Cluedo
A/n: thank you, thank you, thank you for all your amazing reviews, you are all amazing, I'm so glad you are still enjoying this story!
This chapter was inspired also by missdark8607, who asked for the story behind Cluedo. I hope I did a good Job! Xxx
Sherlock refused to speak to me at all.
And by that, I mean he was lying face down on the sofa with his head so firmly pushed into the pillow, I wouldn't be surprised if it had made a mould of his face when he did emerge.
Though the chances of him emerging were dwindling quickly into single digits.
I didn't bother asking him what was wrong. It was blatant the detective was having a toddler tantrum, and as long as I kept him away from anything explosive, I was perfectly happy to let him sulk. I hadn't done anything wrong.
I turned away from Sherlock in order to study more thoroughly the newest addition to our battered wall.
The Cluedo board, held diagonally to the wall with a very sharp kitchen knife, it's point directly imbedded in the conservatory. As it happened, the conservatory was where the murderer had 'done it'.
Sherlock had good aim.
3 hours earlier, when Sherlock and I had the pleasure of 'entertaining' Mycroft and Lestrade, Mrs Hudson had came up with the box, beaming like a lunatic.
"I think we should all play Cluedo," she announced, "like a family,"
"No, no were are quite alright," Mycroft said stiffly, looking completely fed up with the whole world and their dog (I guess there was only so many times even the government official could take being called a Striped Moron by his brother before his patience began to wear thin). He said this at exactly the same time a grinning Lestrade said, "yeah why not?" (Lestrade found the whole matter amusing), and Sherlock grumbled, "what's Cluedo?"
I stared at Sherlock, "you've never played Cluedo?" I gasped, scandalised.
"I have no time for trivia," he sniffed back.
I turned to Mrs Hudson, "we are playing Cluedo, " I said decisively.
Mrs Hudson beamed at me and dropped the box on the coffee table in front of us.
"I am not playing a child's game," Mycroft said smoothly, twiddling his umbrella.
"Shut up stripy," Sherlock snapped. Lestrade smirked, clearly forgetting exactly who the remarks were aimed at.
Mycroft glanced down once more at his suit. It was his suit that was causing him all this grief. It was laced with rather erotic black and white stripes, that was supposed to look smart, but the lines were so close together that it was almost psychedelic, and Mycroft looked like a walking optical illusion. I would bet anyone ten quid that when Mycroft got home, he would pay the entire British Armed Forces to destroy the suit within an inch of its stitches, and never speak of the matter again.
Still, Mycroft pursed his lips and continued, "I'm not playing,"
"Oh come on," Mrs Hudson scalded him, "it won't take half an hour! Surely you can afford that to spend time with your little brother!"
"Clearly you don't know my little brother," he muttered, though he settled back down in his chair, and resigned himself to the game.
I quickly ran through the rules with Sherlock, and the game was set up.
That's when the trouble began. As soon as the game started.
The characters were set out. A struggle ensued, as Lestrade, me and Sherlock made a grab for the same character, Mr Green.
The table was overturned (twice), the game had to be set up again (three more times), and Lestrade got hit in the eye with the 'lead pipe' piece, before Mycroft's umbrella made an appearance and the fight broke up.
By that time, Sherlock had triumphantly acquired Mr Green (and boasted as much throughout the rest of the game), I was left with Colonel Mustard, and Lestrade, whose eye was watering so badly there were tears streaming down the left side of his face, had Professor Plum.
Then Mycroft realised that there were no male characters left.
And he refused point blank to play a female.
"It's just a game Mycroft, " Sherlock said, whilst Lestrade nearly fell off his chair, laughing at Mycroft's face, "don't be so childish,"
"I am not playing a female," Mycroft said indignantly, before Mrs Hudson took matters into her own hands, by thrusting Miss Scarlett into the folds of his tightly crossed arms.
"There, matter decided, now lets get on with it,"
"I'm not..." Myrcoft muttered furiously, looking at the little figure with repulsion, before trailing off.
I personally found it very funny that Mycroft was having to play Miss Scarlett. I didn't say anything though.
When the game began, I had barely moved three spaces, before I realised that Mr Green wasn't where he was supposed to be.
"Sherlock," I said cautiously, "what are you doing in the hall?"
"I'm looking for places where the killer could have hidden," he said seriously, his nose pressed against the board in his attempt to see the details in the room. I gaped at him, and Lestrade had to clumsily stifle his snicker.
"No, Sherlock, no" I said gently, picking up Mr Green and putting him back in his rightful spot, on the starting block, "no, that's not how the game works,"
Sherlock straightened up, and said nothing.
Lestrade was the first to make it to the study, and he began to make his suggestion, "I suggest it was Colonel Mustard, in the study with the-," he paused, "hold on, where's the rope?"
Sherlock, it so happened, was peering over the rope, eyes sharp, oblivious to the rest of the game.
"Sherlock..." I muttered, nudging him.
"One moment, I'm inspecting the weapon," he said, irritated.
Silence fell, and Mrs Hudson looked sympathetic.
"Sherlock, no, no" I pulled the rope from between his fingertips, fighting a smile, "no, that's... that's not how the game works," I gave the rope to Lestrade, and Sherlock said nothing.
The game progressed a few more rounds, Mycroft continuously scowling every time someone called him Miss Scarlett, until Mrs Peacock made an appearance in the library. No one was playing Mrs Peacock.
"What the hell is Mrs Peacock doing out?" I asked, bewildered.
"She's a suspect," Sherlock answered primly.
This time Lestrade couldn't hold it. The laugh he made sounded like an exploding paper back, and I'd never seen Sherlock go so pink in all my life.
"Sherlock, that's not how the game works," I told him carefully, putting Mrs Peacock back in the box (she seemed to look a bit dejected at this).
Sherlock pouted, and I could see a tantrum coming on, "what is the point of this game if I can do any deduction work!" He exclaimed despairingly.
"Sherlock you can't deduce a piece of chipboard," Mycroft remarked dryly.
"Then I cannot see any way of winning the game," Sherlock sniffed.
"I did explain the rules to you," I told him.
Sherlock ignored me, "the victim did it," he stated.
"That's impossible," Mrs Hudson cried out, looking confused, "it's not in the rules,"
"The rules..." Sherlock said stiffly, "are wrong,"
"Sherlock just play the game," Lestrade looked delighted at ordering Sherlock around for once. Sherlock glared at Lestrade for the rest of the game.
For what seemed like far too long, the game continued, until, after numerous attempts at cheating, I finally made it to the middle, and started my accusation. On the board, Miss Scarlett appeared to be lying in a faint in the kitchen, and Professor Plum was standing curiously over the candlestick.
"I accuse Mr Green-,"
"What!" Outraged, Sherlock looked up, horror on his face.
"-In the conservatory, with the lead pipe," I finished, eyeing Sherlock with a raised eyebrow; I also swore that Lestrade's, still slightly red, eye started twitching at the mention of the lead pipe.
"I didn't kill her!" Sherlock shouted, mortified, looking for all the world like he'd been framed for a real murder. Mrs Hudson's look of sympathy intensified, and Lestrade was laughing again. Even I couldn't stop my own giggle.
"Sherlock, it's just a game," Mycroft said, rolling his eyes.
"This isn't fair! How could I have killed her! How could I have killed her? I've been here the whole time, you've seen me! John you must have seen me!" He rounded on me, eyes wild, confusion and fear in his eyes.
The exploding paper bag sounded again, and Lestrade disappeared from his chair. We could all distinctly hear him laughing like a hyena in the carpet. Mycroft closed his eyes. I was grinning openly.
"Don't worry Sherlock, you're not going to have charges pressed against you," I said, receiving a furious glare.
Of course the tantrum that had been waiting to explode suddenly made an appearance (Sherlock was Sherlock) and Mr Green sailed through the air (I still had no idea where it had gone).
Mycroft and Lestrade made a hasty exit, Mycroft looking relieved to shake off his reputation as Miss Scarlett, and Mrs Hudson, the wonder she was, left me to deal with the six year old, on my own.
Such was the point where Sherlock flattened his face in the pillow and I observed the sharp knife stuck into the Cluedo board. Sherlock had done that in a fit of rage.
After a moment of quiet reflection on the afternoons events, I finally stood up.
"Would you like some tea?" I asked him.
"I want you to admit that I did not murder the woman," came the sulky voice, so very muffled, it sounded like 'mffffmfmfmmfff,'
"Sherlock-," I sighed warily, rubbing my temple, trying hard not to smile at the seriousness in which Sherlock was still taking to discovering he was the murderer.
"Admit it," Sherlock said.
I sighed a laugh, "fine, you didn't murder her,"
There was a pause.
"I want tea,"
I rolled my eyes.
A/n: a review or two would be lovely! Reviews make me so happy! Xxx
