If there was one thing that Sherlock absorbed since childhood, it was that normality was overrated. That was until he had to be trapped within the same space with two other "geniuses." This had to be torture. How else could one describe a situation where three men with IQs over 200 were trapped within a tiny flat with little food and no entertainment. And, it had only been thirty minutes since they had discovered their situation.
After the initial interest of how they were locked in passed, Sherlock suffered the realization of his company. First, there was his brother. Possessing a normal appetite; of course, he would be the one to check supplies, including food first. Then, after raiding his pantries, the man had the gall to lecture him on keeping extra supplies. It was like Mycroft expected him to be ready for this type of problem. What a nag! This is exactly the reason behind Sherlock never inviting the man to anything.
As if the company of his brother were not bad enough! Moriarty was the only other occupant. Now, usually Moriarty would be an entertaining playmate to counter puzzles and danger, but when trapped in an enclosed space where he clearly was not planning to be, Moriarty became a bit of a bore as well. During Mycroft's lecture, he took his brother's side and just kept trying to text the outside world, probably his minion, Sebastian, if Sherlock's contacts were right, and they usually were. This was boring!
By now, enough preliminary checks had been done. They were physically restrained in the flat by unknown forces and without contact to the outside world. When testing windows and doors, they showed no sign of budging or breaking. Guns did nothing to them besides cause ricochet; a theory tested by Moriarty in a fit of whimsy. Floor boards showed resilience against being pried even when using a metal crow-bar; an idea tested by Sherlock when he excused himself to his stash of nicotine patches he had hidden from John. Phones and computers had no connection to any networks; a fact that seemed to escape Mycroft and Moriarty who refused to stop trying to contact their subordinates. (And, they thought he was dependent on his friend!) All in all, the only contact they seemed to have was their sight to the outside street which was at least thirty feet in the air and indirectly facing the traffic passing by.
This was Sherlock's worst nightmare… and he couldn't even get a nicotine patch!
As thirty minutes turned into an hour, it was clear to Sherlock that his flat mate would not be coming to save him this time. What a disappointment. Oh, well; he had not become that reliant anyway. Turning to look at the other men who had also migrated to the sitting area, Sherlock cleared his throat.
"I believe that we are either suffering from chemical espionage or a hallucination."
Mycroft offered his two since, "I concur. Our only chance for escape would appear to be someone entering the premises or gaining the attention and communicating with a passer-by."
Moriarty nearly snarled, "That is a great conclusion and all, but the chances of a passer-by stopping to watch us mime out this idiotic situation are near zero. And, how the bloody hell do we entertain ourselves till the Calvary bust up the party? I can feel my brain losing its marbles the longer I breath the same air as you two clowns."
Sherlock slumped down into the couch and stared up at the ceiling. What to do! He could charge up his battery by crashing, after all it had been nearly 42 hours since his last nap. However, there was no way he could sleep, not with these two idiots around. Then an idea struck him…John had recently bought board games for one of his date nights. The question was, was he that desperate for entertainment?
One hour drifted to four hours. Nothing changed. Mycroft was lecturing. Moriarty was complaining. And, Sherlock could take it no longer!
"Let's play a game!"
"What in the Queen's name are you suggesting, Sherlock?" asked Mycroft, taken aback by the sudden activity of has lethargic brother.
"Indeed. I thought I was the only one off my rocker here!" Moriarty added.
"Oh, shut up. Surely, you two are just as bored as I am. John has some board games we can play. If nothing else, they can entertain us by providing new material for complaining."
Before either Moriarty or Mycroft could shout more insults or protest, Sherlock fetched the games and threw them to the floor at the feet of the two men. All three roamed their eyes over the contents. There on the floor were Twister, Monopoly, and Uno.
"For Heaven's sakes, you couldn't have found a chess set." Mycroft stated aghast at the implications of himself engaging in such childish antics. Moriarty looked lost for words; a once in a lifetime occurrence to be sure.
Standing his ground, Sherlock looked the men in the eyes and made the dreaded decision.
"We are playing, now!"
Thus, began game night at 221B Baker Street.