The silence of the gathering was broken only by the soft hum of the fans, and the occasional buzz coming from Mycroft's phone, sitting ignored on the coffee table. With each buzz the device earned itself another haughty eye-flick from Sherlock, a tiny sigh from John, and a disapproving glare from Mycroft, who still refused to lean down and answer it. Years of constantly critiquing Sherlock for the horrible manners of paying more attention to one's phone than one's company had him trapped between the rude and the hypocrite, and the latter was far worse, particularly considering the picture forming in his mind already of the self-satisfied smirk his younger brother was dying to use.

"My client, Mycroft."

Mycroft flicked his eyes towards the younger man lounging on his sofa. "Will be late, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed dramatically, leaning his head back. John eyed him with a touch of alarm, sensing the danger of any amount of boredom for his flatmate.

"Better make sure he isn't armed," said John, in a clumsy attempt at a joke. "If Sherlock's getting bored, any number of these walls could be at risk."

"That was once, John. I'm not going to do it again. Once I've already done something it becomes as boring as the rest of this."

"Are you telling me," said John slowly, "Everything you've ever done… is too boring now to do again?" John gave a quick nod to Anthea, who had just stepped into the room bearing a small tray of biscuits.

"You boys bored?" she asked with a wicked grin. "I can help out with that if you'd like."

"Oh PLEASE." Sherlock groaned, sitting up.

Anthea looked at each of them carefully, "Ever heard of a game called truth or dare? Me and my sister used to play it as girls."

John looked up sharply and muttered worriedly under his breath, "I better not be right about where this is going…"

Sherlock had the opposite reaction, slumping back down into his chair. "What makes you think a young girl's game would entertain me?" His elegant fingers traced the perfect shape of the expensive seat, as if he was missing his violin. In the back of his mind, he was running through every song and symphony he had ever learned, fitting pieces of sound together in order to form the perfect new melody to try out at home. Mrs. Hudson, his usual audience, was away for the week, which gave him just that long to write something new. Oh, but what's the point really, he thought bitterly. She's impressed with everything I play for her. I need a new challenge. Maybe I can try and change John's mind about the violin instead.

"Sherlock." said Anthea evenly, but with the same devilish touch to her smile. "Truth, or Dare?" She leaned forward, giving away her genuine curiosity to hear which he would choose.

In spite of himself, Sherlock's mind whirled into action, weighing which would pose the bigger risk to him. The game would be no use to him if not played by the rules, so he fully intended to swallow whatever consequences his choice provided. Still, even what he could notice about the woman in front of him told him nothing useful enough to point out an obvious choice. Her sleepless night, weak lower back, new hairbrush, coffee preferences, the breed of terrier she owned, told him nothing about her mind, and what could possibly be going on in it. What she could possibly want from him, information, or humiliation?

"Dare," he replied, with only a touch of dramatic flair. He knew the instant he said it that he had chosen the larger risk, but he couldn't possibly regret his choice. Not with this sudden and new stimulation to a previously boring conversation.

Anthea smiled with playful satisfaction. "Okay," she said slowly, savoring his newly intrigued gaze. "I dare you… to give your John Watson a kiss."

John shot to his feet, dropping the biscuit in his hands to the floor. "Nope! No you don't." He stormed right to the door, flung it open, and stomped out into the garden, slamming the heavy door behind him.

Mycroft let out a sigh. "That is mahogany." he muttered bitterly.