Disclaimer: My hypnotherapist says I was A.C.D in a previous life, so it's mine, all mine... Though not really. I can't afford a hypnotherapist

Sherlock was 'thinking' again. This time he had a chessboard in front of him which he seemed unduly focused on. There was a game in progress but Sherlock was on his own.

John shrugged and put the kettle on. He wouldn't put it beyond Sherlock to play himself. Nobody else was smart enough to present a challenge.

But Sherlock didn't move a piece for the next five hours, despite being sat in front of the game for almost the entire time.

The next day the pieces had moved and Sherlock was working a case again, seemingly bored of his game now, though overly aggressive when John tried to put the game away (was it really necessary to move it to in front of the telly?). John's interest was piqued but there was too much going on to dwell on it. Bodies in the Thames again. Fifth time that year that they'd heard of, but this time Sherlock thought something was off.

John forgot about the chessboard for awhile, until he came home to Sherlock pacing back and forth in front of it, muttering and glaring as he passed it. He stood and watched for a while, an amused smile on his face at the sight of his unhinged flat-mate. Maybe he wasn't playing himself then. Perhaps it was Mycroft. No wonder Sherlock was so frustrated if his brother was beating him.

Another chessboard appeared, this one's pieces moving more regularly, but the original still sat untouched and waiting no matter how hard John hinted about finishing games before starting new ones. In truth he just wanted to laugh at Sherlock's scowl when he suggested putting it away because 'if you say you're bored of playing no one will argue. Nobody ever has to know you lost'. A few days later and two moves had been played on the original board and four on the second one.

Sherlock was pacing again.

"Do you want any help?" John asked in passing, not bothering to stay for the glare and insult he got in reply. He made the tea and came back in the room, sitting down with a sigh and picking up the remote to the telly. "Who are you playing, anyway? Is it the same person?"

"Yes." Sherlock sounded immensely frustrated, only answering part of the question.

"You winning yet?" John asked, because if he didn't revel in it now he'd probably never get the chance again.

Sherlock didn't deign to answer.

John chuckled and turned the telly on.

It wasn't Mycroft. Mycroft had turned up uninvited (as per usual) last Tuesday and seemed equally surprised at Sherlock's struggle. It wasn't some genius from the internet either, he'd asked. And checked his internet history.

When the first board disappeared and the second took its place in front of Sherlock's concentrated glare, John thought the funk was nearly over. But if anything, Sherlock seemed even more obsessed with it. Come to think of it, he'd never seen the end game. Maybe, and this would be a miracle worthy of God himself, Sherlock had lost that first game.

A month passed and a third game took the place of the second, followed by a fourth when that one had seemingly been finished, though there were no more simultaneous games.

It wasn't until the end the fourth game that it happened.

John came home from work early claiming a migraine (well, after five successive cases of cold victims determined to be prescribed antibiotics it was a close thing) to find Sherlock at the chessboard once again. And this time he wasn't alone.

"Sherlock, you can't be the best at everything. Now don't sulk. I'll go put the kettle on." Mrs Hudson patted Sherlock's hand and stood up. "Oh, John dear, I didn't hear you come in. Tea?"

John looked back and forth between them, nodding dumbly. His gaze landed on the finished game and the undeniably sulking consultant detective still sat in front of his check-mated king.

Sherlock brooded a few moments more and reordered the pieces. "Again."

Mrs Hudson sighed. "I do have other things I should be getting on with, you know." But she set down two of the cups of tea by the board and took her seat again.

John grinned. He couldn't wait to tell Mycroft and Lestrade about this. Well, maybe not Mycroft...