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She comes close. Several times in fact over the course of that summer. Closer than she's ever gotten to winning against Sherlock, against Jamie. But when it comes to it Joan seems to prefer they play each other. She even watches sometimes, casting a lingering gaze every so often from her spot curled up between Jamie and the side of the settee with whatever forgettable best-seller she's half-heartedly reading at the moment.
Every so often Jamie reaches back sightlessly for Joan's ankle and squeezes lightly without ever breaking from the board or acknowledging Sherlock's drifting gaze to her wandering hand and the seeking of this casual intimacy.
That afternoon she allows her concentration to waver when Joan tosses her book impatiently aside and leans into her, placing a brief kiss to the nape of her neck. She turns momentarily, arching a brow but capturing a warm cheek even as Joan stoops forward and drops her bare feet to Italian rose marble to make her retreat to the coolness of the veranda. Sherlock's eyes don't break from the board. He senses rather than sees another of their increasingly common, increasingly unselfconscious displays of affection that continue to surprise him despite their growing frequency.
"I'm going for a walk." It is said with a degree of finality, as if preempting any opposition to her announcement.
He looks up then to catch sight of a mild disturbance rankling at the edges of Jamie's mouth. Sherlock rests steepled fingers against his lips, tapping lightly in broken staccato.
They both turn towards absence, Joan's figure already lost to sound as they hear the dull patter of newly sandaled feet thinning out then lost altogether to the finality of oak slamming shut.
"She's restless." Is all he says lowering his hands fractionally and rubbing his palms together, alternately surveying the board and her face.
Jamie stares him down, seemingly unimpressed by this circumspection. And he in turn amends his statement.
"She's worried."
She purses her lips even as her eyes soften in degrees. It is not a response but it is enough to convey assent.
When Sherlock wins that afternoon he doesn't crow in triumph and Jamie merely nods absently.