Also, this piece is meant for Ariane DeVere. Partly because she was fantastic enough to write a transcript for each of S2's episodes. Thank you!

I do not own nor do I profit from.

A balled up piece of paper hit John on the side of the head. He ignored it and continued reading. Ten seconds later another came his way, followed by a third less than a minute later. Knowing it was just his flatmate trying to get a rise out him, John took a deep breath and continued to read.

Two minutes later, out of the corner of his right eye, John saw a black rubber ball rapidly coming his way. Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed it out of the air just before it made contact with his right temple. He turned towards the sulking figure lying on the sofa.

"I know you love to share with everyone that you're a genius, but do you really think it was smart throwing that bloody thing at me?" John glared as he wedged the ball between his hip and the chair.

"But I'm bored! And you wouldn't answer me when I threw the paper so I decided to use an object that was a little more substantial," Sherlock whined as he raised his legs up a few inches, before slamming them back onto the leather cushions.

"A little more substan- Sherlock! I would have had a headache for days and a multi-coloured goose egg to go with it! And considering my luck? A concussion would have joined in the fun too, you ridiculous idiot!"

"Honestly, John, you needn't be so melodramatic. In order for you to have a concussion, I would have had to throw it with nearly twice as much force as I did," Sherlock answered, his tone bored.

"Oh, well, when you put it that way. Thank you for being so considerate," John grumbled as he reached for the newspaper again.

"John..."

No response.

"John..." Sherlock moaned pathetically as he kicked his left foot against an armrest.

Silence answered him.

He tried a final time. "John!" This time he wailed the name as he had when Mrs. Hudson had kidnapped his precious skull a second time.

Despite his best effort, John could not prevent the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Giving in to the inevitable, he folded up the paper and turned his gaze to the other side of the room.

"So nothing on the website then?"

Silence.

"Have you been in touch with Lestrade today? Seen if he has any cold cases you could look at?"

"Vacation."

"Right, I don't suppose you owe Myc-" John decided not to continue when Sherlock's eyes started to narrow.

Quickly searching for other options before his flatmate declined into a 'mood', John came up with fifteen ideas he was forced to instantly disregard. Not wanting frustration to cloud his ability to think, John took a deep breath.

"You know, it would be a bit easier to fill in empty time if you could play cards or board games like the rest of us."

"Yes, our parents neglect in the area of teaching us moronic games certainly had a negative effect on the two of us whilst growing up." Sherlock reached down and grabbed a stray piece of paper and began to crumple it into a ball.

"At least then you might have known it's impossible for the victim to have done it when we played Cluedo," John grumbled. "But you and Mycroft must have played some games together. Besides chess I mean."

"There was only one game the two of us played and it was one that I created myself at the age of eight and Mycroft abhorred."

"Do I even want to guess?" John asked. From his own personal experience, he knew how annoying younger siblings could be and shuddered to think of what a bored young Sherlock might do to purposefully make a nuisance of himself.

Instead of answering, Sherlock got up from the sofa and walked over to John. Stopping when he was only three inches away, the consulting detective pointed at John using his left hand. John watched as the long finger continued towards him until it hovered next to his right cheek.

"Sherlock, what exactly are you doing?" John quietly asked. By breathing slowly through his nasal passages, he hoped to avoid making contact with the too close appendage.

"Haud Contactus," was the answer given.

"Haud what?" John questioned as he leaned away and turned towards Sherlock at the same time. Unfortunately, the slender digit followed him faithfully and continued taking up far too much of what John considered his 'personal space'. 'Personal' meaning it was his and no one else's, unless he invited another into it with him. Quickly praying for patience, he attempted to ignore the offending finger.

"Haud Contactus, John. It's Latin for 'no touching'. It's a game I invented and it always amused me for endless hours. Especially when Mycroft was being more aggravating than normal." Pride filled Sherlock's voice as he wiggled his finger.

John roughly batted the finger away, including the hand it was attached to, and stood up. "Well I've got news for you. You didn't invent that game. Some other irritating kid invented that game to annoy their brother or sister long before you ever did. Harry loved to play 'no touching' while we were growing up. Nice try."

Sherlock scowled and made his way back to the sofa.

"You seriously didn't play any other games when you were growing up? Not even yellow car when you were travelling?" John put the kettle on and reached up for the tin of tea.

"I assume I'm meant to know this yellow car game you just mentioned."

"Yes, you know, while you're on holiday travelling, you spend part of your hours on the road playing games to pass the time. Yellow car was the one Harry and I always loved the most. Course our dad always won since he was in the front seat and could see the oncoming traffic first," John explained as he sat in his seat again.

"Do you honestly believe, knowing how well my brother and I get along, that our parents would have intentionally kept us in such a small enclosed space for a long space of time? Holidays were spent abroad at the family manor in France and my parents made certain Mycroft and myself were not seated next to one another during the flight." Sherlock started picking at a small hole on the sofa back with his fingernail.

"No, now that you mention, I guess I can't. But I refuse to believe you never played tag. With either your brother when you were little or another of your family members. A distant cousin maybe, or either of your parents." For some reason, thinking of a young Sherlock not playing tag at least once did not sit well with John.

"All of my cousins are Mycroft's age, father being home was a rare occurrence and mother would never consider behaving in such an unsophisticated manner. Really John, I fail to see why you have such concern over my childhood and its lack of foolish games."

"Because Sherlock, every child should have the opportunity to have fun. To be carefree and not worry about finding joy in doing something silly." John shook his head. Remembering back to his own childhood, he attempted to explain. "When I was little, Harry and I would always spend the summer with our grandfather and Nan in the country. One thing Nan and I loved to play was tag. She would always be 'it' first and we would run around until she finally caught up with me and said pieni, instead of you're it, which meant it was my turn to chase her, and when I caught her I'd have to say it. Sometimes we could go on for over an hour, just having fun together."

John thought for a moment before getting up and making his way across the room. He lightly tapped Sherlock on the feet.

"Move over please," he asked politely.

Sherlock looked up at his flatmate and quickly realised this to be one of the times when John would wait as long as necessary. Deciding to give in, he moved his feet closer to the middle of the sofa but made certain to heave a loud sigh. Both men examined the other until a mischievous grin appeared on John's face. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Such a grin usually meant trouble for him and he instantly began running possibly scenarios through his mind. None of the situations he had thought of were correct he soon found.

He could tell the detective was briefly startled. Touch was a rare occurrence between the two men and usually initiated by Sherlock when it occurred. As he attempted to process the warmth bleeding through the tailored shirt, John could tell his friend's breath had caught as space between the two men lessened. John leaned over and placed the tips of his right hand onto Sherlock's left shoulder. "You're it."

Sherlock jerked his head back in surprise. "What?" he asked, confusion filling his pale features.

"I said, you are it," John answered, a smirk firmly in place.

It took a moment for Sherlock's mind to recall what they had been talking about shortly before. When he did, he snorted. "Honestly John, you truly expect me to play a game of tag with you? Aren't you twenty-five years too late? I have to admit to being a bit surprised by this childish suggestion. Aren't you the one who tells me I'm the one who acts like a child?"

Not allowing himself to be deterred, John softly tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and announced, "I prefer to think of it as being childlike instead. And you're still it."

"John-"

"And if you don't play the game Sherlock, you'll have to live with the knowledge that every moment of every day you...are... it. We both know how much you need to be the winner," John taunted.

Sherlock's left eyebrow twitched. He shrugged off John's hand abruptly as he got up from the sofa. "John, that is absolutely ridiculous. Your attempt to manipulate me will simply not work. Frankly I'm insulted and more than a little disappointed in your effort. And I thought you had to say piene while playing this game? It would seem you can't even play correctly."

"Well pieni is what my Nan always had us say. She was from Finland so... " A slight blush coloured his cheeks. "But everyone else would just say what I did. Honestly, would it kill you to just play along? Mrs. Hudson's gone for the day so she won't know, Lestrade is on holiday so there's no worry about the police showing up unannounced and Mycroft would only know if the flat was bugged and it..." John's voice trailed off as he glanced towards Sherlock worried.

"No John, there are no bugs in the flat. My biweekly inspections have found nothing since our first month of habitation."

Relieved, John returned to the problem at hand. "All right, so there's no way anyone would find out. Now explain to me what the problem is."

Sherlock came to the side of the sofa and began listing reasons as he counted them off on his right hand. "There are five very simple reasons why such an exercise is unnecessary. One, the time for such games has passed. Two, its stupid. Three, I refuse to look so unrefined. Four, its stupid-"

"You already said that!" John complained.

"Yes, well, it certainly needs repeating. And fifth, and finally," he placed his hand on John's left shoulder as the man slouched down, "pieni"

Within the next ten seconds, four things quickly happened. John actually processed what Sherlock had said, he looked up in amazement, a wide grin stretched across his face, and he pushed himself off of the sofa before rushing into the kitchen after Sherlock.