Finally Winning

Sherlock Ten Years Ago
He places one more pawn before announcing with a smile, “Check.” Mycroft smiles wider over his finger tips before moving his king,
“Not anymore,” Sherlock swears loudly before moving another piece. Mycroft laughs loudly before moving a piece in front of Sherlock's king, “Checkmate.” He tips Sherlock's king over before pushing his chair back and standing up, “Well, thanks for the game Sherlock. It appears that I've beat you. Again. Maybe in another five years?” Sherlock glares at him,
“Done.”
“Same date and time?”
“Next time, your place. I don't know where I'll be by then.”
“I don't think you'll win yet.”
“I'm not so sure about that. Mycroft.”
“Sherlock.” Mycroft leaves the room, closing the door with a snap, whistling the whole way home. Sherlock sits at the table, the chess board out in front of him, studying every inch of it. He puts his fingertips together and studies it, a frown on his face. There has to be some way to bet him. You can't win every time. Unless you're Mycroft. Or you're cheating. Sherlock sighs, this bites. He sweeps the board roughly off the table, sending pieces flying. He rubs his eyes,
“Why me?”
Exactly Five Years Later
“Checkmate.”
“Ah ah ah! Sherlock. Look. It's not checkmate, only check.” Sherlock screws his eyes up,
“Oh. I see.” Mycroft moves his king, dancing away from Sherlock's knight,
“Try again little brother.” Sherlock shakes his head,
“How do you bloody do that?”
“Checkmate. Do what?”
“Win. Every time.” Mycroft smiles,
“It wouldn't be a secret if I told you.” Sherlock frowns,
“Exactly, so you should tell me.”
“Sorry brother. Maybe in another five years.”
“I'm getting tired of dancing Mycroft.” He raises an eyebrow,
“This is dancing?”
“Obviously. Why else would we meet every five years for a rematch. Why not tomorrow?”
“A simple answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won't be ready. I'd trump you again. You need to brush up.”
“I do fine, thank you Mycroft. Another five years it is then.” Sherlock stands, and begins to knock down all his remaining pieces.
“Next time, my place. No doubt you'll know where I am.”
“Of course Sherlock.”
“I will beat you.”
“Of course.”
Present Day
John pushes open the door to the flat, wondering what Sherlock could possibly be up to on a Sunday night. He finds, to his utter surprise, him locked in heavy combat with Mycroft. He's shooting daggers from across the table, only to get in return, a sly, cold smile from his brother. Metaphorical wars, not really John's thing. He looks down to see the game of chess. Sherlock unlocks his gaze from his brother and studies the board.
“You've gotten good Mycroft.”
“What are you talking about? I beat you. Every time.” Sherlock waves a hand in the air as if dismissing it as irrelevant before clasping them under his chin again. A smile slowly spreads across his face as realization dawns, a loop, a whole. It's blatantly obvious to him, Mycroft left something uncovered. For once in all their years of playing.
“Oh!” His eyes light up like a Christmas tree as he moves his piece, before declaring proudly, “Checkmate. That was a stupid move Mycroft.” He tips Mycroft's king over before clapping like a little child, so happy for such a small accomplishment. He looks up and spies John watching them. He leaps up and grabs John by the lapels, “I'VE WON! I'VE FINALLY BLOODY WON!” He lets out a whoop as he sets John on the ground and races downstairs, shouting gaily the whole way. After years, he's finally won. John turns the Mycroft,
“You let him win didn't you.” Not a question, a statement. The sly smile hadn't left his face,
“Obviously. I couldn't bear to crush his hopes and dreams any longer.”
“Right. Cause that's what it was.”
“Oh but it was. Every time I won, he got so sad and discouraged, we had to space the games out over five year increments.” John takes a step back, that really is odd.
“Okay. Do you mind getting out of my flat?”
“Don't tell Sherlock, it will only upset him.” Mycroft says in response before grabbing his umbrella and coat from the back of his chair. “And for the record, he's not bad at chess. He's brilliant at it. If I had been anyone else, even the best chess player in the country, he would still beat me.” He nods a goodbye before John watched the elder Holmes brother letting himself out, closing the door behind him. John stands there a moment, thinking.
“Note to self, don't play chess with Sherlock.” He nods to reassure himself before sitting down on the couch. It had been an exhausting day at work, now all he wanted to do was relax. The flat was nice and silent. Wait. Silent? Where did Sherlock get to? Only moments ago John could hear his shouts of joy coming from down the stairs, now he heard nothing. “Oh bloody Hell.” He grumbles to himself as he gets up and puts his coat back on. Leave it to him to have to find the power drunken fool who's announcing it to the world that he's finally won a single game of chess. He must feel invincible now. Sighing John trudges down the stairs, might as well make sure that he doesn't get into any trouble.
Sherlock races down the street, shouting,
“I DID IT!” He shoves open the door of the Scotland Yard and brushes past everyone to get to Lestrade's door, all the while crying, “I DID IT!” The door to Lestrade's office bursts open and Lestrade starts, sending papers flying while Sherlock stands in his door way looking around wildly. “I DID IT!” But there hadn't been a case for weeks. Lestrade looks at Sherlock a moment, brow furroed,
“Did what?” Sherlock's happiness is dimmed for a moment,
“What do you mean?! I DID IT!”
“DID WHAT?!”
“I BEAT MYCROFT! I BEAT THE BLOODY GAME OF CHESS!” Lestrade smiles at the absurdity of the phrase and just for kicks decides to ask it again,
“You did what?” Sherlock grabs Lestrade by the shoulders, looking him straight in the face, making absolutely certain there would be no mistaking,
“I. WON. THE. CHESS. GAME.”
“And how long has it taken you?”
“More then fifteen years.” Despite himself, Lestrade's jaw drops to the floor,
“What?”
“It's taken me fifteen years to beat Mycroft at that bloody game.”
“And you care because...?” Sherlock pushes the DI away a little bit, looking appalled.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you care that you won?”
“Well. I won Lestrade. I won. That's why I care.” He's practically begging Lestrade to understand and to be kind, congratulations would be in order. Lestrade grins,
“Good job Sherlock.” The light in Sherlock's eyes shines brighter as he spins on his heel, smiling and screaming,
“I WON! I DID IT!” He steps onto the snow swept streets of London, getting snow in his eyes. He screws his eyes up in disgust before shouting loudly again, “I DID IT!” He pushes past the people going the opposite direction and swims through the streets, weaving in and out of crowds. “I DID IT!” He starts heading toward where he knows where the flat is, blinking snow from his eyes the whole way. “I WON! I DID IT! FINALLY!” He can't watch, he wants a hug though, it would make his day. He's so happy. Finally, after years of humiliation and loss, he's won. And it feels fantastic. “I- oof.” Sherlock looks down at the man he bumped into. “HI JOHN! I WON!” John smiles,
“I know Sherlock.” Sherlock throws his arms open and embraces the shorter man, hugging him tightly, just what he wanted. For a moment, John didn't do anything, but knowing that Sherlock wouldn't release him until he hugged back, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock gives John a squeeze and lifts him off the floor a little bit. “Sherlock.” John wheezes as Sherlock swings John back and forth like a teddy bear, “Sherlock. I can't breathe.” Sherlock hurriedly drops John on the ground,
“I'm sorry. Was that too tight?” John coughs once and clears his throat a little,
“Yeah. Just a bit. You do know what you did just there right?”
“I hugged you.”
“Yes. In public.”
“Well what's wrong with in public?”
“People might think we're a couple.”
“I don't care much for what people think.”
“I've come to understand that.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don't like people thinking I'm gay.”
“There's nothing wrong with gay people John.” The two men start to head back home, talking like friends. Because that is what they are. Friends.
“I know that Sherlock. Remember the first day I met you?”
“And you told me it's all fine. Yes.”
“I don't have a problem with gay people Sherlock.”
“Then what is it John?”
“I'm not gay.”
“I know that.”
“I don't like people thinking otherwise.”
“Ah.” The two men fall silent, left to their own thoughts. “John?” Sherlock asked as they reached the flat,
“What Sherlock?”
“I won.”