A prompt from Nocturnias:

Please, please write a fic where Molly is better at something than Sherlock. And it irritates him and he keeps wanting a do-over and she keeps winning, and they make bets and Sherlock keeps losing. Bets can get sexy if you want, or not.

Post TRF: Sherlock is hiding out at Molly's.

Sherlock stared at the small white rectangular platform in front of Molly's TV. What was it for? Of course, she was gone to work now and he couldn't ask. He took a closer look. It was wired into the back of a games console. A Nintendo Wii. Reaching for the internet, Sherlock quickly had his answer. A combination games console and fitness tool. He could see the merits of it. Once his ankle was healed up, he might even have a go. When Molly wasn't here, of course.

A week passed and Sherlock was more bored than he could ever have imagined possible. He'd give anything for a case. Even a missing cat would do. But at least his injuries were nicely recovered.

Molly was well and truly sick of Sherlock's moaning. She thought she was prepared for close-up bored Sherlock but he had transcended bored and morphed into something only vaguely human. It had done wonders for her sometime-crush – knocking the corners right off the pedestal she usually had him on. Molly had actually begun making notes about Sherlock – mainly, so some day John and she could get really drunk complaining about him.

"Friday: Sherlock rearranged all my socks and tights. No sense of personal boundaries. They're colour-coded! It does look pretty though."

Sherlock flounced out of the bathroom in his dressing gown and flopped down in an armchair. Molly looked up from her book, reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Oh dear, are you bored again, Sherlock?" she said, not at all sympathetic.

"Yes. I need something."

"What you need is to burn off energy. It's a pity you can't go for a run or something. Oh!" something clearly dawned on her.

"What is it?" Sherlock leapt off the couch and leaned over her.

Molly leaned back against the couch, mentally noting "no personal space boundaries either".

"The Wii Fit."

Sherlock looked dubiously at the white platform.

"I don't think so, Molly. Not really my thing."

"Afraid I'll beat you?"

"I thought it was just for exercise?"

"Oh it is, but you can make it competitive. I'm sure I'd kick your ass," she said, slowly enunciating the last three words. Her whole demeanour said "challenge extended."

"I'll get dressed," he said.

A few minutes later, Sherlock re-emerged wearing jeans and t-shirt. Even he had had to admit that lolling around in designer suits was pointless, at least for now. Molly was already in comfortable clothes.

She had started up the Wii.

"Okay, first, we'll program in your stats and design you an avatar, which is called a "mii". Stand on the platform."

"Why?"

"It's going to weigh you, and test your balance."

Sherlock stood on the scales.

"Only 80 kilos! No wonder you're so skinny. Do you ever eat at all, Sherlock?" asked Molly.

"Of course I do – just not as often as most people. I'm hardly ever hungry."

"I'm surprised you got away so lightly with your roof jump with so little padding. There, that's you all programmed in."

Sherlock regarded his "mii" which Molly had designed with curly black hair and a scarf in running shorts. His "mii" announced that his Wii Fit age was 43.

"43! But that's 10 years older than I actually am!" he said, horrified.

"It takes your stats into account and based on your balance, etc, works it out. My Wii Fit age is 31," said Molly, proud that it matched her actual age, but not admitting it had taken several months to get it to that level.

"What now?"

"We do exercise – it's simple, you follow the instructions on the screen. We'll take turns. The first class is step aerobics."

"I'm not doing aerobics."

"I'll go first, you giant baby. No one but me will see you. And if you want, you can practice when I'm not here. Now, I just want warn you: I'm going to be better at this than you. I've had it a year. More games and challenges are unlocked for me."

Molly stood up and followed the aerobics program for 2 minutes. Sherlock thought she looked ridiculous. A graphical representation of little miis clapped along on screen. She snorted aloud when he remarked as much.

"Wait until you have to do hula-hooping for two minutes without a real hoop! There's nothing funnier."

Despite this assertion, Molly got a great laugh watching Sherlock attempt basic aerobic steps like the grapevine and side steps. By the end of it, Sherlock was a bit out of breath.

Molly composed herself.

"Oh thanks, I really needed that laugh."

Sherlock pouted.

"You can keep practicing. Let's do yoga now."

Molly was excellent at yoga. Sherlock could see that she had obviously been doing it some time. The onscreen personal trainer shouted encouraging comments in an irritating fashion. Sherlock was going to be turning that off.

To her surprise though, Sherlock wasn't bad at yoga.

"I once had to infiltrate a class for a case – ended up doing ashtanga for 10 weeks."

"Why didn't you keep it up?"

"Boring."

"Typical you. If you had, you might have been able to beat me in this round."

Sherlock privately agreed. Effort would be required.

oOo

After Molly went to work the following day, Sherlock fired up the Wii. He resolved to use it every day for week and then challenge Molly to a rematch. Starting off with jogging to warm up, he was surprised to see Molly's avatar ahead of him. Gah, even when she wasn't here, she taunted him. He sped up a bit but never seemed to catch her. His onscreen personal trainer "John" shouted that a steady pace was better.

A few days into his regime he managed to unlock some new challenges and soon found that the hula-hooping was quite as ridiculous as Molly had suggested. This game, he decided, would definitely not be in the challenge.

The following Saturday morning, Sherlock was ready.

"Er, Molly, shall we have a go on the Wii? You haven't had a chance to play with it all week – wouldn't like you to get unfit."

Molly gave him a bemused look.

"Been practicing, have you?"

"Maybe."

"Alright, let me change into better clothes."

As Molly walked into her bedroom, she wondered whether she could do anything further to ensure victory…though it seemed hardly likely that he'd have practiced enough in a mere week. Still…a little distraction wouldn't hurt: after all, he was a man.

Molly came back to the main room, Sherlock looked up and found he was unable to keep his jaw from hanging open. She was wearing short exercise shorts and a matching vest top in green and black. Her legs were bare and ended in neat trainers. This was a far cry from her frumpy work attire and left very little to the imagination. Not that he was imagining…not that he needed to….oh crap, say something, you idiot.

"Does your mother let you out of the house like that?" was his surprising rejoinder to her silent assault.

Molly smiled. "My mother hasn't had any say in my clothes for quite some time….now, let's get on with this. I've things to do later."

Sherlock stood on the platform and was pleased to see Molly's reaction to his Wii Fit age, now reduced to 38.

"Oh well done, you've knocked a few years off," she said, fairly.

Half an hour later though, a smug Molly sat on the couch, while a displeased Sherlock stood beside the games console.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, you'll beat me next time."

He did not reply. Losing was not his strongest suit.

Molly was emboldened by this display.

"You know, I bet I could beat you at lots of things."

Sherlock snorted at her derisively.

"I doubt that, Molly."

"Do you really? Sure, you've got me beat on reading people's love lives in their shoe laces but do really think that you, a college dropout, could be beat me, a doctor, at everything?"

"Of course," he said, arrogantly.

"We'll see. What would you say to a little challenge?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"We'll test out the theory, I'll beat you, and you'll have to do things for me."

"What kind of things?"

"I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know."

"Alright then. What will I get when I beat you?"

"We'll come to a mutually appropriate arrangement."

"Deal," he said, extending his hand to shake on it. A little diversion like this was exactly what he needed.