The Adventure of the Honest Carouser

[not_a_hero]

Who: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson
Where: Floor 2, Room 21
When: June 2nd
Rating: T for drinking
Summary: Things have been on a downward spiral for Sherlock for the past few weeks. He can ignore it, he can avoid it, but eventually it was going to catch up with him. And then suddenly it did.
The Story:

Depressants. Sherlock was no stranger to a glass of aged port or wine, the occasional whiskey, brandy, or dry ale, but they had never been his drug of choice. Mind altering substances that dulled the mind had little use to him. Alcohol made him slow, it clouded his mind where stimulants cleared it. Alcohol was the antithesis to his preferred state of mind. He couldn't focus through the headache, though. The pounding, the sick, sour feeling in his sinuses, the pain that distracted him from everything but the desire to be away from light and all forms stimulation. Inebriation was the lesser of the two evils, putting his body at least in peace to let his mind--disabled to some extent but still processing, still working--to idle over the things he desired to contemplate and explore.

Stupid, stupid, depressants. One slip from thoughts of viral infections and it was back in the downward spiral of doubt and fear and self-deprecation he'd been fighting since his fight with Evelyn, exasperated by Moriarty's arrival, made confused by the glimpses he'd been given during the godtier event. Clumsy hands kept him away from the violin. He hated this. Drunk and emotionally miserable or sober and physically miserable. It was a ridiculous choice to have to make. Nothing guaranteed sobering up would release him from his conflicted conscious, though. So he swirled his brandy in his tumbler before drinking from it again, keeping the headache away.

At least he wasn't the only one not enjoying this. Not that John's misery made for excellent company.

Comments

[was_a_soldier]

The room tipped, or perhaps John was just swaying over the weight of the blow of information he had just received. He didn't stagger, luckily, but he did take a small half step away from the other man.

Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was alive. He was alive and... had left John behind. He was alive and he had kept that from John for the entirety of his time in Wonderland, even though he was consistent to remind the doctor that their actions here held little consequence in the real world.

John knew he was happy. The relief that broke in his chest at this revelation wasn't minimal in the slightest. But it was overwrought with betrayal, hurt and anger. Yes, that was anger, bubbling up and making his hands shake as they gripped the telling novel like his life depended on it. And in some ways, it seemed, it did.

"You..." He heaved, voice caught and eyes glossed with furious tears that he refused to acknowledge. "You're alive." John barked a short, strained humorless laugh. "Just... mucking about with your puzzles and leaving me to--" He has to swallow a few times against the large lump in his throat. "I was mourning you and you didn't... what, trust me enough to let me know you were a live? And all the times here in Wonderland you could have told me... You were fine telling me you died for my sake but you couldn't even tell me you-- jesus." John felt sick. This was too many conflicting emotions at once.

[not_a_hero]

Sherlock watched him. He could defend every action he'd taken in both worlds but he didn't feel inclined to. John wasn't looking for reasons. He was drunk--they both were drunk--and likely John just wanted to be angry. He had that right. Sherlock had expected him to be angry. It was everything else that he wasn't quite so sure about.

"Moriarty can't know. If he discovers I won, he could be provoked to violence."