Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine. This particular Sherlock belongs to Mr. Gatiss and Mr. Moffat. The Hangover and the ideas that movie were based on are not mine either.

I have absolutely no idea where this idea came from. My mind likes to randomly group things and come up with insane ideas for stories. With that in mind, I give you this. It's based on the movie The Hangover except with the characters from Sherlock. The plot will be basically the same, with a few changes since it's set in London, not Vegas.

So, dear reader - I give you my first multi-chapter Sherlock fic. Warnings must be issued for OOC-ness and just general complete madness. :P Please let me know what you think. And if I should make this more obviously John/Sherlock slash, or just keep it at friendship.


The Hangover

ONE - in which John and Sherlock wake up together

Dr. John Watson groaned and clutched his aching head. Gingerly he sat up and slowly turned, dangling his feet over the edge of the bed. With another soft moan he placed his head in his hands, kneading his temples with his finger tips.

What a night. At least... he thought it was. With a startling realisation, he discovered he was drawing a blank where last night was concerned. And that fact scared him slightly. A million questions and statements raced through his head but in his bleary, hung-over state, John couldn't comprehend any of them.

It was obvious, however, that he had been drinking. And a fair bit, judging from the state of his mind. Drinking with whom, he couldn't quite remember. It took effort, but he mentally made a short-list:

- Sarah? Possible. But surely he would have remembered.

- Harry? Definitely not. He knew better than to get absolutely smashed with his alcoholic sister. Didn't he?

- Mrs. Hudson? No. Just no.

- Lestrade? Maybe? They'd shared a pint before, after all.

- Mycroft? He'd certainly been in town, hadn't he? No, surely not. Sherlock for one would never have allowed it.

And then John was hit with a final name.

- Sherlock? John's mind instantly exploded with possible images of what Sherlock would be like drunk. Dear God, no...

Thankfully, John was saved from thinking any further on that as he remembered that Sherlock didn't drink. Definitely not Sherlock then.

Because thinking was such effort, John returned to mindlessly kneading his temples. A moment later and with a frown, he lightly smacked his lips together. Chocolate milk? When had he been drinking chocolate milk?

John was crawling around the kitchen, a bottle of gin in his hand. He opened the door to the fridge, grasping the first item he could reach. Chocolate milk.

"Who's for gin and chocolate milk?"

The flashback ended and John sighed. If that had been the worse of his escapades from the night before he'd be fine. It would be fine.

~ *XX* ~

Sherlock Holmes woke suddenly.

Blearily he opened his eyes, but didn't trust himself to move any further. He'd never felt so ill in his entire life. It was as though he would be profusely sick all over the floor if he moved, even just an inch. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd drunk alcohol, let alone so much of it. Looking out from his cacoon of sheets, he was relieved to find he'd managed to make it to his own bedroom.

It was with slight surprise, however, that he realised he couldn't recall anything from the previous night. He knew there had been the consumption of alcohol at some stage, but he'd predicted his rather massive intellect would have helped in memory recall.

Slowly he reached a hand up to rub over his face. A glint of gold caught his eyes. On his left ring finger was a simple gold band. His eyes widened in horror. Married? He wasn't married!

A groan from somewhere over his shoulder broke his shocked concentration and he twisted, throwing off the sheets. His stomach lurched in the motion and he felt slightly dizzy, but he managed to keep from vomiting. There was a shadowy form of someone was sitting on the far edge of his bed.

"What?"

There was a yelp and the figure promptly fell off the bed. Seconds later it reappeared and Sherlock could make out the frown even in the darkness of the room. He'd know that frown anywhere.

"John?"

"Sherlock?"

"What the hell..."

"What are you doing in my bed, John?"

"Your bed?" John looked around and swore. "I don't know. I don't remember anything..."

Sherlock sighed. "Neither do it."

They sat in resigned silence. So much for Sherlock not drinking, John thought with an inward groan. Before the images of a drunk Sherlock returned, the man in question stood and made his way over to open the curtains slightly. Light flooded in and John flinched. Turning back to the doctor, Sherlock grinned somewhat insanely and clapped his hands together.

"Well, I suggest we find out," he said in childlike joy. It was the same sort of joy he reserved for crime solving.

John would have rolled his eyes at this point, but he'd just realised something else. The doctor blinked in embarrassed shock before coughing nervously. "I agree. But, Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"Can you please get dressed first?"

Sherlock glanced down and then back up at John who was now profusely blushing. "Oh..."

It was at that moment John realised it was going to be a long day.


A/N Additional: Congrats to those who picked up on the small Danny Bhoy reference/quote. :P Reviews = love.