Angry Birds
Prompt from SherlockBBC.
"New phone?" John picked up the box with Apple logo and flipped it over, looking at the specs of the device. "You should have gotten the bigger one."
"Bigger what?" Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the screen. The little square icons were wiggling.
"Storage. 16 gigs. If you'd paid just a bit more you could have doubled the memory."
"What would I need it for?"
"Beethoven's complete piano sonatas, concertos, and symphonies. Um..." John flipped through the music library on the new MacBook; it was his Christmas gift to Sherlock, and he had given Mrs Hudson the old one as her present. "...the complete works of Mozart, wow, oh and the complete Bach as well, plus some other stuff. 16 gigs isn't enough to have even half that. Plus whatever apps you want."
"Apps?" Sherlock was alphabetising his home screen.
"Yeah, you know, games, reference tools - you could find someone to consolidate your dissertation on tobacco ash and sell it on iTunes." John waited for a 'shut up' or a dirty look, but got nothing for his trouble.
"Give it here, I'll find something for you." He plucked the phone out of Sherlock's hands before he could say no. Click click click. Sherlock rolled his eyes, went to the kitchen and returned with a ginger beer. He plopped down in his chair with an over-dramatic air of resignation.
"Okay, here you go. You'll have to organise them yourself."
"'Words With Friends' - really, John?" He popped the cap from the bottle using the edge of the table and took a long drink. "'Angry Birds?'"
"Here, give me that. No, THAT." John reached around the pre-offered ginger beer and called up the app, then turned up the sound for added effect. "You know, if you keep rolling your eyes like that, you're going to pull a muscle - yes, I know that isn't medically possible, it was a joke. Okay, pull the slingshot back like that, yes, and aim it at the pigs -"
"Why are the pigs in a glass house? What do they want with these eggs? Birds as suicide bombers?"
"Shut up, Sherlock. Oh look, two stars. Better luck next time. Next level."
The stars - the stars were maddening. One box = one level = three stars. First level, two stars. He inhaled, held his breath, and started over. Green pigs. Glass house. Angry bird. Go.
Over and over and over.
"Damn it! Goddamnit" Sherlock tossed the phone at John, only to find his chair empty. He'd gone out, apparently.
Deep breath. Start again. One box = one level = three stars.
He was halfway through (so he supposed) when a text from Lestrade popped up on the Blackberry. He looked over, groaned, and reached for his coat, leaving the iPhone on the seat of his chair. It was a good thing his number hadn't been transferred over yet, he thought to himself, otherwise the temptation to continue on during the cab ride might have been too much.
He returned several hours later and found John watching television and eating a sandwich. The iPhone had migrated from his chair to the table, nestled neatly in its box. He all but tossed himself into his chair and reached out a hand towards the table. John looked at it as though it might bite him.
"I'm not going to hand it to you."
Sherlock sniffed, self-righteous. John muttered something under his breath, but instead of handing OT over, he called up the scorecard.
"Shit... You finished it. Three stars, across the board. God, I've created a monster." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Again.
"Huh.'Words With Friends' too. You've been a busy boy."
"What are you talking about, I didn't touch that one." He snatched it out of John's hands. Two words intertwined.
WIN ONE
They looked at each other for a long moment.
"Mr Hudson?" they called almost in unison. She appeared almost immediately.
"Did anyone come by while we were out?" Sherlock stared her down.
"Oh yes, the nice man who came to fix the Internet. He was so...nice. I think his name was Jim, he said he'd done some work for you in the past."
Both men exchanged glances. Sherlock was the first to turn away.
John went back to the television. Sherlock went to the refrigerator and pulled out a ginger beer. The iPhone chirped. John got to it first.
"I didn't know you transferred service." His voice died out as soon as he read the message.
"I didn't." Sherlock took it from him and frowned.
LOSE ONE
- JM
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