Sherlock could feel eyes on him. He knew John had stepped out for groceries and had left Jack in the living room watching Charlotte's Web with Wiggle and the stuffed pig Jack had dubbed Charlotte, despite John gently explaining that the pig in the film was named Wilbur. Jack insisted that because his pig was a girl, her name couldn't be Wilbur and Charlotte was his favourite anyway.

Obviously Jack had grown bored with the film and had wandered into Sherlock's lab. Sherlock laid down his pipette and peeled off his gloves before swinging around in his chair to face the boy. Jack's arms were crossed but his face was open and he clearly wasn't surprised that Sherlock was aware of his presence. "What?" Sherlock toned, and Jack wasn't deterred.

"Bored," Jack sighed, and Sherlock smirked. Jack tapped his fingers against the closest shelf and wandered closer to Sherlock. "Can I help you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Finished. You aren't supposed to be in here without putting on your equipment. John would have my head, you know."

Jack huffed, wrinkling his nose. "I don't like it, and you aren't exploding anything. Come play with me and Dad won't be mad that you let me come in here."

Sherlock stretched his legs out in front of him and quirked a brow. "Are you blackmailing me?" Sherlock asked with a low chuckle. Jack frowned, clearly unfamiliar with the word, but he shrugged. "Well played," Sherlock said, and Jack's grin was bright when Sherlock finally sighed and stood.

"I don't play," Sherlock said as he followed Jack into the sitting room, where he had left Charlotte and Wiggle sitting side by side on the sofa in front of the television. "You'll have to think of something else for us to do, you realise."

Jack frowned and looked around the room, his hands on his hips. He finally seemed to have an idea and he scurried over to John's desk, where his laptop sat. "Tell me a story Dad wrote about you," he demanded, pressing his hands together as he resisted picking up John's computer, as he had been expressly forbidden. "He writes good stories."

Sherlock sighed, and crossed over to the desk and snatched up the computer. "I take good cases, more like. He just writes down what happens. It's all true- they aren't 'stories', they are case reports. You're just as excitable as John. I can assure you I have tried my very best to reign in John's imagination."

"Rabbit's don't glow in the dark Sherlock," Jack said slowly as he clamored up on the couch, carefully moving Wiggle and Charlotte out of the way to make room for him and Sherlock. "That's not real."

"I can assure you that Bluebell did glow in the dark," Sherlock said as he booted up John's laptop and Jack pressed into his side. "The lab had done funny things, and the rabbit glowed. Your dad didn't make that one up, he's not clever enough to come up with something that strange."

"He's clever enough," Jack argued, and frowned at the computer. "It's got a password, we can't open it."

Sherlock smirked and guessed the password in one try. "All right, which one would you like me to read, then?"

"The one with the swimming pool," Jack said, and something close to triumph crossed his face. "You said you don't play, Sherlock, so why is it called 'The Great Game'?"

"Different sort of game, one that you don't play, not really," Sherlock said, and Jack looked all the more confused. "Like a puzzle. Or chess. Something tedious with lots of rules that is only fun if you are up against someone as clever as you are."

"No one is as clever as you are," Jack said with a frown.

Sherlock smirked and cleared his throat. "It began, as everything did, with a big bang..."

When John came back, laden with groceries and looking sour- probably another row with the chip and pin machine- Sherlock was on the third read through of 'The Great Game', and Jack was on his feet, his hands clasped together tightly.

It took John longer than it should have to hear and register what Sherlock was reading, and when he heard "... It really was just a game to him. He left and Sherlock ripped the explosives off of me..." he dropped all the bags in a rush and stormed into the living room, snatching the laptop out of Sherlock's hands. He slammed it shut, dropped it back on the desk and rounded on Sherlock, his face red with fury.

"What the hell are you doing, reading him that? What were you thinking?"

Sherlock was unfazed, and Jack cowed a bit. "He asked to be read to from your blog, and that was the entry he picked. I was doing what he asked me to do."

"He doesn't need to hear stories about Moriarty, Sherlock! For fuck's sake, you use your brain in every other capacity, why didn't you just stop and think about what you were doing?" John let out a harsh breath and glanced over to Jack, whose dark eyes were wide and shining with unshed tears. The anger that was boiling in his chest bled out and he sank down in his chair, holding his arms out for Jack. The boy hesitated, but with a nod of encouragement from Sherlock he ran over to John and allowed himself to be wrapped up in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to scare you. But that night...it's still very scary to me."

Jack's voice was muffled by John's jumper. "You had a bomb, but Sherlock saved you. He thought you were the bad guy, you know."

John laughed, pressing a kiss to Jack's hair. "I know. It didn't take him long to figure out I wasn't clever enough to be the one in charge of it all."

Sherlock shot a glare at John, and Jack shook his head, determined. "No! Sherlock said the game was only fun if he was playing against someone as clever as him! You're plenty clever, Dad. As clever as Sherlock. As clever as the bad guy!" John swallowed thickly, and Jack pulled away from him with an excited smile. "You were really brave, Dad! It's a great story, and Sherlock added in bits that you didn't know because it was what he was thinking."

John sighed, bit his bottom lip for a moment as he considered Jack's face. He finally said, "Sherlock can read you stories from my blog, but none to do with that particular...bad guy. All right? He did some very bad things to Sherlock and me, and he still makes me very scared. So none of him."

"Okay," Jack all but moaned, looking over to Sherlock for support. When he didn't get any, he grumbled, "He's no good anyway. His sidekick hid the whole time and didn't help much."

"His sidekick..." Sherlock began, but John narrowed his eyes at him. "John's not my sidekick. And Moran helped quite enough."

"That's a silly name," Jack giggled, and John sank back in his chair. "So is Moriarty. Bad guys have silly names."

"Oh, and Sherlock is perfectly passable, eh?" John asked, and Jack considered it momentarily.

"Sherlock could be a bad guy, but he's too nice," Jack finally said with a decisive nod. "Everyone thinks he is a bad guy, but really he's not."

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious.

Jack rolled his eyes as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because Dad would never be your side kick if you were a bad guy."

"Silly Sherlock," John sing-songed, and Jack tucked Charlotte the stuffed pig under his arm. "Come on Jack, come and help me put away the groceries."

John and Jack disappeared into the kitchen, chattering away about bad guys and super heroes and Sherlock's superpower of reading people's minds.

Sherlock rested a hand on Wiggle's lid, tapping his fingers against the cool metal. By the time John and Jack were done in the kitchen, he had disappeared back into his lab.

The door was locked.