It was, if they were to perfectly honest, their favorite kind of case. The kind that forced them from Baker Street so quickly that they didn't have time to pack. John barely had time to grab his wallet and coat and run out the door after Sherlock.
When he pulled the flat's door shut and turned, he saw a cab pulling up and Sherlock speaking to the driver. As Sherlock slid into the car, he was already taking out his mobile. While John tugged the cab door closed, he craned his neck around to take a last look at 221B. He wouldn't see it for a week.
Sherlock remained focused on his phone for about half the ride, texting. John didn't want to know. When he sighed for the sixth time he finally got a response. Sherlock looked up and tucked his mobile away. "It seems that you are the bored one this time." He sounded overly smug to John, though he was correct.
This statement has caused John to turn his gaze from the scenery to Sherlock.
At John's silence, he explains. "First, obviously, was the speed and pitch of your sigh. Then posture, eyes, and finally your hands." John self consciously glances down to see his fingers tangled together. He smiles as Sherlock keeps talking. "When your hands are touching you're uninterested or bored. Nervousness is flat hands held still. Contentment is-"
Sherlock was about to continue when John had leaned over and grasped Sherlock's hands with one of his own. He looks down but his face is empty of emotion and John can't discern whatever in the world he thinking. As John inhales, Sherlock brings his gaze up to John's face.
"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm bored. And?"
"And I shall make you not bored." At this Sherlock shifts his fingers so he is now gripping John's. He gestures for the other hand, which John easily gives. He flattens them out and turns them palm down. "Good reflexes, John?" It is a question, though it sounds more like a challenge to John.
He looks up after positioning his hands, facing up; right under John's, though not touching. Sherlock remains watching John and gives no indication of what he's going to do. Without warning, he swiftly draws his hands from under John's, flips them, then brings them down onto John's. Surprising to Sherlock, John doesn't move away at all. He calmly pushes Sherlock's hands up and repositions his own. "I take it I'm supposed to move then?"
A small smile curls on Sherlock's face as he nods. He does it again and John is close to getting away, but Sherlock hits his fingertips. When his reflexes finally save him, Sherlock groans.
Looking slightly evil to him, John flips Sherlock's hands over. He then proceeds to win many times until Sherlock notices something. Right before John is about to move, his lips twitch. It's a small movement, just a quick jump in the corner of his mouth.
Sherlock smiles knowingly, though John doesn't see. He doesn't get slapped this time.
John makes a soft noise of protest that causes Sherlock to stick his tongue out at him. They both laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but resume their game. This time, Sherlock cheats, or so John says he does.
He stretches his fingers under John's. As he's intently watching John, he lets them drift up to graze across the skin of his palms. John's fingers curl back at the unexpected movement and a smile spreads onto Sherlock's face. The doctor brings his hands back above Sherlock's with a shake of his head. The smile grows when he does it again with the same result.
John snaps, "That's not fair," irritated that he can't control his reaction.
Yes it is," Sherlock replies. "I was one of the ones who made up the rules." There is a pause as he hits John's hands, the. He murmurs, "It's how Mycroft always won, and still does."
John raises his eyebrows at this information the mutters, "Damn," when he jerks back involuntarily. He reaches forward and traps Sherlock's fingers between his own, effectively stopping the game. Sherlock presses his lips together trying not to laugh at the seriousness with which John says, "You're not allowed to do it, alright Sherlock?"
Even with Sherlock restrained, John twitches. As a result, he loses the next six matches. When he finally does manage to keep his hands from Sherlock, he lets out a fairly loud, "Yes!"
Now, John lightly touches his fingertips to Sherlock's palm. Sherlock reacts like he did then scowls at John.
"If I'm not allowed to, you're not allowed to. John." He adds, mostly as an afterthought.
John can't resist and does it one more time. Sherlock still jerks his hands away, and John smiles.
This game goes on for quite awhile and they both settle into a silent rhythm. John's reflexes are faster, but Sherlock has the advantage of being aware of when he will strike by watching his mouth. This makes them pretty much even. Doing this, they pass the six-hour mark.
When the cab pulls to a stop, they look up to see they are in front of their destination. Secretly, both are disappointed they cannot continue their game, though John more so than Sherlock.
John had been on a lengthy winning streak. He had been leaning over Sherlock's hands in concentration. Sherlock hadn't tried as hard as he could have, preferring to watch John try to maintain the streak. Sherlock was satisfied. Needless to say, the ex-soldier is no longer bored.
And done! A fun first Sherlock fic, hope I did okay... On another note, I have no idea what the hand slap game is called. My science teacher taught it to me.
If anybody knows, please tell me!
