A/N So here is another fic from me but a lot longer than the last one but still as fun. I wouldn't call this Crackfic, its more Weirdfic (if that's even a genre) than anything else. Thankyou to everyone who commented on the last fic i wrote, that really made my day! :) Anyway, this will probably be my last fic in a while but I will come back to it when I have time. Keep calm and Carry on.

John Watson make his way downstairs from his bedroom, still feeling half asleep but a good old cup of tea should fix that in no time. Halfway down the steps he paused. That was strange. Usually he would be met by the sound of a bow, scratching away furiously at violin strings or the sound of frantic footsteps, pacing up and down the room and the occasional sound of angry mumbling as Sherlock tried to figure out the cause of their last victims death. But none of that today. Just a strong and stony silence. John was beginning to worry. But this was soon expelled, for when he opened the door out into the living room he saw his flatmate, sitting down in his favourite armchair with his legs tucked up on the seat with him. Already dressed, his face concealed by this mornings paper.

"Good morning." Sherlock spoke in his normal monotone, but not once lifting his head from the newspaper to acknowledge Johns presence.

John just sighed. Typical Sherlock.

He made his way into the kitchen, concentrating more on filling the kettle and switching it on.

"Black, two sugars." Sherlock spoke again, still not lifting his head from the newspaper in his hands.

It was getting to that point where John didn't even have to ask whether he wanted tea. It's like they had suddenly set up some sort of telekinetic link with each other over the time they had lived in the same flat.

Either that or Sherlock was just getting more clever which John didn't think was even possible.

The kettle boiled and soon enough, he heard the pop sound telling him it had finished. He was so busy in the kitchen that he almost didn't notice when Sherlock spoke again.

"By the way, a package arrived for you this morning but you were too busy sleeping so I signed for it myself, your welcome." Pointing to a large square package that lay awkwardly on the cluttered, unorganised desk. Still not lifting his head from the paper.

John moved his way into the living room with two steaming mugs of tea and held one out to Sherlock for him to take.

"Just place it on the table, I'll have it later"

He tutted once then placed the mug onto the table on request along side his own. Only then did he make his toward the package, picked it up, then smiled.

"I've been waiting for ages for this to arrive; I'm guessing that you have already deduced everything about it." John turned to face Sherlock, package still in hand, waiting for a reply.

Sherlock finally lowered the newspaper to fix on John with intensive grey eyes that almost seemed white in the morning sun. Oh here we go John thought. He's going to go on one of his little rants again.

Those telekinetic powers kicked in as his thoughts earning him a very disapproving stare. But Sherlock was never put off for long.

"Looking at the thickness of the cardboard used, I would say something of much value but not easily broken. I took the liberty of inspecting the box myself, also your welcome, considering the weight and density of the contents, I would have to say an electronic device of some kind but this contradicts with the noise it made in the box when I picked it up, a slight scraping sound which could suggest some sort of rough plastic fabric. Adding up all of this and other sources I happened to research, I would say some sort of children's toy am I correct, seen as those are the only sort of products where you would find electronics and plastic in the same device?"

All throughout, he didn't even pause once. John was not surprised to find that he was correct. He smirked.

"As right as always." He muttered to himself, his flatmate caught onto his words.

"Hmm" he asked, suddenly taking notice giving John a wide eyed look.

"Nothing, it's just… I bet everybody loved you at Christmas" John smiled and let out a quiet chuckle. Sherlock ignored the comment and continued reading the same page he had been on since John woke up.

He paused to look down at the package still in his hands. "It's just my nieces' 10th birthday this weekend so I managed to get her the present she has been dying for me to get, and I mean, she is my only niece and all…"

There was a silence. Sherlock lifted the paper up to his face once again.

XXX

John pulled his jacket from its home on the hook. Once he had his jacket on, he grabbed his keys from the side and was halfway through the door when he turned to his flatmate, still sat in the same position for the last half an hour. Sherlock, still with his head in the newspaper. He swore he never saw him turn the page, not once.

"I'm off to work; I'll see you later and promise me you won't blow up anything while I'm gone."

Sherlock made a noise that sort of sounded like a yes but he wasn't too sure.

It'll have to do.

He was about to leave when he remembered.

"I'm going shopping later, was there anything…"

"Nicotine Patches." Sherlock interjected without John having to finish his sentence.

There goes that telekinetic link again.

John nodded and then shut the door behind him leaving the consultant detective on his own in the stale silence. He looked up from the paper and glanced at the box lying on the desk, Curiosity filling every crevice of his intellect. Had he been right in his estimations? He thought to himself. Of course he was always right but it gave him an excuse to examine the contents of the box.

Sherlock got up from his armchair, neatly placing the paper to one side, and picked up the mysterious package. He tilted his head slightly, studying the box while simultaneously turning it in both hands, carefully examining and taking note of the shifting scraping sound it made. His urges finally overwhelmed him as he started to undo the cardboard lid of the box and peered cautiously inside…

It was yet another uneventful day at the surgery John thought as he made his way the familiar black door of someone had to make the money to live, and that wasn't going to be Sherlock.

As he reached the foot of the door, he sifted through his pockets awkwardly, with shopping bags still attached to both arms, to find the keys.

Once he had prised the door open and shut it behind him, and he made his up the mountainous climbing steps towards the flat. There was silence at first, but as he drew nearer, he could make out an unusual heavy shuddering base noise, resonating throughout the whole building.

Must be the teenagers living upstairs John thought to himself.

This grew louder as he made his way to the foot of the door, at which he also picked out a strange, thumping rhythmic melody. Very strange. Must be another one of his crazy experiments he dismissed as he opened up the door into the flat. Making his way towards the living room with bagsful of arm aching shopping, he was glad that Sherlock had kept his promise and kept the flat in around the same state he'd left it in.

A bit of a tip.

But it least it wasn't a burning, blown up tip.

He shuffled into the living room, lost in self-thought and looking down at the shopping bags while he walked.

And then he looked up.

John gawped at the sight he saw in front of him, so shocked in fact that he let go of the shopping bags that then tumbled in a heap beside his feet.

There was Sherlock in bear-feet, wearing only his white shirt and trousers. He was centred in the middle of the room facing the television with his back to John.

That same music, which he correctly identified as Bad Boys by Alexandra Burke (Goodness knows why he knew that) was being emitted from the TV at full blast and a vast amount of wires spread from the TV across the floor, to underneath Sherlock's feet.

Sherlock was on his nieces dance mat.

And actually dancing on it.

Or what you could call dancing.

That was not the strangest part of the picture that played out in front of him. The thing that was funniest was that Sherlock was getting quite into it. Copying the moves exactly in time to the music video as the arrows made there way down to the bottom of the screen. Sherlock being Sherlock of course, hitting every arrow perfectly.

"The bad boys are always catching my eye…"

He was sure he was going to have that stuck in his head for weeks.

"The bad boys are always spinning my mind…"

He also noticed how ironic the song was and laughed quietly to himself…

"Ah John your back, you did remember to get the nicotine patches didn't you?" Sherlock questioned, still facing away from John. Said like your friend catching you on his 10 year old nieces dance mat was a normal situation.

This knocked John out of his train of thought as he suddenly remembered how to speak.

"Yes I did…" failing to state the obvious. "Why are you on…?"He asked hesitantly, not being able to finish his sentence when the 'dancing queen' himself tried to explain.

I wonder what he'll come up with John thought

"I am simply testing out what sort of hazard this could become in practice, for safety aspects. Also, it became curious to me about the appeal of such an item which meant I had to try it for myself."

"And have you come to a conclusion?" His flatmate interjected. There was a short silence before he replied

"I'm still working on it."

John grinned, picking up the bags by his side, moving into the kitchen and placing them down onto the tabletop, giving him time to have a quick glimpse at the screen.

He admitted to himself, it did look quite fun.

Leaving the bags on the surface, he moved beside to where the consultant detective was doing his best to catch up with the pounding rhythm. Sherlock gave him a quick look the carried on fixating all his knowledge at the addictive game he was playing, the song came to a close and his score flickered on screen in bright neon numbers.

"I see you've been practicing" John noted as he gazed at the impossibly high score. That couldn't be beginners luck.

Sherlock turned to face the doctor, raising his eyebrows and giving him a mischievous smirk.

"If you want a go, then why don't you just plug in the other one?"

"Who said that I wanted a go?" John retorted, knowing that he was going to get a lengthy reply back. Sherlock twisted his head back to the screen.

"Its just the way you glimpse at the screen earlier made you look like you were at least vaguely interested and its not everyday you get to try your chances against me on a children's toy." John then realised the true meaning between his words.

"Are you challenging me…" he paused "To a 'Dance battle'?" The words feeling very unfamiliar coming from his mouth.

Sherlock didn't reply.

He didn't need to reply.

"Alright…" John said challengingly

"You're on."

Once they had the second mat set up, John took off his shoes and stood on the cold plastic mat next to Sherlock.

"I agree to this, only if I get to pick the song."

"Fine" Sherlock groaned, passing him the remote.

He skimmed through countless songs to come across one which he vaguely remembers and selects it. Who knew that Sarah's strange taste in music would be useful at a time like this? Lady Gaga and Beyonce's 'Telephone' to be precise (one of Sarah's' favourites that she happened to have as her ringtone for the last couple of times they had met up, drove him up the wall).

They turned to each other as if to say 'The game is on' with a very competitive stare.

John pressed the start button and the music began to play.

The arrows flew down the screen at a fast pace making John almost lose his footing; Sherlock must have set it on difficult making it hard for his feet to catch up with the rest of his body. Eventually he calmed himself and finally got some good points on screen.

"Stop calling stop calling, I don't wanna talk anymore…"

He was finally getting the hand of it, placing his feet on the correct arrows and synchronising with his friends' movements along with the ones in front of him.

"I got my head and my heart on the dance floor…"

Sherlock noticed this and looked like he was getting…how he could put this…Worried? Nervous?

The scores had finally levelled out and John was about to take the upper hand. The consultant detective was falling behind slightly, he couldn't lose. He tried his best but John was just getting too good.

"Stop telephonin' me…"

John had at last taken the lead. He grinned at Sherlock, feeling a sense of triumph wave over him. He was so close to actually beating the greatest mind in London at something. He didn't matter that that something was a children's dance game, just that he had finally won over his opponent for once.

Sherlock couldn't bare losing, he never lost. He couldn't let this happen. He had to take matters into his own hands.

So as they were about to reach the last chorus, he tackled John to the ground, landing with a dull thump on top of each other on the carpet. At the same time, he knocked the remote, accidentally setting the game on pause. He glared at his flatmate in annoyance, unable to move due to the force of Sherlock's body on top of his.

"What did you do that for?" He said angrily, both faces to close for comfort. Neither one of them shifted.

Sherlock rattled through his brain for a logical sounding answer.

"To test, and prove, my theory of lack of safety on these contraptions and how easily you could slip on these and break you neck. You could have hurt yourself if I had not intervened, your welcome."

Something in John's brain clicked and a whole new meaning behind his words were revealed to himself. He smiled wickedly.

"You only did that because I was winning" John said proudly

"No…never!" He denied, it was no use, his true colours were now being shown.

"You're such a sore loser!" John accused. He couldn't deny it any longer, he'd reduced himself to this, simply through a children's game.

He was a sore loser.

"So what if I am?" he admitted, making lightly of the situation.

What followed was a long and discomfiting silence. Sherlock was still on top of him and, was it getting very hot in here? Though the other man didn't seem to mind as given away by the smirk slowly pulling up one side of his angular face, which seems quite angelic as the street lights outside illuminated his features perfectly and defining his shadowing cheekbones. Wait, what was he doing? He needed to get out of the situation fast. Although a part of him just wanted to stay like this for just a little longer.

"Now are you going to let me unpack the shopping or not?" John quizzed.

"No" Sherlock said quickly, not angrily, just said it.

"Oh really, and what's going to stop me?" He said in a slightly sarcastic tone.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows again as his face turned into 'curious mode'. The face he always pulled when inspecting a body or studying and deducing complicated facts about strangers. He was trying to read him, cataloguing every detail and deducting every outcome of the situation unfolding in front of him. That is what he loved about Sherlock's mind; it worked in so many strange ways.

Within seconds, He came to a conclusion. Gathering all the will power and courage he could, tilting his head to an angle, he swooped down, firmly pressing his lips on to Johns. Capturing a kiss.

This caught John very much by surprise. His eyes widened. It wasn't unpleasant…he could have gone as far to have said he quite liked it. Sherlock tasted like…well…How he imagined Sherlock would taste like. Sweet like sugar with a coffee after taste. It wasn't rushed but it wasn't chaste either, it didn't bruise but it had enough to make his lips tingle in the strangest way. Just right. Somehow at this point, he had to give himself a total rethink. But not now.

Sherlock broke the kiss. John whimpered in response, totally at his was exited by this though and dove in again.

So this is what it feels likehe thought.

The game was left on pause for a long time.

Eventually, they did had to give them, reluctantly, to who they were intended for in the first place, which was a great shame because they had quite enjoyed the competitiveness and entertainment of the mats in between cases.

Lestrade had even caught them dancing on the mats not a while back and wanted to have a go himself. You should have seen him, trying to keep in time with Sherlock to the tune of 'California girls' ringing through your ears.

Sherlock won that time.

It was Saturday morning in 221b when they heard an unfamiliar knock at the door. John, rubbing his eyes furiously and still in his pyjamas, opened the door to find a package delivery man standing on the doorstep. Still dazed and confused, He signed for the package and moved into the living room. Sherlock was lying in his silk gown, with his full length on the sofa, looking very peaceful. He curved his neck to see John walk past and settle down in what was now his armchair with the mysterious package sat on his lap.

"Did you order anything of the internet lately?" he asked lazily, still half asleep.

"No…why?" Sherlock replied in just about the same tone

John looked at the square box quizzically, there was a note attached to the top written in delicate handwriting. A blue fountain pen obviously. His eyes scanned down the message:

Thank you for your help with the mayor's cat case.

In return, here is a little gift from me to you.

Yours sincerely

Mycroft Holmes

P.S, only if I get a go as well.

John opened the flap of the box and peered in.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

Sherlock gazed in surprise he dragged out the two dance mats from the box with and eccentric look on his face.

"Get the TV set up…"

They both grinned excitedly at each other.

"The Game is on!"

Hope you enjoyed the fic.

As always, comments and reviews are welcome with open arms

anybody does make or has made a Sherlock fanvid of 'Bad boys' Please send me the link :)