Imagine your OTP going ice skating. Person A is terrible at it and has to cling to Person B for support. They hold hands for each other's warmth because both of them forgot to bring gloves and afterwards they buy hot chocolate from a street vendor and huddle together as they walk home in the snow.

Completing his forth circuit, John slid slowly up to the edge of the rink and put his arm over the side. He liked ice skating, the cold, northern winters had given him lots of practice, plus the fact that his father had taken them to Canada more than once. Once he had got his breath back, he turned his attention to trying to spot the dark hair and pale face of his companion. It didn't take long. Sherlock was standing alone the other side of the large white expanse, right in the corner, clinging to the side. His expression was sulky and john smiled to notice the snow all down his long coat. He too has forgotten gloves.

Determined not to let this ruin their evening, John pushed off from the side and smoothly glided over. The silver blades angled as he ground to a halt, spraying little chunks of ice up his leg.
"Having fun?"
"No."
"Why not? This is great!"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows scathingly, "it's impossible."
John laughed, "it's not impossible Sherlock!"
"Ok maybe not in terms of physics but... why are you laughing?!" trying desperately to supress another giggle, he held out his hand, fingers outstretched. Sighing, the taller of the two boys took it, muttering "I still won't think it's fun."

Now that their fingers where interlocked, John lead with confidence.
"Just put one foot in front of the other..." he coaxed.
"I tried that!"
"Try it again!" this proved unsuccessful however as Sherlock slipped forward, pulling John down with him. Pain shot through his wrist, he had put his hand out to break the fall. They were lucky it was the latest slot, if the rink was crowded they would probably have taken down a few more people, it was quite a dramatic fall. Sherlock scowled as he sat up, "that's the second time I've fallen over!"
"You're supposed to fall over!" John couldn't help giggle at the look on his friend's face, "it's part of learning! I wish you hadn't pulled me over too though..."
"That was your fault, you had my hand..."
"I suppose I did..." pale flecks of snow were starting to fall, resting on Sherlock's soft curls and clinging to his long dark eye lashes. The cold brought a hint of colour to his usually pale cheeks. "you've got a bit of snow..." John murmured softy, untangling his hand from his coat and brushing the crystal flecks from his companion's eyebrow. They stated at each other for a moment, before realising they were still sat on the middle of the ice. Standing up, Sherlock clutching his short friend for support, they made their way to the side again.
"I still don't think this is fun..."
"Really?" god, he could be stubborn sometimes,there was nothing else for it,"even when..." but he didn't get a chance to even finish the sentence, Sherlock knew what he was going to say. Their lips touched as they wound their fingers closer and closer together. It was only for a second. "Well, if you're still convinced this is no fun, then I suppose..."
"Let's go back."
"Alright, but," John had spotted a street vender out of the corner of his warm grey eyes, "can we get a drink first?"

The cardboard cup warmed his hands, which was a great relief. He still couldn't believe they'd both forgotten gloves... They sat, huddled close together, on a cold metal bench, still clutching each others hands for warmth, slowly sipping away as the snow began to fall more heavily. At long last he reached the final dregs of the drink, the only remaining drops of hot, steamy chocolate slipped down his throat easily. Milky, just how he liked it. Closing his eyes, John rested his sandy head on sherlocks shoulder. Ice skating was pretty tiring, his ankles still ached from the oversized boots. It was the smallest size they had left, something which Sherlock had been quick to smirk at.
"Finished?" a low voice brought him back and he raised his head, eyes flickering open.
"yeah," he yawned.
Sherlock laughed softly, "wow, you are tiered. Better get you home before your mother has a fit."
"You're exaggerating!" John shoved him playfully as they stood up.
"I'm not, I promise! The only condition she let us go was we had to be back by ten, remember?"
"Well we'd better hurry then..." but they didn't. They carried on strolling slowly down the icy road, hands clasped firmly together for support, pressed up against each other. Side by side in the snow.