It might have been a slight oversight on Sherlock's part, but he would never admit it. They were going to play Twister right now or he would attempt to murder the only two men he could relate too on an intellectual level. A crime the world was sure to suffer from. Anyway, Twister had been chosen in a blind grab for the first game to kick off this hostage situation, and to hell with dignity, he needed distraction.

"No way." Moriarty protested, "There is no way you are going to get my participation in this."

"If you don't, I promise that after this fiasco I will infiltrate your network and spread doctored photos of you in care-bear, onesie pajamas. Once leaked not even you will be able to control that stream on information." Sherlock threatened, utilizing the useless information that John had stuffed into his head about the Internet and Photoshop. He was deadly serious, and Moriarty could tell.

"Well, that's all good, brother dearest, but you have no such hold over me, so I'll merely excuse myself." Mycroft tried to weasel out, but Sherlock whipped his head to him.

"Don't even consider it, brother. I will encourage the rumor mill in those Gentleman's clubs that you so enjoy, and you will be banned within a week. I promise." Mycroft was at a loss and Sherlock knew it.

"Let's have some fun!" Sherlock began to lay out the mat and spinner.

"Right foot on Green. Left hand on Blue."

It was going to be a long night.

-Seven Hours Later-

"NO MORE!" Moriarty shouted towards the heavens. "I cannot handle you two any longer; I would rather shoot myself in the head or jump off a building!"

"You are sooo dramatic. When will you grow up!? You think I want to spend my time with you two twats. I am the Government; without me, I'm sure Britain is in a panic. Who knows they might even have left the EU by the time I leave this forsaken flat!"

"Nobody deserves to be trapped with you two as company. You can't even play simple games right!"

Both Moriarty and Mycroft slightly blush and shout in unison, "SHUT UP, SHERLOCK!"

Slightly pouting, Sherlock turns away, muttering about game pieces and tantrums. The only evidence of their game attempts left torn and scorched in a dark corner of the flat. If they ever left this flat, no one would mention the horrors that took place when both Mycroft and Moriarty decided they wanted to be the Thimble in Monopoly.

As the men were descending further into insanity, they heard it. It was soft at first. Little creaks on the stairs below, but they grew. And, as they did, the men felt hope. They were saved from this torture. One step then another; the person was right on the other side of the door. Then, there was a knock.

"Sherlock? Are you alright in there? I heard a scuffle, and I thought it best to come up to check on you."

Then it dawned on Sherlock, today was Saturday. Mrs. Hudson was home all day today. Why had he discarded that information as unimportant? He could have had these two out of here had he known that!

"Sherlock are you in there?"

Mycroft nudged his brother in the gut.

"…Cough… Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I'm in. Would you open the door for me?"

"Good to hear, dearie, but I'm not your nanny or housekeeper. You are fully capable of opening the door."

Before Sherlock could make his case, a timer went off and Mrs. Hudson was rushing down to her kitchen to save the cookies in the oven.

Moriarty glared at Sherlock, "Great going, Sherlilocks. Now, we have to wait for the next pet to arrive. When can we be expecting the good Doctor?"

Glaring back, Sherlock huffed and went back to couch.

No sooner had Mycroft moved to join the other back in the sitting area than another set of feet could be heard. Now that Sherlock was actually listening for signs of the person's identity, he could tell that John was back.

The door busted open as John strolled in carrying groceries. With Sherlock's name on his lips, John looked up to see three desperate men, two of which were making a beeline for his direction. Quick on his feet, John stepped aside, running his bags to the kitchen counter. In the meantime, Moriarty and Mycroft made it to the open door, but they were not leaving.

"Get out of my way you fat oaf."

"It won't let me out!"

With the groceries in a safe place, John looked toward the door where Mycroft and Moriarty were pushing to leave, but appeared to be trapped inside by an invisible force.

"What in bloody hell is going on here, Sherlock?"

"Surely your simple mind can perceive that we are trapped here." Moriarty commented snidely as he moved from the door back to his claimed arm chair.

"What are you talking about? I just came through that door way."

"Well try again then!" was Moriarty's retort.

"Fine!" John replied all worked up.

John walked to the door, moving past Mycroft who was stationed there like a guard. John went right through the doorway like usual. Nothing happened. The three men looked at John then back at each other then back at John.

WHAT. THE. BLOODY. HELL.