❄ for herlock sholmes
Winter in Londontown was a special time for most. The snow cutting through the fog and gathering on the ground in heaps for local children to toss about and form into snowmen on streetcorners.
But Herlock. mercurial as he was, tended to swing wildly as always between bouts of dragging Iris and his tenants…partners…out on the town for inadvisable shopping sprees in London’s boutiques and pawn shops with money they simply did not have, and bouts of melancholy, playing his viola by the window with his gaze a thousand yards away and lost in some case or long-lost regret.
Iris, however, always makes sure to nudge him out of those moods and back into the spirit of the season. With freshly brewed tea, it’s not long before Herlock declares that INDEED, his dear MIkotoba and his darling daughter and her dear lawyers simply MUST attend a proper English party in his parlor, chestnuts and party games and rousing song and all.
Winter at 221B Baker Street was always a hectic time of year…frankly, like anything Herlock got his hands into.
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