‘Do you hear the people siiiiiing,’ Sherlock warbled loudly from the floor, one arm wrapped round John’s thigh, the other conducting vigorously, ‘singing the song of angry meeeen.’
‘What the hell did you give him?’ John demanded of Lestrade, who was almost helpless with laughter in the doorway.
‘Wasn’t me,’ Lestrade finally managed to speak over the mangled Les Miserables song, ‘I just brought him home. The vodka was all him.’
‘When the beating of my heaaaaart echoes the beating of the drummmmmmmms,’ Sherlock slurred, tugging John’s jumper, ‘s’life about to start, when t’morrow coooooomes.’
‘Vodka?’ John said, trying to lift Sherlock off the floor. ‘Great. How much?’
‘Only a couple of shots. He can’t handle alcohol.’
‘Can’t sing either.’ John winced as Lestrade grabbed Sherlock’s arm and shuffled them both onto the sofa.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Lestrade said hurriedly as Sherlock slid his hand over John’s crotch, crooning ‘somewhere beyond this barricade there’s a world I want to seee.’
‘Bye,’ John murmured, removing Sherlock’s hand.
‘I love you,’ Sherlock said earnestly, lifting his face to John’s.
‘Yes, but not incapable,’ said Sherlock, capturing John’s mouth with his own.
‘Definitely not,’ John panted when they broke apart, ‘Love you too.’
‘I can tell,’ Sherlock’s hand returned to John’s now bulging jeans, ‘so … can I remove this barricade?’