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John storms through the front door of 221B Baker Street with a vicious scowl on his face. “Worst. Game. Ever.” He marches straight through into the kitchen to make a calming pot of tea. Sherlock is hot on his heels. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. I stopped him, didn’t I?” John swings around to glare at him. “Not ‘til you nearly had us done in for good.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Now, don’t be so melodramatic, John, It wasn’t all that bad.” John’s eyes go wide. “Are you serious? That…that criminal nearly got what he wanted! He was this close.” John holds his thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart, right in front of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock huffs disbelievingly. “Oh, please. His threat to burn the heart out of me was idle at best when taking into consideration his intellect and skills were average at best.” John’s jaw drops incredulously. “We got lucky, Sherlock!” A smile twitches at Sherlock’s face. “Did you see the surprise on his face when I sunk the eight ball before he did?” John sucks in a deep breath, trying to stay angry. But he has to admit, “Yeah, it was priceless, wasn’t it?”