Well... the only apology I have is that when I came home, I collapsed straight into bed and didn't wake up until this morning, when I had to go straight to school. So. Sorry! Have a 221B to make up for it! (I didn't intend for it to be a 221B, actually; it just... happened).

I'm going to be late for a few days, but hopefully I'll catch up by the weekend!

Today's prompt: Holmes, Watson, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson are snowed into 221B for the foreseeable future.

From: Madam'zelleG


"How, exactly, did we get to doing this again?" Sherlock huffed. He was perched on the arm of Watson's chair like a cat, his violinist's hands braced against the back.

"You had a bit too much brandy with supper, challenged your brother, and then begged our dear landlady and me to join in, that's how," Watson retorted from the sofa. His hair was dishevelled, but not much else was.

Since the snowdrifts had prevented the visiting Mycroft from leaving, Mrs. Hudson had brought them all up a nice warm supper, complete with the brandy Sherlock had indeed had too much of, and the detective had gotten a bit tipsy and promptly begun a game of… Watson was actually unsure of what exactly it was, but it was a variation of the boys' game Dare. One that meant nobody could touch the floor, because it was apparently on fire. Still, his insides were a fuzzy warm that was only partly because of the drinks he'd had.

Sherlock Holmes's eyes were sparkling with enjoyment; they should do that more often.

"Might we do something more sensible now, brother dear?" Mycroft asked delicately from the table, where he was struggling to stay balanced.

"You forget one thing, brother mine," replied Sherlock, grinning. "I'm still drunk. Now, whose turn is it to spin the bottle?"