Waiter in a suit - A Johnlock

11. Take this dance

Ohmygod; this story reached 1k. Keiziekejksmngsjk! Thank you so much guys! I didn't think this story would reach so much. Because personally I don't really like this one. But anyways, thank you and Merry Christmas.

Btw, only 6 days for the new season. I AM DYING.

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John didn't refuse Sherlock's offer to dance with him. Just when they walked to the centre of the dancefloor. The light dimmed with the exception of blues and purples swirling around them and a decades-old love song began playing in the background. John didn't know what to do. He never danced with a man before. And he never danced with a drunk man before. Sherlock wobbled forwards, into John's personal space.

"I'm a good dancer." He slurred, as a smile danced across his lips. While saying he lost his balance and almost fell, John stepped forwards, catching him with one arm.

"Jesus Sherlock." He said under his breath. The smile on Sherlock's drunk face grew wider. Rolling his eyes, John sighed and then an embarrassed John Watson carefully placed both his hands onto Sherlock's shoulders, his eyes peering everywhere but on him. Sherlock his hands hang low on John's waist, and pulled him closer, while dancing slowly. John blushed at the movement of Sherlock. And suddenly, it's too hot in here. It's not like they were dancing exhaustingly, but John felt like he was having trouble catching his breath. Sherlock's hands were warm and light. John wondered what they would feel like if he wasn't wearing so many clothes. Would the palms be callused or smooth? He questioned himself, while Sherlock swayed comfortably above him.

Sherlock chose to press himself against John's chest. John swallowed, shaking his head. What was he thinking? Why would he think about how Sherlock's hands would feel? John grunted softly, as he blushed a deep red from the neck to the tip of his hair. Thank god Sherlock was drunk. Otherwise he had noticed it immediately.

After a minute John looked up to see Sherlock staring at him intently. John swallowed as he stared back, into Sherlock's brilliant eyes. They were still dancing, slowly moving with their bodies glued together. Sherlock was drunk, but he had his dancing perfectly in control. John suddenly cleared his throat, staring at the floor, realising that he was staring too long into the detective's eyes. John wondered why his heart was beating so loudly and strangely in his chest. He frowned, annoyed with himself. He pulled back, away from Sherlock, causing Sherlock to frown slightly.

"I'm sorry." John muttered, turning around and pushed his way carelessly through the crowd, making his way towards the sign that said 'restroom' He was going to calm down, and act normal. He felt kinda guilty to leave a drunk Sherlock in the middle of the dance floor. But John couldn't stand it any longer. The strange feelings he felt, it had to go away.

Five minutes later, John returned to his table after a couple blokes staggered in as he was washing his hands, snogging like there was no tomorrow. He had made his hasty exit as one put his hands down the other's pants. He was shocked about the attitude of most people here. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He then began searching for Sherlock, because he was done for tonight. He wanted to go home. But he needed to find Sherlock first. Because John was human, and he wanted Sherlock safe home. He sighed as he found Sherlock at the bar, alcohol sliding down his oesophagus. John wandered over to him, tapping on his shoulder.

"Sherlock we should go." John said loudly, cautiously pushing the drinks that Sherlock ordered to the other side.

"Why?" He muttered, frowning down at John as he saw John pushing away the drinks.

"Because I want to go home and you're drunk."

"I am capable of taking care of myself." Sherlock sort of snapped, what failed due his drunk state. He almost fell backwards but John placed his hand on Sherlock's back, helping him to stay upright. He sighed.

"Sherlock please." John muttered, his face turning blank. Sherlock looked down at John with a frown. "I don't feel very well at the moment. I just need to know that you're save. Those people here aren't trustworthy." He added, looking dead serious.

The frown vanished on Sherlock's pretty face and he then nodded, meaning that he agreed to leave. John smiled softly.

"Thank you." He said. Sherlock got up, all wobbly and unbalanced. John grabbed him by the arm and leaded Sherlock outside, stopping at their table for John's jacket and Sherlock's coat. When they were outside, John flagged down a cab. While the cab was slowing down in front of them. John spoke up.

"What's your address?" John asked, nudging Sherlock softly as his eyes were closed. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

"Oh um. Bakersteet."

"Number?"

"221B." He mumbled, leaning on John.

John opened the cab door, leading Sherlock inside. Sherlock flopped into the cab.

"221 Bakerstreet please." John informed the cabby. The man nodded and began thrusting the car forwards. John looked at his side, staring at Sherlock who was frustrated with himself. He was acting strange and John felt pity for him. The man didn't drink for years and now he was drunk like hell. All because of John. And all for John. Sherlock sneezed, looking blankly ahead when he finished. Barely blinking.

"You okay?" John inquired softly, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He nodded softly.

"I feel weird John." He said quietly.

"I know, it's okay. You'll be fine." John reassured warmly. Sherlock looked at John for a moment before gazing out the window.

"God." He murmured, tired and confused about his drunk state. John smiled sadly, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder again, trying to calm him down. "As soon we reach your flat you can sleep." John assured, removing his hand. Sherlock nodded, murmuring an incoherent response and dazed off into a peaceful, if not odd sleep.

As the cab pulled up to 221 Bakerstreet, John pulled out his wallet, and paid the cabby, trying his hardest not to disturb his friend's drunken sleep. But then he realized that Sherlock needed to be awake. John dragging Sherlock? That would be funny.

John helped Sherlock out of the cab, waving a goodbye at the cabby and walked to the door, holding Sherlock at his waist, leading him forwards.

"Keys?" John whispered. Sherlock weakly put his hand in his coat pocket, grabbing the keys. He fumbled with his keys, trying to open the door. John chuckled softly, grabbing the keys and opened the door, smiling up at Sherlock who was frowning at him. Sherlock gestured to the stairs, meaning he lives up. John nodded, helping Sherlock ascending the stairs.

When they reached the flat, Sherlock immediately stumbled into his room, throwing himself onto his bed.

"Good night Sherlock." John said and turned off the light. Sherlock mumbled something back. John assumed he said 'thank you'. John smiled and after glancing back at Sherlock once again, he shut the door slowly and silently. He planned to leave now. Sherlock is save, so he will be able to sleep peacefully. But he first wanted to use the bathroom. He flushed and washed his hands.

He turned pale as he heard a familiar voice calling for him.

"John!" Sherlock groaned in a cry for help.