This Is Real

Chapter Twenty Three

"Mate."

Mycroft uncrossed his legs, leaning forward in the wooden garden chair to get a closer look at Evelyn's winning move. "And you mean to tell me you've never played in tournaments?"

"Nope," she said, clasping her hands on the table. "Not really my thing, I was more of an art club kinda gal."

Sherlock was grinning widely, surprisingly chipper for someone who'd just lost his third match.

"But..." Mycroft was utterly perplexed. "You're excellent at it."

Evelyn shrugged. "My mum taught me when I was five and kept it up, we'd have a few games most afternoons. She was a champion in a league during her school years, think she wanted me to learn so I had the opportunity to surprise people," she raised an eyebrow at her brother-in-law. "Like you."

"Most afternoons? Didn't you want to, I don't know, play? With other children?" Mycroft asked.

"Did you play with other children?" Eve asked, trying not to smile because he would think she was jesting. Besides, the last thing she wanted was delve into the horrific time she had at school in the middle of a sunny afternoon at the Holmes country house.

"Well, Mycroft was exceptional, of course. Never one to play." Sherlock said, smirking. He so enjoyed it when anybody else took part in teasing his brother, especially when it was his wife.

"Of course I played," Mycroft said, tipping his chin up ever so slightly. He always attempted to appear snooty whenever he felt like he was on the back foot. "It's an important part of childhood development."

"Are you sure you did it right?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, shut up. You wanted to be a pirate." Mycroft said.

"Still considering it," Sherlock said without missing a beat, still resetting the chess board. "Another game, my Darling?"

Evelyn crinkled her nose. "You want to lose again?"

He chortled, eyes shining in her direction. "My my... Where has this little hubristic streak come from?"

"I simply hate to see you get so frustrated, honey," she said, smug. A slow smile was creeping up his face, causing Evelyn's cheeks to warm and butterflies take off low in her stomach. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what."

He shrugged, slouching backwards, the old bolts of the chair giving a slight creak. "I'm entirely innocent, I assure you."

With an unconvinced expression, Evelyn stood from her seat at the table. "Play against Mycroft, I've beaten you both, see who's better out the two of you."

"Mycroft can barely handle Operation," Sherlock ignored the grumble of protest from his sibling, watching his wife carefully. "Where are you going?"

"Check on Lulu."

"I'll join you–"

"Sherlock, I'm not going to evaporate. Go see if your mum needs a hand, or show John your footie skills," she gestures towards John Watson, who is kicking a ball around with three children chasing after him. "I'm not the only one with hidden talents."

Mycroft frowned. "You can play football? You?"

Sherlock huffed. "It was for a case."

"He's pretty good at some tricks, too. Challenged himself to do a hundred kick ups one afternoon."

"And did he?"

Sherlock turned to his brother, grinning. "Two hundred. Got the knack of it in five minutes. Do you know, they say it takes on average twenty days to master?"