A.N. A prompt a day sounds like a good thing to aim for. Hopefully I'll manage it. :-) Today we start with prompt n.1: Snowed in. 221B
Disclaimer: I'm not working for BBC and even less Arthur Conan Doyle, so I claim nothing.
Lestrade groaned. If only this had happened an hour later, he would have been shamefully glad. He'd currently be ensconced near his boyfriend (the one he never thought he would have) with a glass of brandy to savour. And the prospect of love-making afterwards. Instead it had to happen just before the end of his shift. Snowed in inside Scotland Yard. The climate really was changing. And his luck was as rotten as always.
Every moment they had to spend forcibly trapped made people who had worked seamlessly together grow more irritated with each other. It was near Christmas, after all; overtime wasn't on anyone's wishlist. Especially not on the wishlist of people who were already overworked, and had little precious time to spend with their families.
Cooperating with Sherlock and hence knowing many colleagues' dirty secrets did not help any to bear the situation. Wondering if Donovan was less snappish than he expected of her because Anderson was trapped too was just...ugh.
The frustration was good for the soul too, though, the DI suspected. Or at least he tried to convince himself of it. It was almost comforting to know the weather – that anything at all – was still out of Mycroft's control. It reassured him that, despite all the hints to the contrary, he wasn't a god's boyfriend.
