Sherlock x Reader fluff

The Dangers Of Alcohol. (re-written)

(kind of a re-written version of "caffeine does things" a dumb short that I wrote nearly two years ago, decided to re-write because it was shockingly bad) 

Opening the front door, you saw Sherlock slumped on the sofa, his hands placed under his chin with his sleeves rolled up. his eyes staring intently at a bottle of Irish whiskey that was sat on the coffee table, directly in front of him. A buzz from the table made his body convulse into snatching the phone into his hands. An exaggerated groan left his mouth.

"No bloody cases..." he grumbled, you watched his brows furrow as he looked up at you, "give me a damn murder... Anything!" he slammed his hands on the coffee table before rolling his eyes and falling dramatically back into the sofa. His eyes fell back onto the whiskey. Before he could grab it you launched forward, sweeping the green bottle off the coffee table.

"No way," you chuckled, quickly grabbing the whiskey from Sherlock's grasp "not this again." you cradled the bottle in your hands. Flipping it over to read the details in a hushed mumble. Your father loved whiskey and would often bring his favorites over when he visited. not a good mix with Sherlock in the vicinity of your collection 24/7. who coincidently happened to drink to finish, not to savor.

"Connemara, 12 years, single malt" you paused, looking up in thought "this bottle is what... 70 quid?" you heard Sherlock chuckle at you before he stood up.

"they must have liked me" he replied, reaching his hand out to take the green bottle from your hands before you scoffed and pulled it just out of his grasp.

"they must have liked John" you smiled, twirling the bottle in your hands looking up at Sherlock, he was hunched over as he looked at you. The sun breaking through the curtains fell onto his skin lighting up at least three-quarters of his face, the light was bright and complemented his dark hair and the way it contrasted with his white shirt.

before you knew it the bottle was whisked out of your hands and had found itself some glasses, with help from a bored Sherlock.

It was midday. In hindsight, it was probably too early for whiskey... aka famous last words.

Four clinks of glasses later and all sophistication had been thrown out the window, literally. You and Sherlock had decided it was a good idea to see what happened when you threw an eyeball out the window. It bursts by the way, much to the disgust of the London public.

"y-y/n," Sherlock said holding your shoulder after trotting down the stairs to meet you with a mushed eyeball in your hand, an alcohol-induced smile seemed slapped on his face as he blurted out, "I've had a text from my big bro"

A giggle forced its way out of your mouth as you nodded rapidly, Sherlock hastily put his coat on as you regretfully gave the eyeball to Mrs. Hudson who's face went as white as a sheet once you plopped it in her hands.

it was the weekend so Mycroft's office was quiet, the red and brown hues contrasted the yellow beams of light that weaved in through the window. the room was silent was the two of you walked in, trying oh so hard to act sober until Sherlock burst the doors open. Nearly falling over in the process. Expecting a grumpy old Holmes staring right through you you stood up straight and looked half normal before noticing the room was empty.

It was like letting toddlers loose in a sweet shop.

You gasped, one hand over your agape mouth and another pointed straight at a large, wide desk. You ran, wobbling slightly but, managed to half vault over the desk. It was large, obnoxious, and probably insanely expensive, which all-in-all is the desk version of the older Holmes boy. Slumping down in the leather chair you stroked your hands over the green felt that covered the top of the dark brown wooden structure and began to imitate Mycroft. Much to Sherlock's pleasure.

"Hello, brother mine" you said, holding a laugh back so hard it hurt, "did you know I'm tremendously clevererer than you?" you pointed up in a spiral motion before twirling around in the chair, stopping it buy slamming your elbow down on the edge of the desk. Sherlock's eyes had almost run into the back of his head as he practically howled with laughter.

"Shhhsh" you said, carrying on you daintily pointed to yourself and in your best stuck up, posh boy, Mycroft impression..." I am the British government"

"which is extremely beneficial to you two." Mycroft was stood in the doorway. Sherlock prettily lifted his hand up to his mouth to almost say 'whoops'

"Your Majesty" Sherlock bowed as Mycroft strutted in with his umbrella.