79 - Doubt Roots Itself

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It was a crisp morning. The curtains were open and white light glowed through the window. Sherlock and Elizabeth sat, cross-legged on their bed, both dressed in their respective pyjamas (although Elizabeth had borrowed Sherlock's tan gown so she could ignore the bruises while he had opted for his blue gown), competitively scowling at each other. The thief sighed as she dared a look down and then back up to the detective, sweat practically leaking from her brow.

She finally moved her piece.

Sherlock smirked.

"What?" She interrogated, her beady blue eye peeking out from her still swollen left eye lid.

"You've opted to get one of your two pieces safe but my last piece is three spaces behind yours. You had the option of making your penultimate piece safer but chose not to. Do you know how high the probability is of rolling a three on a six-sided dice?"

"No?"

"Neither do I, but I'm feeling lucky."

And with that, he rolled the dice. Much to her epic disappointment and perplexed amazement, he rolled a three.

"You've got to be kidding me." She stared at him, mouth agape in fascination and annoyance as she watched him move her last orange piece back into her 'home', "Every bloody time! Every time we play Ludo you do this, how? How!? It can't be pure luck, it can't even be science or math because it's random!"

"Are you calling me a cheater?"

"You know what? Yes. Yes, I am. Sherlock Holmes is a cheater. You cheated on Ludo. How? I don't know, but you did." She folded her arms as she glared at him.

A coy smile crawled across his lips, "No need to be a sore loser, Elizabeth."

She scoffed, "Me!? Me, a sore loser? Ha! I'm - I'm speechless. In fact I - "

She took one look at the board and grabbed the last few pieces, packing them away into the box and then proceeding to drop the box on the floor, with a loud rattling smack as it hit the ground behind her. She folded her arms as she continued to glower at him.

"I'm not playing Ludo with you ever again."

"Because of your game rage?"

"Excuse me?"

"Kind of like road rage but without the car and with a game instead." That taunting smile didn't leave his lips.

"If I wasn't a rational being, your cheek would be red by now." Elizabeth blinked.

"I believe you." Sherlock chuckled, "But your game rage is - what's the word you use to describe me?" He squeezed his eyes closed, pretending to think but opened them instantly, "Ah, yes, adorable."

Elizabeth stared at him, simmering there on the other side of the bed. She inhaled slowly. He genuinely wondered if she would make a move to attack him in some way but she did refrain. Instead, she turned around, planting her legs on the floor and standing up from the bed, stretching. Sherlock watched, waiting for any indication that she would change her mind.

"Fetching another game then?"

"Ha!" Was all she said as she walked out of the room.

"Tea then?" He called after her.

She responded, "Not for cheaters like you!"

"I didn't cheat!"

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

John returned later that morning and had been startled by the fresh bruises on Elizabeth's person. All the same, she greeted him surprisingly cheerfully despite the achy, bruised pain and irritation of the game-cheating Sherlock Holmes that wracked her body. He left for three nights and two days to come back to this? What on earth had happened? Did they really need a babysitter twenty-four/seven?

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