"Yes, well, you're acclimatised to it. You enjoy beer. There is nothing about this that I enjoy." Sherlock slumped against the table, feeling very warm. It wasn't real heat. Something about capillaries and the effects of alcohol. He scowled at the cloudiness of his recall. He wouldn't be impressing anyone today with his brilliance. Fantastic.

Sherlock looked at John, oddly fascinated by the grey patch near the fringe of John's hair, maybe not even grey so much as differently blonde. Who greyed in thick patches? Was John going to turn calico? It was a stupid thought. He wasn't one hundred percent sure why he felt the need to inspect it.