Chapter Text
After living together for about a week, there were a lot of things that Dr. John Watson still didn't know about his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. For example, he didn't know what Sherlock did for a living.
When John asked what profession he was in on the day they met, Sherlock simply said, “Specialized business.” and dropped the subject. That was fine, but John was still confused by what he meant. The only thing that John knew about Sherlock's job was that it required him to carry a suitcase back and forth and that it kept odd hours. Sherlock would leave the flat late in the evening and wouldn't return until sometime after John had gone to sleep.
Speaking of the suitcase, that was another thing John didn't know about his flatmate. What was in that thing? Sherlock caught John looking at it once and he barked at him to leave it alone. Whatever was in there, it seemed to be quite the berserk button for Sherlock. John knew that it was his private property, but that didn't mean the curiosity wasn't killing him.
A third mystery with Sherlock had to do with a chemistry set. John had discovered from day one that his flatmate had a brilliant mind and a penchant for chemicals. Sherlock was always doing some experiment with his chemistry supplies in the kitchen.
John had asked him once what he was doing, but Sherlock simply replied with, “Classified.” If John could say one thing about Sherlock, it would be that he was quite the enigma.
All of those things were for another time though. At the present moment, John was having an awful day. His work at the surgery was grueling and taxing. On the larger scale, John loved being a doctor, but there were days when he just wanted to let his patients fade into darkness and to live out the rest of his life in a void of nothing. This was one of those days.
When John arrived back at the flat, he heard Sherlock banging around in his room down the hall.
“What the bloody hell is that man doing?” John thought to himself. He was sore and felt a headache coming on. Now was not the time to be bothered by Sherlock's eccentricities. John Watson needed a strong drink. He opened up the refrigerator to see if anything was in there. Sitting on one of the shelves was a smallish, green wine bottle with no label.
“When did we get this?” John wondered. “Sherlock must have gotten it,” he decided. He uncorked it and smelled the bottle's contents. It was a very strong red wine. “I'll just have a taste,” thought John as he filled a small glass.
John sat in his chair and took a sip of the wine. It wasn't half bad, but John could sense a change in his mood after taking just that one sip. He felt immediately tipsy. Also, he was suddenly aware of a warm, tingly sensation in the pit of his stomach. John had definitely had this feeling before. He was getting aroused, but why?
Just then, Sherlock came into the living room with his suitcase. He sat it down by the door and began furiously looking around for something. He bent over to look under a nearby coffee table and John got an eyeful.
“Whoa,” John thought. “Sherlock's got a nice rear.” Once John realized the thought that just passed through his head, he became very confused. Why had he thought that? It wasn't like he was attracted to Sherlock. What was going on?
The confusion didn't matter because John had accidentally stolen another glimpse of Sherlock and that bizarre feeling of arousal reared its head again. Unfortunately, John had the misfortune of not being able to keep his thoughts inside this time.
“Sherlock, you've got one hell of an arse,” John slurred. This random declaration caught Sherlock off guard. He stayed absolutely still for a moment. Then, he grabbed a nearby roll of tape, which was what he was looking for, stood up, and turned around to look at John.
“What did you say?” Sherlock asked.
“What? I didn't say anything,” John stammered quickly.
Sherlock observed the obvious blush on John's cheeks.
“You are undeniably aroused,” Sherlock said evenly. John stammered. He wasn't sure of what to say. Sherlock cautiously stepped in front of John. Then, he crouched down so they were eye level. Suddenly, John was captivated by Sherlock's eyes. He had never noticed before how beautiful they were, a lovely blue-green. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss him.
“You drank some of what was in that wine bottle, didn't you?” said Sherlock. John nodded dumbly, unable to make words. How did Sherlock know? Anyway, he looked over at John's glass.
“Well, you only had a little,” said Sherlock. “The effects should wear off soon enough.”
“Effects?” repeated John.
“I'm off to work,” said Sherlock. With that, he picked up his suitcase and vacated the flat. John was left sitting there, feeling like he needed a wank.
The next morning, John awoke with a blinding headache and a foggy memory.
“I've got a bloody hangover,” John thought. “Did I really drink that much last night?” He stumbled downstairs and saw Sherlock standing at the kitchen table, pouring over half a dozen test tubes. “Morning,” John grumbled.
Sherlock looked up and said, “Your eyes are so blood shot. I can't believe how hungover you are.”
“Neither can I,” answered John. “I don't remember much of anything from last night. Did I do anything embarrassing?”
“You complimented my backside,” said Sherlock dryly.
John blushed and stammered out an apology.
“Oh. Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said something like that to you. I've never been that kind of drunk. Honest. That's really weird. Did I drink a lot? I feel like I must have.” Sherlock reached behind himself and pulled John's small glass out of the sink to show it to him. John was incredulous when he saw the size of the glass. “I only drank that much and I still feel this bloody awful?” he asked with much surprise. “What did I even drink last night?”
“You drank what's in the bottle from the refrigerator,” said Sherlock as he turned his attention back to the experiment before him.
John walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside. He saw the bottle with no label.
“Oh yeah,” John thought. “I remember this now.” He closed the door and turned back to Sherlock. “That's some strong stuff, isn't it?” he said.
“It is,” agreed Sherlock.
“Where did it come from?” John asked.
“I made it,” said Sherlock.
“You made it?” John questioned.
“Yup,” said Sherlock with a pop on the final letter. John was impressed. Sherlock was full of surprises.
“What's in it?” John asked. Sherlock looked up and opened his mouth as if to say something. Words were just about to come out, but then he changed his mind. He closed his mouth and looked back down at his equipment on the table.
“Classified,” Sherlock answered instead. John was a little perturbed with this reply, but he let it slide. He would just have to add it to the list of mysteries about Sherlock.