Sherlock Sleepover

the Third hour

"This first game!" Moriarty said. "Will be good, old fashioned PIÑATA TIME!!"

He grabbed a baseball bat from behind the table and began waving it, making both Sherlock and John flinch.

"Come on!" he said, hurrying out the door with the cat cage propped under his arm. "The piñata is in another room."

"Are we seriously doing this?" John whispered to Sherlock as they followed the criminal mastermind.

"What, a sleepover?" Sherlock said. "I need that cat, and I am not giving it up."

"Yes, but how far are you willing to go?" John asked.

"It's a sleepover, John," Sherlock said. "How bad do you think it will get?"

"Ta-da!" Moriarty declared, waving the bat in celebration as they entered a side room. "This is going to be so much fun!!"

A paper mache rendering of the dear queen was strung up in the rafters. It wouldn't really be that bad, but it was strung up with a noose. Around its neck. And paper mache blood was dripping from its eyes.

Moriarty set the cat cage down with a clack and clapped his hands.

"Isn't it wonderful?" he said. "I made it myself!"

"I'm not surprised," Sherlock said.

He stepped forward, tugging up the sleeves of his coat as if he was willing to go first and planned on putting all his strength behind his swings. John was shocked to say the least. He grabbed Sherlock's elbow in a tight gripped and pulled him back.

"I am not going to let you deface the queen!" he muttered. "Look, we can grab the cat now and make a run for it. He can't catch us on those stubby legs!"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "It's not actually the queen," he said. "Aren't you up for a little fun? And besides, knowing Moriarty, he probably has the entire premise on lock down with snipers at every corner."

"Bollocks," John said. "You're right." He scanned the corners of the room warily.

"Of course I'm right," Sherlock said. "I'm not dense." He held his hand out to Moriarty. "Here. I'll take the first go at it."

Moriarty clutched the bat tighter. "Hm, no," he said. "You'll break it first try and I want a chance to hit her."

"It," John corrected under his breath.

Moriarty hefted the bat up and braced his feet. Before swinging though, he paused and grinned at John.

"Actually," he said, dropping the bat to his side and offering it to John. "John should take the first crack at it."

"Oh no!" John said, taking a step back. "I am not doing that! You can do it, fine. But I'm not touching it!"

Moriarty smirked a pulled a pistol out of his front lapel, cocking it, and aiming at Sugartump.

"Does the kitty want to play?" he asked, tilting his head. He tapped the side of his shoe with the tip of the bat as be let the barrel wander over Sugartump's body, from head to tail. "Hm, it'd be funny to watch him bleed out from a hole in his leg, don't you think?"

"John," Sherlock said, his voice low. "Take the bat now and hit the piñata."

"Let him shoot the damn cat!" John said.

"He will not shoot the damn cat," Sherlock said. "Take the bat. You are hitting flour, water, and paper; how does this violate your conscience again?"

"It is the Queen," John said.

"It looks like the Queen," Sherlock said. "That is a huge difference. Why are you arguing? Just take the bat and do it."

With a scowl, John walked up to Moriarty who grinned and cocked the pistol.

"We could've avoided all this drama if you had just done it," he said. "But no, you had to be difficult."

"Give me that!" John said, snatching the bat away. "I'm imagining this is your head." He turned his glare on Sherlock. "Yours too."

And then he swung.

The poor piñata didn't even stand a chance. It cracked open first hit, exploding candy down on them. While Moriarty pounced on the pile of sweets, John stared dumbly at what was left of the paper mache.

The Queen's head had somehow stayed in tact as well as most of the neck. So while the body had broken and flopped to the floor, the head still hung from the noose, swinging in a most terrifying way.

"What have I done?" John murmured to himself.

Moriarty jumped to his feet, pockets over flowing with candy. When he noticed that neither Sherlock or John had moved, he frown.

"Aren't you guys going to try to get candy?" he asked.

"I don't eat sugar," Sherlock said. "Bad for the mind."

"Oh, that's right," Moriarty said, popping a caramel into his mouth. "You get dopamine from other things, don't you?" He smirked at John before eating another square of candy.

John didn't pick up on the implications, but Sherlock tsked loudly before stooping to grab a candy off the pile on the floor. To John's astonishment, he unwrapped in a popped it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly.

Moriarty grinned around his own mouthful of sugar. "Good, isn't it?"

"Charming," Sherlock muttered, tossing the wrapper onto the floor. "Go on, John." He gestured to the pile that was left.

John rolled his eyes but dutifully snatched up his own piece and ate it.

"Delightful!" Moriarty said. "Now, wasn't this fun?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "It was the definition of fun."

Moriarty smiled. "Than we should toast with some cider. Back to the snack room!"

He grabbed Sugartump's cage, waving his gun between John and Sherlock. "Remember," he said. "If you don't go along with this, Mr. Tump will get it straight through his little kitty brain."

John stiffened while Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Enough with the threats, Moriarty," he said. "And lead the way."

"I thought you'd see it my way," Moriarty said and walked out of the room with the gun casually at his side.

Sherlock paused at the doorway, glancing back at John with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you feel. . . . . strange?" He asked.

John frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock thought about it for another moment and then shook his head. "Nevermind," he said, and walked after Moriarty.