what you could call love making since the alcohol had a less desired effect) descended into fits of not-very muffled laughter before we both passed out.
The next morning I awoke with a particularly nasty headache, which of course I had been expecting. I grunted and pulled the bedclothes up around myself and snuggled further into the bed.
I briefly wondered where Holmes was, although upon hearing the sounds of someone retching from the lavatory across the hall I knew exactly where my poor friend was. Sighing I reluctantly clambered out of the bed. I reached for my dressing gown, but finding the spot where it usually hung empty I groaned and hunted about for my nightshirt for I couldn't walk across the hall without wearing something!
I pushed open the lavatory door to find my friend leaning over the lavatory bowl, looking rather pale and wearing my dressing gown.
"Oh dear." I mused.
"This is your fault." He vomited violently
"Yes." I crouched next to him and rubbed his back. "Try not to get vomit on my dressing gown."
"Pi..." Unfortunately he wasn't able to finish. "Make it stop." He whimpered, resting his head on the edge of the bowl.
"I can't." I said softy, brushing the hair from his brow. "I'll get you a glass of water."
Ten minutes later Holmes had managed to leave the lavatory and was now lying on the sofa. For decency sake I had helped him dress and he was wearing a pair of trousers and his shirt, his feet, collar and cuffs bare. I placed a bowl near his head.
"Would you like something to settle your stomach?" He gave a small nod. "Would you me to hold you?" He gave another small nod and I smiled and kissed him lighting on the brow climbing onto the sofa next to him and pulling him into a gentle embrace. I looked up as the door open to admit our dear landlady carrying a tray of something divine smelling. Holmes flinched.
"My husband used to say that the best cure for a sore head was a good breakfast." She lifted the lid to reveal a stately spread indeed - all that a man could wish for! Black pudding, sausages, scrambled egg and crispy slices of bacon.
"That looks amazing, Mrs Hudson." I grinned, untangled myself from Holmes and plonked myself down at the table.
"Mr Holmes?"
"Oh god..." Holmes managed to grab the bowl just in time.
"Dear me." Mrs Hudson replied once he had finished making a mess. She exchanged a glass of water for the rather full bowl, smiled at him and left the room.
"Have some dry toast." I heard a muffled groan from the sofa which I presume was my companions way of saying 'no way'. I glanced over at the foetal detective and wondered whether I could work this incredibly adorable scene into one of my memoirs. Holmes whimpered again, and I decided to take action to cheer him up.
Making my way very carefully into his room, which looked like there had been a particularly large explosion, I hunted through the bed covers until I found what I was looking for.
"Holmes?" He looked up, "I have a visitor for you." <
From behind my back to brought out his stuffed mouse (which I have only just recently learned is named 'Percival') and proceeded to make it dance on the back of the sofa. He stared at me in amazement before breaking into a broad smile. "Ah, that's more like it, isn't it Percy?"
"Pervical." He corrected.
"Sorry." I handed him his mouse, which he placed under his chin and snuggled slightly. "Really." I smiled and wondered what people would think if they could see the great detective with his stuffed mouse.
"Say's the man who just made him dance..."
"Yes." I leaned over the back of sofa and kissed him on the lips. "Eugh. You need to brush your teeth."
"So do you."
I stuck my tongue out at him, "do you want that powder?"
"Yes please." He responded a little meekly.
I laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're adorable when you're ill."