a fic in which Sherlock is drugged out of his head in ASiB and John’s not taking shit and also I wrote this at four in the morning so I think I really got at some convincing incoherency here

There’s a chuckle from the stair, and John glances over to realise, to far less of his horror than he might have anticipated, that Lestrade’s phone’s video settings have now been turned towards nefarious purposes; John can think of at least five situations where that potential blackmail material might prove useful. He does have the grace to spare a twinge of sympathy for Sherlock’s dented pride, though he hardly thinks that ego would suffer overlong from it.

He hoists Sherlock up again and fairly marches him towards the top stair.

"Right, no coffee stains, and no emus. Walk down the stairs like the closest approximation to a normal human being that you can possibly manage, Sherlock. Please. I’d never known until now that you were capable of taking lunacy to such new extremes."

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