So after losing the hand-written draft of this (because I am a clumsy fool) and thus getting a small case of writers block, I've more or less started again with the plot. This first chapter is more or less the same though. I hope you enjoy it anyway, I personally feel this version is better (mainly as it's actually going somewhere). -MG
"Thanks"
"No problem. Bye" John Watson stood in the doorway of 221b. He held a package in his hands, for which he had just signed for. He watched the red van drive down Baker Street and turn the corner. "Sherlock!" He called up the stairs to his flat-mate as he made his way up.
"I didn't order a parcel." Sherlock Holmes stood in his typical blue dressing gown, his eyes were squinting suspiciously at the parcel in his friend's hands. John thought he looked like he was trying to see through the brown paper and to the contents inside.
Sherlock reached out and took it from John, turning it over in his hands.
"You know you could just open it?"
"And it could contain explosives triggered by the opening of its seal."
"Who'd want to blow you up with a parcel?"
"Oh I could think of plenty of people" He replied distractedly, still trying to presuppose its contents.
John was covertly surprised by his friend's calm manner with which he spoke about his fore-planned demise.
Sherlock took the mystery parcel into the kitchen and sliced open the adhesive seal, evidently deciding that the package did not contain explosives. Even so, John still cringed slightly as the knife slid under the seal.
Sherlock tipped the contents into his open palm; a single chess piece fell into his hand. It was a pawn, and tied to it was a note written by hand reading-
"'White always plays first x'"
"What? Chess? This is him isn't it. This is Moriarty."
"Yes." Sherlock's eyes lit up at the mention of the consulting criminal's name, giving him a slightly demented look.
"Oh god no. No you can't seriously be happy about this, can you? People are gonna die in this 'game' you have."
"It's a game, yes."
"You don't have to play." John said pointedly.
"You overestimate my self-restaint."
"No Sherlock, seriously I'll call Lestrade, maybe he'll have a cold case for you to look at-"
Sherlock cut him off "Domestic murders and kidnapping? You know they bore me."
"And your boredom is more important that human lives, is it?"
"If I win, lives won't be at stake." John gave a wry laugh.
"You know that's not true. that bloody pawn proves it; he's going first, remember?"
"And he'll kill as many people as he likes whether I play or not. If I don't stop him, no-one will."
John knew that he'd lost the argument. He settled down into his chair defeatedly with his head in his hands. "So what do we do?" He asked.
"We wait."
