The television switched to commercial as the program John and Sherlock hadn't really been watching ended. The beginning chords to "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" started playing on a Swiffer ad before Sherlock huffed and snatched the remote away from John. The latter chuckled, eyeing Sherlock as he pressed the mute button a bit more forcefully then necessary.

"Don't like Queen, then?" John joked, smiling at his flatmate.

Sherlock shot him a puzzled look, an eyebrow raised in a have-you-lost-it-or-something? manner. Funny, he was usually on the receiving end of that one.

"The Queen doesn't do anything to make me like or dislike her," Sherlock replied after a moment.

John stared at him.

"What?"

"You asked me if I liked...the Queen, right?"

"No-no, I asked you if you liked Queen. Just Queen." John laughed, but quickly stopped when no look of realization dawned on Sherlock's face.

"The rock band. Queen." John clarified, slowly, watching Sherlock carefully for any hint of recognition.

"Is this supposed to be impacting me in some way?"

"Oh my god."

"What?!"

"You don't know who Queen is."

"Obviously not," Sherlock snapped, switching the TV off and rising dramatically from the couch while John watched him, incredulous.

"Oi, Sherlock?" John called after him as Sherlock flounced from the room.

"What, John?"

"You will."

Molecules are amazing.

Except when they go missing.

"What are you?!" Sherlock hissed at the slide on his microscope, moving his eyes closer to the lens though he knew that would not aid in his discovery.

He sighed as he zoomed the picture farther out, hoping to glimpse some identifying characteristic.

I've paid my dues...

Sherlock's head snapped back and he looked wildly around for the source of the noise. However, the one line of music seemed to stand alone, for Sherlock could hear no more lyrics.

He turned back to his microscope with vague suspicion surrounding the edges of his peripheral vision.

Time after time...

"John."

I've done my sentence

But committed no crime

"John, stop this immediately."

And bad mistakes-

I've made a few

The music was abruptly changing, an electric guitar changing the mood and picking up tempo, intensity growing and Sherlock was distracted as he listened to the music swell.

I've had my share of sand kicked in my face

But I've come through!

AND I JUST NEED TO GO ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIEEEEEEEEEEND."

Sherlock stood rooted to the spot, watching in amazement as John Watson came barreling out of the bathroom with ridiculous shades on, dressed in dark jeans and a button down-where the hell did he get that fedora-and singing only slightly more dramatically than Queen into a wooden spoon.

"AND WEEEEE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING TILL THE EEEEND"

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

NO TIME FOR LOSERS

'CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

OF THE WORLD

John stopped the music there with a click on his phone, the speakers he'd hidden from Sherlock cutting off somewhere in the living room. He was grinning like a madman and only slightly winded, clutching the wooden spoon and waiting for a reaction from Sherlock.

"That was ridiculous," the detective murmured, the chorus and the strums of the guitar still ringing in his ears.

"This isn't over, Holmes."

"What's this case, then?" John asked nonchalantly, looking out the window of the cab to avoid Sherlock's gaze.

"I told you," Sherlock replied suspiciously, eyes narrowing at the side of John's head. "Suicide note, weapon and evidence in a locked hotel room but the body in another hotel across town."

"Ah yes, of course. So, it was a suicide then?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead choosing to stare at John.

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," John lied easily.

"I will find out, you know."

"No you won't."

Sherlock kept an eye on John through the remainder of the ride to Scotland Yard. They exited the cab, John's lips twitching in anticipation as they neared the building.

"I'd say surprise party, but what would you be celebrating?" Sherlock said, eyes still narrowed.

"Shut up," John replied cheerily, opening the door and holding it for Sherlock.

Sherlock's phone chimed.

In office, come on in.
GL

Nothing abnormal. Sherlock blew a breath of air out of his nostrils and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

The trip to Lestrade's office was relatively quiet, but nothing compared to the silence that greeted him when he arrived on Lestrade's floor.

"John, I insist you tell me what's going on."

Just as Sherlock spoke, however, the room exploded into a tight, psychedelic harmony.

Is this the real life

Is this just fantasy

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

"Dear lord," Sherlock complained as John burst into delighted laughter.

The speaker system was straining to cope with the volume of the song as the singing intensified and the piano began playing.

I'm just a poor boy, wailed Freddie Mercury, who apparently needed minimum sympathy despite his socioeconomic status.

Sherlock turned around to vacate the premises.

Nothing really matters to me...

To me...

And the chord struck, immobilizing Sherlock with his hand on the doorknob. John closed his eyes and nodded silently and solemnly in appreciation.

Mama

Just killed a man

Put a gun against his head

Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

"Mama," John sang along, lifting his hands in mock devastation.

"Life had juuuust begun,

And now you've gone aND THROWN IT ALLLL AWAAAAAY,"

"John-"

"MAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH"

Both John and Freddie Mercury exploded into song, and the entire Scotland Yard followed suit.

"DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU CRY," exclaimed Lestrade, bursting out of his office with a stapler functioning as a microphone, followed by Donovan and Anderson, both howling with laughter.

Sherlock turned, resigned, towards John.

"No surprise party?"

John laughed. "Well, it kind of is. Of sorts. Shhh, this is a classic one."

"Are you all born with the knowledge of this song?" Sherlock exclaimed, trying to shut out the return to the verse.

Too late

My time has come

Sent shivers down my spine

Some sort of instrument then sounded a tinkling noise that Sherlock could only describe as a shiver, making his spine tingle with the sound effect.

Body's aching all the time

Goodbye, everybody

I've got to go

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

This time, however, as the whole of Scotland Yard and John broke out into the chorus, Sherlock couldn't help but smile a bit at his flatmate, back to back with Lestrade and howling into the now shared stapler.

"MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

I DON'T WANNA DIE

I SOMETIMES WISH I'D NEVER BEEN BORN AT ALL!

The guitar screamed and sang.

All of a sudden, however, the music wound down and almost cut out entirely, leaving nothing much save for a constant beat and soon, Freddie joined back in.

I see a little silhouetto of a man

SCARAMOUCHE, SCARAMOUCHE, WILL YOU DO THE FANDANGO?

THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTNING, VERY VERY FRIGHTENING ME

Then something odd happened.

The ensemble of people that were previously free-styling into various inanimate office objects froze as the ladies screeched:

"GALILEO"

Followed by the males:

"GALILEO"

-"GALILEO"

"GALILEO"

"GALILEO FIGARO"

MAGNIFICO

O

O

O

"Knew you'd like that bit," John said to Sherlock over the return of the discussion of Freddie's self-pity.

I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

HE'S JUST A POOR BOY FROM A POOR FAMILY

SPARE HIM HIS LIFE FROM THIS MONSTROSITY

"Easy come, easy go, will you let me go? " John asked, pleading to Lestrade, who took on a ridiculous dictator-like persona.

"BISMILLAH! NO, WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO" He and Anderson replied, but Sally clutched his arm and cried:

"Let him go!"

"BISMILLAH! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO"

-"Let him go!"

"BISMILLAH! WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO"

-"Let me go!"

WILL NOT LET YOU GO

-"Let me go!"

NEVER NEVER LET YOU GO

NEVER LET ME GO

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

John swooped over to Sherlock, grabbing his arm and yanking him closer, belting out the next lyric in a surprisingly impressive tenor.

"Oh, mama mia, mama mia," he cried, hanging onto Sherlock's arm.

The next lyric (and the next growing verse) were lost as Sherlock zoned in on John as the shorter man grinned at him. And if he noticed how impressive Freddie's falsetto was, it was entirely on accident.

SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYE?

SO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOVE ME AND LEAVE ME TO DIE?

"How long is this song?" Sherlock asked, dropping his eyes from John's face.

"It's almost over," John said, laughing as Sherlock's eyes turned up to the speakers to listen to Queen continue to sing their hearts out.

Nothing really matters

Anyone can see...

Nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to me...

The staff of Scotland Yard wound down and grinned communally at each other as they all sang the last line fondly.

"Anyway the wind blows..."

A raucous round of applause broke out after the music finally faded away, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Ridiculous."

"You liked it."

"I could appreciate the effort behind it."

"You liked it."

"Shut up, John."

John sat on his armchair, reading the paper and listening vaguely to Sherlock's mutterings and the simmering of something over a Benson burner as the detective preformed his latest experiment.

He was almost to the sports section when he heard Sherlock utter something rather odd.

"Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round."

John started and blinked, unsure he heard right. He twisted around in his chair to get a better look at Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm."

"...were you singing 'Fat Bottomed Girls'?"

"It helps me concentrate."

John let out a huff of incredulous laughter.

"You know Queen now?"

Sherlock looked up from his heated beaker to meet John's stare.

"Oh, you gonna take me home tonight," he deadpanned, and John's eyes widened.

"Oh, down beside that red fire light

Oh, you gonna let it all hang out

Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round."

Sherlock grinned to see John burst out laughing, his odd giggles continuously bubbling up in his throat.

Maybe he'd sing Queen more often.

Sherlock was fuming.

He almost had him.

He had almost caught up to him, almost had caught the man evading his capture for the past two days. Now he'd have to wait for him to slip up, to make another mistake before Sherlock would have any lead as to where he was, and undoubtedly he would now be more careful.

"Sherlock," John said gently, somewhat out of breath. Sherlock glared at him in response.

They were in a dark alley somewhere deep in London, the time around 11 pm on a Saturday. Steam from pipes in buildings showered down from above, stark against the darkness around them and the coldness that engulfed this side of England. Random trash and a few broken needles littered the ground around them, and distant car alarms and faint sirens provided the soundtrack for the evening. A heavy bass thudded from a stereo in someone's flat.

No decent person should want to be here, should even be here at all, and John looked right at home as he tried to mollify Sherlock.

Sherlock tore his thoughts away from the escaped fugitive as John said something absurd.

"Come get a drink with me."

"No."

John's mouth fell open and he placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.

"I'm sure you're devastated."

"It could make you feel a tiny bit better."

"I'm well aware of the effects of alcohol, John."

John's eyes narrowed. "I know why you don't want to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Enlighten me."

"It's too pedestrian."

Sherlock made an affronted noise. "That's absurd."

"That's absurd," John repeated in his posh public school accent, lowering his voice to try and match Sherlock's pitch.

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Didn't Einstein say that it was good to do average things sometimes? To stop thinking and let the answers come to you?"

Sherlock blinked at John, momentarily speechless.

A rarity, that.

"One drink."

"Fine."

John smirked and Sherlock sighed, and they set off down the alley in the vague direction of a pub, soon coming across a charming place called Puzzles. As they passed by the window, John stopped and reached out to stall Sherlock as well.

"Sherlock."

"What?"

John grinned up at him.

"It's a karaoke bar."

Sherlock's eyes widened then narrowed, yanking his arm out of John's grasp.

"No," he said firmly.

"SHE'S A KILLER

QUEEN

GUNPOWDER, GELATINE

DYNAMITE WITH A LASER BEAM

GUARANTEED TO BLOW YOUR MIND

ANYTIIIIIIM-AH!"

Sherlock was vaguely aware he was being recorded on more than one cellular device.

But at that moment he was down several alcoholic beverages and feeling like...a champion.

He was warm, almost hot, which explained his impromptu dislodging of his suit jacket and throwing it none too gracefully at a surprised and pleasantly buzzed John.

But when a drunken Sherlock unconsciously started to undo the first button on his shirt amidst the cheering of an equally inebriated crowd, John decided it was time to go home.

"Johnnnweneedsomemusic." Sherlock slurred, stumbling into 221B.

"I'd, uh, I'd actually argue that we need some...um, sleep." John blinked in rapid succession, yawning a bit.

"Music!" demanded Sherlock, whipping out his phone with some exaggerated movements.

"Fine," shrugged John, smiling a bit despite himself.

He watched as Sherlock peered at the small and bright icons on his phone, the fluorescent light throwing odd shadows across the detective's face in the dim lighting of their flat. Where it would have quite demonized anyone else, this new lighting made Sherlock look almost angelic to John's high-functioning beer goggles.

These types of thoughts seemed to be coming frequently of late, but tonight John was having too much fun (and a bit too drunk) to suppress it.

Sherlock scrolled through the list of music. Finally finding the one he wanted, he clicked on the desired song with a triumphant flourish.

Hooked up to the previously hidden speakers via Bluetooth, Sherlock's phone struck out the beginning.

Caaaaaan...

Anybodyyyyyyyy

Find meeeeee

Somebody tooooo

Love...

John doubled over in laughter as Sherlock grinned.

"Oh god, I'm responsible for this, aren't I?" John asked over the piano into.

"Afraid so," Sherlock managed.

Each morning I get up I die a little

Can barely stand on my feet

(Take a look at yourself, in the mirror!)

Take a look in the mirror and cry

(And cry!)

Lord what you're doing to me

Sherlock started to sing along with the music, staring John down as he started flailing around with dramatics.

"I have spent all my years in believing you,

But I juuust can't get no relief, Lord!

Somebody, oooh, somebody.

Can anybody find meeeee

Somebody to loooove."

John watched with amazement as Sherlock finished the verse and started almost waltzing (surprisingly in-time) with the instrumental.

"I work hard," John supplied, when it was clear Sherlock would rather dance towards him than sing at the moment.

"Eeevery day of my life.

I work till I ache my booones

At the end

I take home my hard earned pay AAAAALL on my own

I get down on my knees

And I start to pray

Till the tears run down from my eyes,

Lord!

Somebody, somebody- " John laughed as Sherlock arrived in front of him, ready to sing the next line with him.

"Can anybody find meeee

SOMEBODY TO LOOOOOVE"

They both went for the air guitar at that moment, John's a little more sober than Sherlock's.

Sherlock also decided that now would be a good time to attempt to vocalize both Freddie's part and the gospel choir in the background.

-"HE WORKS HARD!"

"Everyday-" strum- "I try and I try and I try!"

"But EEEEEEEVERYBODY WANTS TO PUT ME DOWN"

-"AAAAAAAAAAA"

"They say I'm goin' craaaazyyyyy

TheysayIgottalottawaterinmyBRAAAAAAIN

GOT NO COMMON SENSE

I GOT NOBODY LEFT TO BELIEVE!"

Oh, now it was Sherlock's time to shine.

John took up air guitar again as Sherlock raised his arms to the heavens and cried:

"YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!"

John abruptly took over with his guitar, Sherlock providing the necessary (and unnecessary) oohs and aaahs.

"Can anybody find meeeeee

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMEEEEEBOOOOOOOOOODY TO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE"

Sherlock went off on his own, twirling around and making up another gospel part entirely.

"I SHOULD HAVE GONE TO CHURCH, JOHN!" he roared delightedly over the music, which sent John into a fit of giggles that made him miss the next verse.

Got no feel, I got no rhythm

I just keep losing my beat

I'm ok, I'm alright

Ain't gonna face no defeat

I just gotta get out of this prison cell

Someday I'm gonna be free, Looooooooord!

John stopped giggling slowly, heart rate quickening as he remembered what part of the song came next.

Find. me. somebody to looooove

Sherlock snapped around, his deep baritone mirroring the actual bottom part of the chant. His now predatory eyes were boring into John's, taking small advances towards him as he repeated his line.

"Find. me. somebody to loooove, find. me. somebody to loooove, find. me. somebody to looove..."

He was right in front of John, sharing the same air and John was not protesting. Sherlock's voice lowered as he continued, breathing evenly while John's sporadic breaths quickened.

"I'm fully aware of the effects of alcohol, John," John thought he heard Sherlock mutter, but he wasn't positive because oh god Sherlock's hands were ghosting over his hips, his lips coming closer to John's ear.

"Tease," John gasped out finally, and took brief pride in seeing the detective's eyes widen with surprise.

Sherlock's hands tightened and pulled John so their bodies were pressed solidly against one another, Sherlock's thumbs now gently caressing the bone of John's hip and Sherlock's voice still in his ear, driving John nearly mad.

"Find. Me. Somebody to love, find. Me. Somebody to Love..." Sherlock trailed off, pulling away to stare into John's eyes. The usual blue/grey/green color of Sherlock's eyes had darkened, John noticed, into a deep sea green. John had no earthly idea what color his eyes were at the moment, but the way Sherlock was looking at them he figured it must be pretty fascinating.

A miniscule nod from John, and three things happened almost at once.

One, Freddie Mercury wailed out the iconic: Somebody toooo...LOO-ooo-oaaa-oOOOooooooooooooovah"

Two, all the oxygen was sucked from the room.

And three, Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John.

It could have been worse, John thought as he woke up.

He wasn't that drunk last night, and considering all he'd been through that day, he could be having a much worse hangover.

He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the light that was let in from the side window.

He then became aware that he was not the only person present in his bed.

Oh, right.

"Jesus," John whispered, turning his head gingerly to face the still sleeping Sherlock Holmes, curled up in bed next to him.

Glancing down, memories of last night's drunken misadventures swam in the forefront of his mind.

Most importantly...they had kissed.

Sherlock kissed him.

Holy fuck.

Sherlock broke away, scanning John's face with his eyes. His gaze followed John's chin to his forehead in one slurred sweep, swaying slightly.

"Okay," John said shakily, a hand coming to rest on Sherlock's cheek. The taller man's eyes closed and he leaned into it, almost like a cat.

John stretched up on his toes and kissed him again, gently and decisively this time. Sherlock's hand moved up from John's hip to his waist, curling around to his back and bringing him even closer.

This time it was John who broke away, but with the same shuddering breath as before.

"Right," he said, nodding. "To bed, now."

Sherlock swallowed. "Bed."

"To sleep," John said firmly, a small smile on his lips.

He was surprisingly calm, he noted.

"Oh. Of course," Sherlock said, blinking demurely as he backed away and turned towards his bedroom.

"Sherlock?" John called after him.

"Yeah. Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"To bed, John. Bed. Sleep. Doctor's orders, and only a fool...well," Sherlock stammered, cheeks flushing and avoiding John's eye.

"Yes, but...my bedroom's upstairs."

Sherlock.

"How silly of me."

John breathed. Right.

So...they had kissed.

And Sherlock was about to wake up to the worst hangover of his life so far.

Might as well aid the poor man in any way he could.

He got out of bed, but as he rose he heard a bleary "John?" from the duvet.

He paused. "Yes?"

"Good lord John. Quiet." Sherlock moaned.

"I'll make you some tea," John whispered, laughing silently to himself.

As the kettle boiled, Sherlock padded slowly into the kitchen, avoiding John's eye.

John poured two cups of tea and handed one to Sherlock, and the detective took it with a mumbled and awkward "thank you".

They drank in silence, Sherlock having a staring contest with the microwave and John with the fridge, and the big fat elephant in the room winning epically against both of them.

A ping from Sherlock's phone (causing the man to wince and John to smirk in amusement) signified a text from Lestrade.

Sherlock read it out loud, his voice low and scratchy from the overuse the night before.

Potential serial killer on our hands. Be here in 15 and you might could just miss Anderson. GL

"Well, let's go?" John guessed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Yes, I suppose we should," Sherlock replied, looking this time at the floor as he disappeared into his own bedroom to change.

John let out a long breath of air once he was alone, wondering if the day could get any more awkward.

I wonder what Freddie Mercury would do, John thought to himself sarcastically.

Probably to go ahead and fuck already.

John was determined to relieve some of the pressure from the taxi.

"So, serial killer?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded.

John smiled, an idea forming in his mind.

The crime scene was just like any other sort, really. Some weird unique twist to it that John didn't really understand, of course, that got Sherlock excited for five minutes before he insulted the intelligence of everyone in the room. Including the victim.

"What number is this one? Three?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, attention still mainly diverted to the body in front of him.

"Four."

"Hm."

"Another one bites the dust," John sang under his breath, just loud enough for Lestrade and Sherlock to hear.

Lestrade stared, momentarily shocked.

Sherlock's mouth was open, a delighted smile slowly creeping on his face.

John giggled and Sherlock openly laughed, ignoring the massacred man lying on the floor.

He looked at John for a second with a question written on his face.

We're okay?

John winked.

We're okay.

We're killer.