Grr, this would have been up last night but...got to love those 'temporary technical glitches' that last far longer than 'a few minutes'. Anyhow, another double-221B, more spoilers for That Whiter Host - a bit more lighthearted this time.
"Alfie! Stop that!"
Holmes's voice was sharp with cold and irritation as he glared at the lad, who was busily packing snowballs, chucking them at anything that caught his fancy.
"He's not hurting anything, Holmes," I protested, glancing at the lad's cherry-red cheeks under green eyes, sparkling with daredevil mischief.
Perhaps I'd spoken too soon…
Yes, I had. A snowball came flying through the air, perfectly aimed, and sent my hat flying fifteen feet away.
"Young man, you are so going to regret that!" I called to Alfie, who was doubled over, laughing.
Holmes paused in his deep contemplation to snicker briefly before resuming his pacing.
I bent down to retrieve the hat, only to be hit again with a snowball – this time directly in the face.
I spluttered, dashing the snow from my mustache, and saw Alfie dancing about a few feet away, another missile poised and ready.
So I did the first thing that came to mind.
He shrieked loud enough to be heard inside the castle when I tackled him, shoving snow into his little face before scrambling up and standing at bay.
Alfie's face was a picture of childish glee as he launched another snowball at me. This time his aim was off, and it flew over my head, narrowly missing the pacing detective.
"Mr. 'Olmes, ferget 'bout the case an' have some fun! Blimey, yew'd think 'e's got nothin' else ta live for!" the lad scowled at my friend.
"Holmes?"
The detective snorted rudely and turned his back on both of us. Alfie glanced at me, cocking a ginger eyebrow, eyes gleaming, waiting for any sign of approval.
And when I could not repress a grin, he returned it with a wicked smirk.
Three seconds later, Sherlock Holmes was yelping, frantically endeavouring to remove an armful of snow from down his Inverness and swearing a blue streak, heedless of the presence of my young conspirator.
When he stopped his growling, turning two malicious grey eyes on the pair of us, we decided discretion was indeed the better part of valour and began retreating; Sherlock Holmes could keep a grudge like no man alive.
Unfortunately, two minutes later I was flat on my back with a faceful of snow, Holmes standing over me triumphantly, another snowball poised and waiting, a wicked smirk on his face. But suddenly a ginger-haired blur tackled him and they both went sprawling into the nearest drift.
"Two to one isn't fair!" I heard him yowl before Alfie shoved a snowball in his mouth and scrambled off, shrieking with laughter as he spluttered.
Then suddenly I heard Lachlan's amused voice behind me.
"Ahem. Boys?"