The Sims
"It's hardly realistic."
"That's not the point." John wished that Sherlock would just go away. He only wanted to play his game in peace.
"Then what is the point? To be as boring as possible?" John sighed.
"No, Sherlock. The point is fun."
"By making those little people go to work so they can buy a better washing machine, you have fun."
"Yes." Anything to get him to go away. Sherlock just laughed, though it wasn't a pleasant sound.
"Sometimes I'm truly glad I'll never understand what it's like to be in your tiny little mind." John took a calming breath, then another, and then one more for good measure. He turned to look at Sherlock, who was watching him with mild disinterest. He shut his laptop, got up, and walked to the closet to fetch his coat.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock sounded put out. Good.
"I remembered that we still don't have any milk, and I want tea." He went to the front door, and put his hand on the knob. He turned back to Sherlock. "And there is more to the game than work and washing machines, just as there's more to me than my tiny little mind." He opened the door and left, Sherlock staring after him.
SH-SH-SH
When John came home with six heavy bags of groceries (and still no help getting them up to the flat) it was to the sight of Sherlock, smiling, at John's laptop. He was smiling. That was never good. He dropped the bags and walked over to see what he was doing.
And, to his surprise, The Sims 3 was still open, only instead of the little John Sim that he had left hunting a ghost, he saw a sim with a scarily good likeness of Sherlock pointing and laughing at an exceptionally obese sim that looked a bit like Mycroft as it sat and cried on the floor.
"You're right John," Sherlock said, tilting his head up to look at him. "This game isn't so bad after all."