"This is ridiculous! The angles are all wrong! There's a technical way to throw it, but the rings are too small to properly fall onto the neck of the bottle!"

"Oh- okay, Sherlock, okay. Calm down, come on!" John grabbed Sherlock's arm, all but dragging him away from the tent.

"You're running a game that cannot be won!"

"It's just chance, mate," drawled the man running the game. "Luck isn't on your side."

"There is no chance in it! You can't win!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, giving the detective's arm another tug. Sherlock faltered in being rooted to the spot, and took the step that John was trying to make him take. He shoved John's hand off, brushing off the sleeve of his coat.

"This is ridiculous, John. The games are not able to be won," Sherlock grumbled, striding away.

"Yes, well, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't yell at the game pieces when you don't win," John muttered, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"I wasn't yelling."

"I'm sure they heard you clear down the fairway."

"No, the music and the yelling of the children mixing with the food vendors and their processes would have drowned my voice out before the fourth vendor down the way."

"Okay, Sherlock," John replied, dragging him around the corner. Only then did he drop the I don't know anyone here, including the man at my side charade, sighing heavily.

"You're annoyed."

John looked up at Sherlock. "No, not annoyed."

"Embarrassed?"

"Mildly."

"Why?"

"Forget it," John replied, starting to walk again.

"Where are we going now?"

"I'm beginning to think that we should go home," John muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets again.

"What? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sherlock, maybe because you're yelling at the games, causing a scene, ribbing on the vendors, and complaining about everything in general?" His voice was laced with annoyance; he even heard it himself. He didn't need Sherlock's gaze on him, eyes steady and calculating, to know that he sounded upset.

"You wanted to play the game. The, uhm, shooting one, right?"

John chanced a glance up to Sherlock, wondering if this was somehow Sherlock's form of apology. Sherlock wasn't looking at him, however, and considering Sherlock didn't apologize, ever, John doubted it.

"I was going to."

"Any good at it?"

"Very good at it, to be frank."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, you can continue being embarrassed or you can go play a silly game. It would be interesting to see if any of these rubbish games can actually be won."

It seriously, seriously sounded as if Sherlock was trying to make up for his outburst. Nah. That definitely couldn't be right.

"Uh, sure. I guess." John shrugged. "I'll see if I can win something."

"So, what can you win?"

"Plushies, money, different things, really..."

"And you just have to shoot a target?"

"Yeah, but... it's a bit difficult. I'll just let you figure it out. Come on."

John found the game easily enough. There was no one in line, only the person running the vendor was there.

"So, what does one do to win this game?" Sherlock muttered.

"Well, there's those three cans-"

"There's money on them."

"Yes? Yes, that's a fifty."

"You can win fifty pounds from knocking over some cans? Interesting. I'll try."

John was going to tell him, going to tell him that knocking those cans over were a lot harder to do than it looked. The cans were heavier than they seemed, and there was a special place that you had to hit them- you couldn't just aim and shoot randomly. Consequently-

Sherlock didn't excel.

When only one can fell off the platform, John couldn't help but laugh at Sherlock's expression. He couldn't tell if his friend looked irate or... bemused.

"No, no, I told you it was a lot harder than it looked, Sherlock," John muttered, stepping up and taking the gun from Sherlock's hands. "I'll try it," he said to the man running the vendor and passing over the money to play.

He took a step back, brought the rifle to his shoulder-

All three cans clanked to the ground after John pulled the trigger. All in all, he couldn't tell who looked more impressed: the man who was now handing him the fifty and babbling on about good shots, or Sherlock, who was watching him through critical, but surprised, eyes.

John grinned as he tucked the note into his pocket. "Not everything is impossible, Sherlock."

"Hm," was Sherlock's only response.

"I'll treat you to something. What do you want?"

"I'm still not hungry," Sherlock replied automatically, voice bored again.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock."

"No, thanks."

"Deep-fried cola?"

"What?"

"Deep-fried cola."

"You can't deep-fry cola." Ever the rational one, wasn't he? Couldn't Sherlock just accept it?

"Apparently, you can."

"But you can't."

"You want to try it?"

Sherlock paused. He was intrigued. John could tell. "No."

"You're sure?"

Another pause. "I'm sure."

"I'll go halves with you," John stated.

"Done," Sherlock replied, starting to walk again.

"Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock replied, looking back with a half-annoyed look. "I thought we were going to have an experiment," he said, frowning at John's lack of movement.

"You're walking the wrong way."

Sherlock frowned deeper, turning around to join John.

Sherlock can't play carnival games. John finally beats Sherlock at something. [Incidentally, I hate those types of shooting games. Hate hate hate. Especially when they taunt you with money to be won.] Deep-fried Coca-Cola is good, by the way. And, yes, I'm going by my fair, in the U.S. I don't know what kind of fair/food/games/rides the U.K. has. So, don't think too hard if you've been to an English fair.

Coming soon: Can Sherlock bypass the impossibility of the situation and just eat the damn fried food? And the merry-go-round? Why is it so merry? It's boring! Just shut up, Sherlock. Enjoy the fair.

Thanks for the reviews/favourites/follows so far! It's appreciated!