SHERLOCK
LET'S PLAY A GAME
Sherlock's not allowed to play Cluedo. There are quite a few things he- and Mycroft- aren't allowed to play because of various reasons. John and Greg should have realised they were serious. See warnings inside.
Author's Note:
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade
About: Just a random story I came up with. Our favourite boys play "Kill, Marry, Fuck". Why? Because I want them to. There's weirdness, and drunkeness, and flirting and jealousy. Again, 'cause I love writing it.
Warnings: References to m/m slash, alcohol consumption, jealousy, language, general weirdness.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.
Chapter One: Eff, Kill, Marry
'We should play Fuck, Kill, Marry.'
In hindsight, it was a very bad idea. It was a massively bad idea. Really, the other three men should have whacked John over the head with a wine bottle and called the evening to a halt.
However, due to the intoxication levels of said three men, they went along with it... for the most part.
It was a Friday night. Sherlock and John had just helped Greg close a case that Scotland Yard had been on for seventeen straight days, Mycroft had had to intervene when Interpol got involved, and all four men needed to unwind and relax.
It was Greg and John who decided drinks at 221B Baker Street were called for. As the designated side-kicks for the Holmes boys (that was Sally and Dimmock getting together to label them Team Mycroft and Team Sherlock due to Greg and John dropping everything for the genii), the two men decided that it was time Mycroft and Sherlock got over their stupid feud.
They still fought, of course. But they could enjoy an evening together without resorting to too many childish insults... for the most part.
After sinking three bottles of wine and a number of beers between them, they started playing stupid games. Poker was thrown out when Sherlock shouted that Mycroft was using his edetic memory to win (which wasn't cheating, Mycroft said, because he couldn't help the fact that he could remember everything and therefore count cards).
Chess followed soon after when it became clear that Sherlock and Mycroft could host an entire game in their heads, just sitting there staring at the board until one of them (usually Mycroft) claimed "checkmate". Cluedo was out because Sherlock was insane, as well as Monopoly ('Why would a hat need a railway station?' Sherlock demanded), Uno, and about every other game John had on hand.
It wasn't even ten yet, and John and Greg didn't want the night to be over. So John had resorted to the first thing that came to his head; Fuck, Kill, Marry.
The fact that John voluntarily followed Sherlock around on murder cases should have spoken to his sanity. Greg let Sherlock in on cases and travelled hours just to take care of Sherlock because Mycroft said, 'Please.' And the Holmes boys... well, their sanity had been questioned long before Greg and John met them.
So really, it was no surprise that they'd all agree to a stupid game that would dredge up semi-secret crushes, jealousy, and the idea of John wearing an apron. The alcohol didn't help.
Mycroft and Sherlock stared at John after his exclaimation, and Greg said, 'Wha?'
'Fuck, Kill, Marry,' John repeated.
'Uh... why?' Greg asked.
''Cause I'm bored,' the doctor stated.
'Right, right,' Greg nodded. He pressed the top of the bottle he was holding to his lips and took a healthy swig.
'Excuse me, but what is "Fuck, Kill, Marry"?' Mycroft questioned.
'No doubt another stupid game,' Sherlock groaned.
John ignored Sherlock's remark and explained; 'It's a game; you're given a choice of three people. And you have to choose one to fuck, one to kill, and one to marry.'
Mycroft inclined an eyebrow and Sherlock said, 'What?'
'Here, me and Greg'll show you,' John said and turned to the older man. 'Okay, um... Billie Piper, David Tennant, and J.K. Rowling.'
Greg groaned and took another gulp of beer. 'I never shoulda told you I liked dudes as well.'
'Um... you said you were more inclined to let a bloke shag you through your bed,' John corrected him. Greg blushed and ran a hand through his hair. 'Well, you said any flat surface, or rough surface-'
'Yeah, we get it,' the DI cut in with a scowl. 'Fine, fine. Um... kill Billie Piper, fuck David Tennant, and marry J.K. Rowling.'
'See?' John said, turning to Mycroft and Sherlock, who were sitting at the kitchen table watching them. Sherlock was beside John, with Mycroft opposite him, and Greg on the other side. 'Now he's gotta give his reasons.'
They all looked at Greg, who sighed. 'Kill Billie Piper 'cause I'd rather fuck David Tennant- haven't shagged a bloke in years,' he groaned. 'And I'd marry J.K. Rowling 'cause... well, she's rich and smart and wrote Harry Potter.'
'There,' John smiled, looking pleased. 'You get it now?'
'It seems very odd,' Mycroft commented.
'Not to mention a complete waste of time,' Sherlock scowled and sucked back on his own beer. He didn't like wine that much and John had convinced him that beer was great; as long as Sherlock drank enough, it didn't matter what it tasted like.
Mycroft, of course, loved wine and sipped from his glass while tilting his head. 'I suppose the idea of the game is to pass time, have a few laughs, and generally just... hang out?'
'Exactly,' John said. 'So now Greg can ask me, then we'll give you two a turn.'
'Fine, fine,' Greg grunted. He leaned forward at the table and said, 'Er... David Cameron, Barack Obama, and Nicolas Cage.'
'Okay... what the fuck, what kinda choices are they?' John demanded.
'Just play the game, Johnny!' Greg said.
John stuck his tongue out but sat to think about it. 'Um... okay, I'd kill Nicolas Cage, shag David Cameron, and marry Barack Obama. 'Cause who wouldn't wanna be married to the president? I reckon the good ol' PM would be interesting in bed, and I don't like Nicolas Cage. So throw him off a fuckin' mountain.'
Greg snorted and John grinned broadly, the two sipping from their bottles.
'I know for a fact that David Cameron is average in bed at best,' Mycroft informed them. All eyes turned to him and Greg raised an eyebrow. 'I haven't slept with him,' Mycroft said with an eye-roll. 'However I speak with him on a regular basis and I can deduce everything from his clothing and behaviour; he's average at best and romantic when the situation calls for it.'
'Are you sure you haven't slept with him?' John teased.
'No, 'course not,' Greg shook his head. 'Mycroft wouldn't... no, absolutely not.'
Sherlock snickered and John raised his eyebrows. 'What's the matter, Lestrade?' Sherlock teased. 'Jealous?'
'NO!' Greg practically squeaked, cementing the idea that he fancied Mycroft further into Sherlock and John's heads.
'Uh-huh,' John snorted.
Greg blushed brightly and slid down in his seat, avoiding eye-contact with everyone.
'I see how the game works,' Mycroft said.
'Okay, Sherlock's turn,' John announced.
Sherlock whined, 'Do I have to?'
'Yes,' his flatmate nodded.
'Damn it,' Sherlock groaned. 'Fine, fine; what are my choices?'
John and Greg pondered it for a few seconds before John grinned evilly. 'Sally Donovan, Will Anderson, and Molly Hooper.'
'WHAT?!' Sherlock exploded. Greg and John giggled drunkenly as Sherlock said, 'No! No, no, no, no, no-no-no-no-noooo! No, absolutely bloody not!'
'Ah, ah, rules state that you gotta answer!' Greg grinned.
'And you said you'd play,' John added. 'So come on, Sherly; tell us your answers.'
Mycroft snickered as Sherlock flopped back onto his seat. 'I hate you all,' he snarled.
'Now, now, no need to be rude, Sherly,' Mycroft grinned.
Sherlock poked his tongue out and huffed, long arms crossing over his chest. 'Can't I have other options?' he whined.
'No,' the other three men answered immediately.
'I hate you all!' Sherlock snapped. 'FINE! Kill Anderson, shag Sally, marry Molly.'
'Why?' Greg asked.
'We need reasons,' John added.
Sherlock's glare darkened and he gritted his teeth as he spat out, 'Kill Anderson because I would gladly wrap my hands around that idiot's throat and squeeze until he stopped mouthing off about fucking dinosaurs! Shag Sally because at least I could get rid of her after it. And marry Molly because I could put up with her for more than five minutes.'
There was silence as Mycroft, John and Greg let Sherlock's answers set in. And then Mycroft said, 'When you say "fucking dinosaurs", do you mean Anderson wants to sleep with dinosaurs, or were you using "fucking" to make your words harsher?'
Sherlock glared at him. 'Either way, Mycroft! I don't want to think about it any more!' He slouched further in his seat and pouted, glaring hard at the table like it was the cause of all his problems.
Greg and John giggled stupidly together as they imagined Sherlock and Sally shagging- 'GOD, IMAGINE THE CHILDREN!' Greg spat through his laughter, causing John to nearly fall from his seat as he was overcome by giggles- and Mycroft just chuckled at his brother's discomfort.
Unfortunately soon Greg and John were moving onto fresh kill and they turned at the same time to look at Mycroft.
Mycroft sighed.
'Oh, I got a good one,' John grinned lop-sidedly. 'Us.'
'Us what?' Mycroft asked.
'Us,' John repeated and gestured to Greg, himself, and Sherlock with a sweep of his hand. 'Go on.'
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Are you serious?' When John nodded he sighed. 'Kill Sherlock, fuck Gregory, and marry you, John.'
'What?' Greg and Sherlock exclaimed at once.
'Why wouldn't you marry me?' Greg demanded.
'What did I ever do to deserve you murdering me?' Sherlock asked at the same time.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. 'Sherlock, honestly. I neither want to marry you or participate in any type of sexual activity with you. The only remaining option is to kill you; I'm sorry.'
Sherlock could see his brother's reasoning but still glared.
The elder Holmes turned to Gregory. 'While I'm sure you would be a most fabulous husband,' he said, 'I think a wild, passionate night- or day, week, year, whichever- of sex would be most enjoyable.'
Greg blinked a few times before a bright blush worked across his cheeks.
Finally Mycroft turned to John. 'And you, John, I would marry for the following reasons; you are strong, loyal, and brave. You take good care of Sherlock, which had made my life much easier. You cook and clean with barely any complaints, you know not to ask about my job, and the idea of you wearing a flower-print apron is just amazingly funny.'
Greg and Sherlock both turned to look at John as the doctor's mouth dropped open. 'W-What?'
'Oh God, I see it!' Greg shouted. He slammed his beer bottle on the table. 'Mrs Holmes, wearing a frilly apron and cooking for his dear, dear husband!'
Sherlock was giggling now and said, 'And John, you're about the right height; you could stay at home and take care of the house while Mycroft does his MI6 thing.'
'I don't work for MI6,' Mycroft sighed.
'Sorry; run it,' Sherlock corrected.
Mycroft ignored him and John asked, 'Wait, you'd marry me 'cause you think I'd take care of you?' Mycroft nodded. 'Bullshit! I ain't nobody's stay at home wife!' he exclaimed.
'But think of the apron!' Greg implored, like John was giving up a lifetime of happiness.
'And who will take care of the surrogate-Mycroft babies?' Sherlock demanded. 'Think of my nephews and neices, John!'
'Fuck you!' John snarled.
'You know...' Greg said slowly and all eyes flicked to him, 'you kinda already are a stay at home wife.'
'What?'
'You cook and clean for Sherlock,' the DI pointed out. 'And I bet you wear a nice, manly apron when making him toast and eggs.'
He waggled a finger at John and the younger man tried to smack it away. 'Fuck you, Greg!'
'No, Mycroft's fucking me,' Greg said and puffed his chest out.
'Well he's marrying me,' John countered.
'So?' Greg sniffed. 'He might come home to you but he's banging my brains out wherever the bloody hell I fancy!'
'No, no, no,' John shook his head. 'No husband of mine would be going 'round with some... tramp!'
'Tramp?' Greg snapped. 'I'm no tramp, John Watson!'
'Well you're screwin' my husband!' John shouted.
'Erm... it's just a game,' Mycroft reminded them.
'Who cares who's screwing Mycroft?' Sherlock added. 'Besides, you don't want to, John.' He paused. 'Do you?'
'What?' John said, rounding on his flatmate. 'No, 'course I don't.'
'So what's the big deal?' Sherlock asked.
'It's the principal!' John snapped. 'If I'm wearing frilly fucking aprons and raising red-headed geniuses-'
'Auburn-haired genii,' Mycroft corrected.
'- then I want a faithful goddamn husband!' John continued, ignoring Mycroft. 'And he isn't running around London fucking old bloody cops!'
'Old?' Greg demanded. He slammed his beer down again and stood. 'Who you callin' old?'
'You!' John said and stood too. He poked a finger at the DI. 'You're gray and saggy and you couldn't keep someone like Mycroft happy no matter how many tricks you pulled!'
'I'd fuck him better than you!' Greg retorted. 'What are you gonna do, huh? Use your apron as a cape and role play?'
John stormed around the table and Greg did the same. The two started arguing loudly about who could better satisfy- and take care of- Mycroft Holmes, while the man in question and his brother sat at the table staring at them.
After a few minutes- and many failures to get John and Greg's attention- Sherlock sighed and finished off his beer, while Mycroft drained his wine glass.
'You know, Mycroft,' Sherlock mused as John and Greg continued to argue over who'd make the better housewife and who was better in bed, 'I think we should add this game to the list of things we're not allowed to play.'
Mycroft tilted his head, his eyes roaming up and down Greg's arse. 'Mm,' he nodded in agreement, 'though you must admit we're getting a good show out of it.'
Sherlock rolled his own eyes, but still couldn't help that admit to himself that John was rather sexy when angry. And if Mycroft's eyes remained on Lestrade, then they wouldn't have a problem.
Author's Note: Oh, I have absolutely NO idea. It was hot, I'd had a jar of pickles and some coke (the drink, not the drug), and I was dying for a cigarette. Apparently this is what happens when I do those things... oh, and I was also listening to My Chemical Romance. Yeah, my brain's weird.
Anywho, I'm leaving this open in case I come up with any other ideas. If you guys can think of any games you'd like to see them play- and Mycroft and Sherlock get banned from playing ever again- just let me know; I'm open to prompts.
I hope you enjoyed :)
Cheers,
{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}
