|I'm Tired Of Playing Games
Author: Thorn17 PM
Set after Sherlock's return. A stressed John is trying to appease his flatmate's brilliant brain, that has recently been rebelling against stagnation again. The doctor suggests that they play a game in order to pass the time and relieve Sherlock's boredom, but a dispute about which game to play soon escalates into another argument entirely, unearthing some underlying issues...Rated: Fiction T - English - Friendship - Sherlock H. & John W. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,120 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 09-24-12 - Published: 09-19-12 - id: 8539729
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"What's it going to be then, Sherlock?"
The detective was curled up on the couch, wearing his blue silk dressing gown over a pair of off-white pajama trousers made from the same material, and a faded grey t-shirt. He was facing the wall, sulking, and refusing to even look at the items that John was proffering. "None of them. I'm not playing."
John sighed impatiently. "Yes, you are."
Sherlock turned his head to face the doctor, and raised a quizzical eyebrow, challenging John's resolve. "Oh, am I now?" he said, almost threateningly.
Unperturbed, John nodded defiantly. "Yes, you're playing, because if you're going to moan incessantly that everything is boring, then logic says that you can't possibly moan when I find you challenging things to keep your mind active!"
Sherlock scoffed, turned his head and buried his face further into the couch cushions. "I'd hardly call brain training games 'challenging'," he mumbled derisively.
"Fine, forget the brain training games!" John threw the apparently-offensive games onto the couch, narrowly missing the detective's bare feet. "What about a nice game of 'Guess Who?'"
Sherlock's consequent snarl indicated that - apparently - this question wasn't even worthy of a response. Just like with the brain training games, it was as if the very notion of Sherlock playing them was a personal insult to the detective. John sighed again, resorting to the one thing that he knew would perk the stubborn detective's interest, even if it meant that a night of arguments regarding the rules of the game would be in store for John. "Oh, okay. Okay. What about 'Cluedo?'"
Sherlock's face reappeared as he turned to face John, turning his back to the sofa cushions now, and allowing the doctor to observe that the detective was indeed intrigued, just as he knew he would be. "I thought you said that we were never playing Cluedo again?"
John gave a small, sad smirk and crossed the room to sit in Sherlock's armchair. "Yes, Sherlock, I did say that, and when I said it, I meant it."
"Then what's changed?" Before John had a chance to respond, Sherlock steepled his hands underneath his chin, assuming the pose he usually reserved for deducing somebody, and began speaking before the doctor had a chance to. "Oh, I see. Obvious. You're still annoyed with me over what happened earlier. Really, John, you shouldn't let such things bother you to this degree. Need I remind you that sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side?"
"No, you've pretty much drilled that into my head already, thanks," John retorted sarcastically. "These last few months have certainly served as a reminder of that."
Sherlock seemed to ignore him, and continued with his deductions, though there was a momentary pause before he did so. "It seems that you can no longer tolerate my foibles to the same high degree as you could before my... absence, since I am doing nothing to deliberately provoke a response from you at present, and yet you are still growing ever more frustrated with me. I can see from your increased breathing rate that your pulse is rising, as is the colour in your cheeks. These are all classic signs of anger, but I don't..."
"How can my frustration be a surprise to you, Sherlock, after what you did?" interrupted an indignant John. "You set fire to my armchair because you were bored!"