Chapter Text
Very few people knew that Sherlock Holmes had had a lisp as a child, and John was not one of those select few. Even less people knew that it returned what Sherlock was either very drunk, or so tired he couldn’t think. It was one of the main reasons that the detective rarely drank, and when he did it was only very little. He told people that alcohol dulled the senses – which was true, but that wasn’t his only reason for avoiding it.
Another drawback was his already low alcohol tolerance, exacerbated by his being a little underweight, and having a tendency to think that he could do anything, resulting in his seriously misjudging how much he could handle. This was fine as long as he did not drink, which he found it only too easy to do (unless there was some kind of competition involved).
John had wondered if Sherlock would loosen up a bit when drunk, or whether it would affect him at all. This was the exact reason he decided that he would get the other man drunk, because Sherlock was not the only one who liked his experiments, John’s just tended to be different. He knew he would have to employ different tactics, make it into something of a competition for the detective to even want to take part.
And so, that was how he came to be making a Long Island Iced Tea. Sherlock had requested tea, and he was technically going to get it, it just wasn’t in the format he expected.
He carried the glass over to the detective, who was sprawled languidly on the sofa, and glanced up as he approached. Sherlock gave a slight smile before looking to the drink with suspicion, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. His tone was more than a little accusing as he spoke, unsure what John was trying to do.
“That’s not tea.” He looked at the glass intently, trying to determine what was in it. “What is that? What have you put in it?”
“I’m not trying to poison you, Sherlock. It is tea.” John looked mildly affronted at the implication that he might feed something to Sherlock that would be bad for him, though he damn well knew the detective would do the same to him. But that was Sherlock and his experiments, and John put up with it because he loved the stubborn madman.
“Then what is in it?” Sherlock had taken the glass from John to look at it from a different angle, still suspicious that something was going on here.
“How about, I’ll tell you once you try a bit and tell me if you like it?” John gave a warm smile, knowing the detective would be hard pressed to let information slip from his grasp by not trying it. And you never did know, he might enjoy it.
“But I want to know now.” He pouted, considering the possibility of trying a little. He wanted to know what was in it, and didn’t think John would tell him otherwise. He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, dipping one finger into the liquid to taste it.
John sat down next to the taller man, watching his movements carefully. He thought it was utterly unfair that Sherlock looked so gorgeous doing such a simple thing, and one he probably didn’t even realise could be interpreted as suggestive. He raised his eyebrows at the expression on the other man’s face, which was somewhere between surprise and distaste.
“Like it?” He said in a hopeful tone, one hand going to rest on the detective’s knee and the other reaching for his own drink.
“It tastes funny... what’s in it?” Sherlock said, glancing over to his soldier with an honestly curious expression. John loved it when he was like that, exited and curious and brilliant, but it usually happened at crime scenes.
“First, tell me if you like it.” John said softly, shifting close to Sherlock and bringing one hand up to card gently through his hair. Sherlock moved into the contact a little, deliberating. With the way this conversation was going, he did not think the soldier would tell him if he said no. Then again, the drink wasn’t so bad.
“It’s not bad.” He shrugged, looking at the other man expectantly. John chuckled, relaxing into the sofa before he spoke.
“Drink a bit more. Let’s see, there’s tea, lemon…vodka, rum, gin and tequila. Bit of sour mix too.” He watched the taller man’s expression carefully, waiting to see how he would react. Sherlock frowned, but took a small sip of the drink. So long as he was careful, he told himself, he was okay to drink a little. John knew, however, that he would most likely underestimate the strength of the drink.
“I said it wasn’t proper tea.” John rolled his eyes at the words, but did not comment. After a moment, Sherlock continued. “What made you decide this was a good idea all of a sudden?”
John considered how much to say, before shrugging and telling him the truth. “I was curious. I’ve never seen you drink more than half a glass of wine, and wondered how you would cope. You’re not the only one who likes to run experiments, Sherlock.” He smiled at him, one arm going around his waist to pull him closer. “Now, are you going to drink anymore?”
The detective shook his head, placing the glass down. John looked a little disappointed, but then an idea came into his head and he grinned. The detective was incredibly competitive, and never could resist a challenge. Besides, this way John could still be quite sober while Sherlock was very drunk, and he would be able to observe the effects.
“I challenge you to match me drink for drink.” John said, and Sherlock looked at him incredulously for a moment before giving a slight smirk and nodding. He really could not resist, and it was all mind over matter in any case. He wasn’t going to lisp, so it was fine.
“Fine.” Sherlock shifted so he was practically sitting in the other man’s lap, and John took a long drink which Sherlock soon copied. He thought for a moment before speaking again, relaxing into the other man’s arms. “I didn’t even know we had so many varieties of alcohol in the flat.”
“I keep them with my jam.” John said smoothly, hand still running through the other man’s hair.
Sherlock smirked, muttering under his breath as he took another sip, tone amused. “Of course… the jam-hoard.
“Do not mock my jam.” John said, his expression one of mock seriousness that only made Sherlock smirk more. He had never understood the appeal of jam, or most sweet things in general. But John seemed to like it immensely, and the detective had given up caring about why that was.
“I can mock jam all I like.” The taller man said in a teasing tone, stretching out across John’s lap but keeping his glass upright. He had drunk almost half of it now, and was already beginning to feel its calming effects. John just rolled his eyes at that, allowing the dark-haired man to lie on top of him. He wasn’t really that heavy for his height, and so it was perfectly comfortable.
***
Just ever half a glass later, Sherlock was really beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. John had got up to make them both another, but now he was back and Sherlock was once again lying on top of him, this time with his upper back leaning again the arm rest on the sofa. Sherlock thought about what the other man had said earlier, about his wanting to conduct an experiment. He had never been interested before, so why now?
He spoke after a moment, enunciating his words carefully now, not sure if John would notice. But in his rather intoxicated state, he didn’t care so much if he noticed that much, at least. “Are you sure?”
John gave him an odd look, raising his glass to his lips. Sherlock’s lack of weight for a man his height, coupled with his usual lack of drinking and his present lack of food, it was apparent that he was already being affected. Hiding his grin, John asked in an honestly unsure tone. “Am I sure about what?”
Sherlock’s inhibitions were going, though he didn’t realise it, and he was quickly forgetting his reasons for not drinking in the first place, instead focusing on his soldier. He took another - probably unwise - drink, speaking carefully again, struggling a little now. “Are you…sure they are your only, uh, reasons.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. As I said, you’re not the only one who likes to run experiments, Sherlock.” Matching the drink, John looked down at Sherlock. Well this was, unexpected, he seemed to be having trouble with something now, he was usually so confident when he spoke.
Sherlock hummed lightly, shifting a little against the other man. He knew subconsciously it would take very little alcohol now before his lisp returned, and John was getting suspicious about his care speaking. Sherlock temporarily forgot what he was trying not to do, taking a long drink, and almost draining the glass before letting his head drop back, closing his eyes with a slight sigh. John really was rather comfortable to sit on, he thought absently.
“The fridge is a logical place for a head, anyway.” He said, making John shake his head with a chuckle.
John set his glass down, taking in the sight that was Sherlock. The man was perched on his lap, head tipped back… If only he wasn’t wearing clothes, this would be a very optimal position. He pushed that thought aside, that wasn’t the point of this anymore, he was becoming curious about just what the detective seemed to be hiding, and now he needed to keep him talking. “Quite logical. Eyeballs in the microwave, not so much.”
“Actually, it’th-“ Sherlock broke off abruptly, eyes shooting open. “Uh oh.” The lisp was back. That last drink had evidently been the point of no return, a bad idea indeed. Sherlock blushed lightly and shook his head, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before trying again. It’th…it’th…damn…
John looked at him incredulously, not quite believing his own ears. Though it would make a little sense, if Sherlock had been attempting to hide it. He watched the man for a moment, unable to stop the adoring smile that widened with every attempt the detective made.
“What was that?”
“Oh god.” -Sherlock groaned, his blush intensifying as he glanced up to see the look on John’s face, which really did not help in the slightest. The dreaded lisp of Sherlock’s childhood had come back to haunt him. He internally cursed his low alcohol tolerance, and John challenging him to something he couldn’t resist. After a moment he spoke again, blinking rapidly up at the ceiling and going for one last pointless attempt. “It’th…damn…nothing.”
This was highly unexpected, John never would have guessed that Sherlock lisped when drunk, never... but it was incredibly endearing, once he got past the initial shock of hearing it.
John reached up and caught the front of Sherlock’s shirt, pulling on it so the man was forced to look down at him, bringing their faces close. He was smiling widely, it was too good to resist. Hearing this great man like this…was adorable. In the most innocent sense of the word, it made John want to cuddle him and make him cookies. “Was that a lisp, Sherlock?”
Sherlock met John’s gaze in embarrassment, giving him an almost glare. His expression was all too much, and he spoke petulantly. “Thtop it”. He blushed more, if that was possible, cursing his choice of words. He shifted atop his soldier, not meeting his gaze as he denied the lisp despite it being useless. “No.”
The soldier gave Sherlock a soft look, his predicament was incredibly endearing. His hand came up, sliding into curls once again and turning Sherlock’s head just enough for him to plant a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I think it is... Did you have a lisp when you were younger?”
The taller man now had his face pressed into John’s neck, not looking up as he nodded his assent. His voice was muffled as he spoke, though his lisp could still be clearly heard. “When I wath younger.” He let out a breath, relaxing further under the influence of the alcohol. “And when I get drunk…”
John grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of the other man’s head. “You must have been the most adorable child…”
Sherlock pouted at him petulantly, he still objected to being called adorable. He knew it was most likely true to some extent, but that didn’t stop him denying it. He looked up at John for a moment, finger trailing down over his collar bone as he spoke, not exactly supporting his own point with his tone. “I wath not adorable.”
Little things like this, the things that made Sherlock seem more human, were the parts he loved best. The man tried too hard to appear above humans that when he had such pure and innocent moments like this, they seemed so precious to John, it was unthinkable that something could ever get between them.
“I’ll bet you were. Little Sherlock, running around making deductions with a lisp, dressed as a pirate. Bet everyone wanted to have one of you in their pocket.”
“Oh, thut up.”