"Morphine."
"Kitten."
"Airplane."
"Silver."
"Fire."
"A-Ah-Ah. I got nothing." John stood up from the coffee table to go refill his glass with Scotch and ice. He was starting to sober up again and there was no way he could play another second of this game with Sherlock on clear head.
He was not even sure if Sherlock had a clear head himself since he was the one who propositioned John to a game of Scrabble. Sherlock Holmes – of all people - was not the type to sit down on a Saturday afternoon and play a tedious board game, but he insisted on it. He wouldn't accept no as an answer.
"We're not even keeping score but you're killing me." John called out in an annoyed tone.
"That's because you're not thinking, John. It takes you less than ten seconds to spell a word and they're all words that even a six year old can master. Now that all the easy words and spaces on the board have been taken, you're struggling."
John rolled his eyes and continued to fill his glass up when his cell phone vibrated.
"A text message from Sarah." John spoke absentmindedly.
Sherlock smiled. "Sarah? I have a word for that."
John turned around and watched as Sherlock placed the small manila tiles onto the board. Sherlock smiled again and pushed the board down the table so John could read it.
The word he spelled was mistake.