Snow Joke
"Sherlock!" John bellowed after his friend. It was snowing heavily and the Baker Street duo was on their back from a job well done. They were cutting through Regents Park paying no respect to the pavements as they lay hidden beneath ten centimetres of snow. It was the middle of the night and the place was deserted as everyone tucked themselves up in the warmth of their houses. Sherlock was stalking across the park in his haste to return home. John had been playing catch up since they left Lestrade at the crime scene. He hadn't realised that Sherlock had already left as he said goodbye to the Detective Inspector.
The ex-army doctor was out breath and cold as he shouted for Sherlock to slow down just a little, "Sherlock!" but the consultant detective couldn't hear him as John's voice was suffocated by the falling snow. "Sherlock!" At his third failed attempt at calling Sherlock to a halt John had a brainwave. He stopped and thanked his years in the army for his accurate aim. He bent over snatched up a fist full of snow, compacted it into a perfectly formed ball and launched it into the air.
John watched as the snowball hit its target with better accuracy than he'd anticipated. His aim had been for Sherlock's back but the snowball had impacted higher up and smashed the back of the consultant detectives head.
Sherlock froze on the spot. Snow stuck to the curls on the back of his head and icy water dripped down his neck beneath his beloved scarf. John straightened himself up and waited. This was a bit not good.
The consultant detective spun around, his coat rippling with the momentum. "John," He spoke clear and crisp. His voice held the hint of danger to it. John wasn't stupid; he knew there would be payback he just didn't expect it to come so soon. Sherlock bent down and scooped a handful snow up, the black leather of his gloves keeping his hands warm and dry.
"Sherlock, look mate I was only messing," John hastily stepped back as Sherlock swung his arm in a perfect ark. The ex-army doctor stepped aside just in time as the snowball flew past him and tumbled into the snow, John watched as it ploughed into the snow. By the time John turned his head back another snowball was heading straight for him and this time he wasn't as lucky as it hit him straight in the chest. From then on it was all out warfare between the consultant detective and his blogger.
When Sherlock and John entered the warmth of Baker Street Mrs Hudson pounced on them immediately, dressed in a sleepwear, having heard their loud return. They were still laughing. Everytime John saw Sherlock's wet curls he burst out into another fit of laughter. John had managed, much to his own surprise, to tackle Sherlock to the ground and smash an armful of snow over the consultants head. It was at that point, with John hands turning to ice inside his soaked woollen gloves and Sherlock's feet sodden and numb that they decided to head home.
"Honestly boys," their landlady scolded, "Best take your clothes off here. Don't want you dripping up the stairs." Sherlock and John both stared at Mrs Hudson for a moment as she fussed over them like a pair of children. "I suppose you think I'm joking," she continued, "take them off."
"No, it's snow joke," John couldn't help himself. Sherlock hummed in amusement at his bloggers terrible joke.
"I'll bring up some hot chocolate, go and get warm," Mrs Hudson called as she retreated to her own flat. John already had his coat and was wrestling with his shoe lace with numb fingers when he noticed Sherlock disappear up the stairs fully clothed. John sighed and decided not to bother stripping off further. They both left a trail of wet footprints on the stairs.
Sorry folks, I couldn't help myself with all the snow around. Enjoy :)
