Prompt from Domina Temporis: The depths of winter.
Winter was cruel that year.
It was even worse in the countryside, far away from the warm lights of civilisation, surrounded only by fields of unbroken white.
Mary shivered. She and John had come to this ramshackle cottage far from the city to meet Sherlock after he'd sent a message from here asking for John's assistance on a base. Mary had invited herself along, not wanting to be so far from her husband with Christmas coming so soon, and Sherlock had welcomed her just as warmly as he did John - that was to say, with little open affection or surprise, but with a warmth she was slowly growing to recognise.
Now, she was beginning to regret her insistence on coming. She was still very glad to have the time to spend with John, but the howling gale outside worried her, particularly as the cottage they were staying in tended to be draughty. The wind whistled through the shutters, making the flames in the fireplace flicker, and Mary shivered again, wondering when John and Sherlock would return.
The depths of winter were cruel and cold, but surely they could not be so cruel as to leave her all alone.