The foggy London afternoon air is tense as a war veteran vents to his elder acquaintance.
"And then just this morning he put horse brain in the fridge. He set it right atop of my leftovers. Not even next to it, on it. The twit." John continues with a huff, turning in his chair to face Mycroft where he was standing near the window.
"Sorry for talking your ear off but if you're going to ask me to be your eyes on Sherlock you're going to be my scratching post for when I need to rant about your infuriating brother." Watson continues, sitting in his own chair with a sigh. "It's quite alright Watson, my brother is a … peculiar soul to put it lightly." Mycroft responds diplomatically, an endearing wince across his face.
John briefly raises his eyebrows in agreement before taking a sip of the tea Mycroft offers him upon every visit. "I've tried everything I could think of to get him to stop. I've been harsh and gentle, but nothing gets through to him." The veteran says, setting his tea down once more.
"He was always a hard one to make behave. Even when we were kids, though in recent years it's only gotten harder as he grows more independent." Mycroft laments, stepping away from the window to take his seat across from John. "You know, there was one thing that always got him to step in line. Though he would disown me, for the fourth time, if I tell you." Mycroft continues, with an uncharacteristic smile lighting his face.
"Since when are you one for sentiment?" John responds in amusement, eager to find out what the elder Holmes knew. "Ha, well you're absolutely right about that. In that case, I have no reason not to tell you - On the one condition that you give me every detail upon our next meeting." Mycroft says, leaning slightly closer to Watson as if sharing a secret in a crowded room.
"You have my word, let's hear it." John responds, leaning in to hear the soft instructions Mycroft is muttering near his ear. His smile grows bigger and bigger as the older Homles continues. "Oh that is just too good." John says with a barley suppressed giggle. "Are you serious?" He continues in disbelief.
"Deadly serious, he's nearly taken my eye out over it before. Now get going before he notices you're gone." Mycroft says, making a shooing motion towards the short man.
"Ha, as if he would. I swear he thinks I'm there listening to him all day." Watson jokes as he stands up, shaking Mycrofts hand in a brief farewell before heading out of the building and into the evening air, formulating his plan.
~~~
Watson is meeting with his brother again, same as every other Tuesday.
Sherlock glances out the window as the sun sets behind the building, John will be back soon.
A few minutes later Sherlock hears the familiar creaking of the front door opening downstairs. Quickly, the dark haired man settles into his chair as he hears footsteps climbing the rickety stairs.
Sherlock brings his palms together then rests them just below his chin in a pose of nonchalant thoughtfulness as his friend finally enters the room.
"I'm back." Watson says as he walks into the living room, pointedly stepping in front of Sherlock's field of vision with a wave.
"Did you step out?" Sherlock responds innocently. John rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen to open the fridge. "I see our friend is still occupying my leftovers?" The short man comments, shutting the door with his index finger.
Sherlock gives a small smile which he quickly pushes down when John turns around again to face him.
"You know you really shouldn't keep doing things that intentionally bug me." He says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Don't flatter yourself John, as amusing as I find our arguments I simply do as I please. Nothing more to it." Sherlock responds casually, remaining in his thoughtful pose.
"Maybe but the point remains that you shouldn't push your luck. You'll regret it." John continues, Sherlock finally turns to meet his eyes. Surprised that that it almost sounds like his friend is daring to threaten him.
"Oh?" He probes, curious to where this sudden change of demeanor came from.
"That's right. So I suggest you move your ghastly experiment elsewhere by the time I'm done washing up or I'll show you first hand what I recently learned about you." John continues, clearly trying to suppress the giddiness in his voice.
Sherlock is very intrigued now, curious as to what he could possibly know that would have an affect on him.
~~~
"Well, see you later." Watson says, turning away before he starts laughing and breaks character. He wants Sherlock to be on edge, going crazy trying to figure out what he knows.
John takes his time washing up, knowing Sherlock isn't going to clear out the fridge but also wanting to let him sit in his devastatingly curious thoughts for a little while longer. The first part of his revenge on the sociopath he calls his best friend.
After his twenty minute luxurious shower, John takes his time choosing his evening-wear. By the time he makes his way back into the living room more than half an hour has passed. Which in Sherlock's mind is several lifetimes when it means he has to wait before he can understand something.
"What do you know?" Sherlock wastes no time upon John's return to the room before probing him for answers. He clearly has not moved from his chair the entire time John was washing up. His fingers still pressed together in that damn pompous pose of his.
Watson ignores his question as he opens the fridge once more, letting out an exaggerated huff when he finds it exactly the way he left it. Which is a surprise to nobody.
~~~
"What do you know?" Sherlock asks again, with more force this time. Watson sneaks a glance at his friend to see his gaze intensely locked with his.
Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock is all too aware that Watson was meeting with Mycroft to cure his brother's innate need to be nosey. While normally Sherlock doesn't care in the slightest, today it makes him quite … nervous. Which is a foreign and unwelcome feeling to him.
'Damn you Mycroft, what did you tell him? He's got a smug look on his face and has been trying not to laugh since he returned.' Sherlock thinks to himself suspiciously, still meeting John's gaze across the room unwaveringly.
"Don't worry Sherlock, you'll find out soon enough. After all I did say you would regret it if you didn't clean up your mess in the fridge." He says with a shrug, clearly enjoying watching as Sherlock sets his jaw and glares at John, still stirring his evening tea."Ta-ta for now though. I'm spent for the evening." Watson says with a wave, bringing his tea into his room while suppressing a snicker.
Sherlock is on edge, desperate to crack the case of what his friend could possibly know about him. 'Does he know about the time I catfished him online as an American babe when I was bored last month? Or maybe brother told him that mother used to dress me like a girl every Sunday for 5 years when I was a child? No that doesn't make sense either.' Sherlock wracks his brain for any dirt his brother could have disclosed about him but nothing seemed to fit John's reaction that evening.
It seemed like John planned to do something TO him, not hold knowledge over him. But he couldn't for the life himself figure out what it could be. Frustrated, he pulls out his cellphone to text his brother.
S
What did you tell him
M
Good evening to you as well brother.
S
What did you tell him
M
I haven't the slightest idea what you mean.
S
What
S
Did
S
You
S
Tell
S
Him
M
Goodnight brother dear.
With an aggregated huff, Sherlock tosses his phone onto the couch across the room and rises to his feet. Cursing his brother under his breath as he walks into the kitchen in search of a distraction.
A few hours later, he is satisfied with his experiment on the different flammabilities of John's socks. Leaving the burnt mess on the kitchen island, he makes his way upstairs with a yawn before heading to bed for the night.
~~~
'This bitch.' John thinks to himself in amused shock when he finds various pairs of his socks warped and burnt beyond any hope of usability. He figured Sherlock would retaliate in some way against his anticipatory game but it is misfortunate that his socks had to pay the price.
No matter, Sherlock will pay soon enough.
~~~
John begins calmly cleaning up the kitchen, humming as he does so. Throwing away the remnants of Sherlock's various experiments that their kitchen island had been subjected to before wiping down the counter with a wet rag. Giving a content sigh when the island is clean and usable once more.
Sherlock, who was watching from the couch, can barley believe his eyes. He had expected his friend to blow up in his usual amusing manor. Or at least continue making vague threats like his did last night. This, this was much worse.
If there is one thing Sherlock hates most in this world it is not knowing something. It's what drives him so hard when solving cases.
He hates it even more in this instance due to the humiliating added factor of someone else knowing, but refusing to tell him. Then adding the dreadful anticipatory element? It is downright unbearable. He feels like a toddler being told no for the first time.
By the time John returns home that evening, Sherlock is going insane.
John has been acting so casual yet confident. As if his victory is already assured so there was no reason to even mention anything. 'But what victory? What does that smug idiot know?' Sherlock wonders again in frustration.
It is an unsolvable case.
~~~
John notices his friend is more 'scowly' than usual and smiles into his book, enjoying the first part of his revenge immensely.
"Damn it John. Tell me what you know. Whatever it is just get it over with." Sherlock says abruptly, startling John from his reading.
He turns to meet Sherlock's gaze where he sits up on the couch with white knuckles. "Wohow Sherlock. You're really messed up by not knowing what I know, aren't you?" Watson teases with a chuckle, closing his book and setting it on the end table next to him.
Sherlock refuses to dignify the question with a response, giving Watson the only confirmation he needs. "Ha, that's a yes. You're just itching for me to put you out of your misery." John continues, clearly enjoying the sight of Sherlock's fists tightening and his eyes flashing at the snarky words.
"Are you suuuure you want to know Sherlock? It's a big can of worms to open." John says, obviously trying to bait a response from Sherlock, still staring daggers at him.
"John you can either tell me right now you can name all the bones on your body while I break them." Sherlock threatens weakly, taking the bait. "Really Sherlock? You can't just twist the words around on my own threat and use it against me." John responds with a deeper laugh.
"Just tell me what you know dammit!" Sherlock near yells, standing to his feet. "Quit your shouting, I'm watching the telly." Ms. Hudson yells from downstairs.
"Yes you should really keep quiet Sherlock. I'm sure you won't want anyone to hear you, especially not after I tell you what I know. Or show you, I suppose." John responds, crossing the room to close the adjacent doors. Effectively blocking them off from the rest of the flat.
Finally all the pieces fit together in Sherlock's mind.
His heart rate quickens as John starts advancing on him. Sherlock near-leaps away from his friend as he moves away from the couch and scurries to the other side of the desk in the center of the room.
"Stay away from me." Sherlock says, cursing his voice for sounding slightly wobbly with nervousness.
"Oh but I thought you wanted to find out what I knew about you?" John responds innocently, following his friend in his dance around the small room.
"I did, and now I know; so I am quite satisfied." Sherlock retorts quickly, accelerating his pace as John begins to gain on him. "Oh but I promised to show you Sherlock." John continues, not even bothering trying to hide the massive grin that's quickly blooming.
Desperate to keep the deceivingly quick man in his sights, Sherlock resorts to speed walking backwards in circles around the living room - Past the closed doors, in front of the couch, around the desk, behind the arm chairs, then back to the closed doors.
He keeps this up for a few laps until John pretends to lunge forward at him, causing Sherlock to stumble in panic. This gives Watson the two second opportunity he needed to tackle the taller man to the couch behind him.
Sherlock thrashes violently as John positions himself atop of his legs. But given John has the advantage of gravity and army training, Sherlock has little leverage to fight as John places his friends wrists under his knees and grins triumphantly.
"Got ya." John says victoriously, beaming down at his prize.
"Look John, if the experiments bother you that much I can house them in Ms. Hudson's fridge instead." Sherlock offers, still subtlety tugging at his hands where they were pinned under John's knees.
"The time for compromises has come and gone Holmes. Plus I'm too damn curious to see this reaction of yours I've heard sooo much about." John responds, cracking his knuckles in threatening preparation.
"I turn a blind eye to you meeting with my brother and you repay me with exploring the insight he gives you." Realizing bargaining will get him nowhere, Sherlock resorts to guilting tactics. 'John is a soft soul, surely this would work to get him -'
"Oh please, as if you actually care that I'm meeting with your brother. Your little mind tricks won't work on me Sherlock. Accept your fate." John responds, deflating Sherlock's hopeful thought as he lay there with his mouth slightly agape. Desperately trying to think of some scathing comment to say in response, but unable to conjure a single one to mind.
Things are not looking good for the resident genius.
Chuckling to himself, John realizes that he successfully shut up his friend. He makes a show of slowly wriggling his fingers closer and closer to the taller man's stomach.
Sherlock sucks in a breath in preparation and stares directly at the stained ceiling above him. Refusing to give Watson the satisfaction of watching him stew in his panic and dread.
'Curse you brother. You will pay.' Sherlock thinks to himself before stiffening as John began experimentally poking at his stomach, eagerly searching for weak spots.
Determined not to break, the younger Holmes holds his breath and keeps his gaze intensely fixed on the ceiling. 'Perhaps if I can hold out a reaction long enough he'll get bored and - augh what is that blasted man doing?' Sherlock's thought is cut off as John begins widening his grip and squeezing as much surface area on the taller man's stomach that he could reach.
The intense sensation is almost unbearable as Sherlock's stomach begins to twitch and a breath catches in his throat. "I know you want to laugh Sherlock." Watson says in a teasing sing-song voice. Homles shakes his head in response, not trusting his control enough to use audible words.
John just laughs in response and continues his attack. Spidering his hand up and down the pinned man's sides, occasionally squeezing a little harder in different variations in an attempt to catch his friend off guard and force him to break.
But alas, Sherlock is a most stubborn man. And today, the genius decided lack of oxygen is less important than his pride, his face is quickly turning red from holding his breath.
"Dammit Holmes you need to breathe." Watson scolds him, relenting his attack for a moment to allow the dark haired man to start gasping for air. "What I need-" Sherlock manages to get out between large breaths. "Is for you to cease this insolence immediately." He finishes firmly. Trying to look as authoritative as possible, which isn't very, considering his current position - Still pinned to the couch beneath the smaller man.
"Ha I really got you scared don't I? Do you think I wasn't able to tell that you were on the brink of cracking that entire time?" Watson laughs, enjoying the brief flash of panic and blush that crossed his friends face before he turned away with a dramatic huff.
"Have it your way then." John says with a shrug. Sherlock opens his mouth for another quick retort but quickly closes it again when Watson resumes his ticklish attack on his stomach.
This time John isn't going easy on his friend. There is more intent behind every poke and squeeze.
As a doctor, it should not have been surprising to Sherlock that Watson is all too familiar with the weak points on the human body. But he can't help but be shocked by how quickly the shorter man is bringing down his defenses as it becomes harder and harder to stifle his laughter.
"C-cease th-this at-t once!" Sherlock gets out through gritted teeth. Tiny sharp exhales through his nose were giving away his crumbling façade while John ignores his words and continues exploring all the sensitive areas on his friends stomach and sides. The veteran remains determined to break his friend's resolve.
After a few more moments of exploring, he finally finds the trigger. The moment Watson began inching his wriggling fingers past Sherlock's upper ribs, the taller man erupts in a mess of frantic giggling. "Johohohn stohohop thihihis!" He complains, though his request holds no authority in their situation and they both know it.
Wanting to pull out more of that rare melodic laughter, Watson doubles his attack on the immobilized man's upper ribs. Sherlock's reaction does not disappoint as he cries out in uncensored laughter. His efforts to pull his arms out from under John's legs resume with new vigor and desperation as his own legs kick uselessly beneath him.
"Oh I don't think I'll be stopping any time soon Holmes. This is just too good." Watson responds, laughing right along with his friend as he drives the usually composed man into hysterics with his fingertips.
"Enohohough, stohohop!" Sherlock bellows in desperation as he realizes his hands are not budging an inch from where they were pinned.
He throws his head back into the cough cushion and succumbs to the assault in a puddle of weak threats, pleading and snorting laughter.
~~~
"Stohohohop stohohop WAHAIT!"
John is startled by the sudden octave jump from Sherlock. All he did was move his hands a little higher up his friends ribs. Then with a knowing grin, he continues moving his hands up and to the sides, realizing the reaction is due to his proximity to Sherlock's arm pits.
"I just found your worst spot didn't I?" Watson says smugly, enjoying the view of Sherlock's flushed face and the momentary look of panic before he steels his gaze into a threatening glare. "I know you more than any other soul on this planet. When I tell you my revenge will leave you begging for mercy it is a drastic understatement. You will never know peace as long as I li- AHAHAHAHA NOHOHO WAHAHIT!"
Sherlock's award winning performance is cut short as John began his assault on Sherlock's under arms. There is no hope of hiding his reaction now that Watson knows his weak spot. "Bet you're eating those words now, aren't you? You're going to be the one begging soon." John can't help but tease the thrashing man as tears of mirth begin forming in the corner of Sherlock's eyes.
The dark haired man is completely lost to reality at the moment. His mind palace is useless considering he can barley focus enough to remember to inhale between each bout of laughter. Sherlock has no choice but to lay there and take it until his friend decides that he is finished.
"PLEAHAHASE!" Sherlock cries out, shaking his head back and forth as if it would make the tickling stop. "And what do you know? There's the begging." Watson responds cheekily, still not relenting his attack as he scribbles in the space between Sherlock's underarms and where his arms are pinned to his sides. Constantly changing the speed and intensity to watch Sherlock jolt and dance beneath him.
"YOHOU WIHIHIN JOHOHOHN. STOHOHOP! I AM BEHEGGING YOHOU!" Sherlock yells through his laughter, evidently not caring who hears him.
Sensing his friend must be at his limit to be shamelessly begging like that, John relents his attack and dismounts from Sherlock's legs as the larger man lays there with his chest gasping for air.
"I trust you'll keep your experiments away from my leftovers, hm?" John probes, Sherlock gives a nod without opening his eyes. No strength left to speak as he struggles to catch his breath. "Good, we'll I'm heading out. I expect the horse to be gone by the time I return." John continues, standing up with a quick stretch.
Sherlock gives another nod, eyes still closed as he slowly recovers from the horror he was just subjected to. With a chuckle John leaves the debilitated man where he lay on the couch and heads downstairs and into the brisk evening air - Undoubtedly on his way to stew in his victory and prepare every detail of what just transpired for Mycroft.
Sherlock lays in that position for a long time, even after John's footsteps fade away and the door shuts downstairs.
He has long since recovered from the attack physically, but mentally his head is still reeling. Thoughts of revenge on Watson and thoughts of getting back at his brother for his loose lips - Anything that isn't focusing on the happy smile that is still plastered on his face.
'Watson, brother; you have started a war. And I plan to indulge it.' Sherlock thinks to himself, once again ignoring the content feeling that has settled in his chest. No need to dwell on what that means now.
'Well played. But now, the game is on.'