A contribution by cinneide27

For once both the consulting detective and his ex-army doctor are home for the evening; John nestled in the armchair using the little Union Jack cushion as an elbow-rest, and Sherlock sitting criss-cross on the carpet, half-buried by a veritable snowdrift of dusty papers. John is typing up a blog post about their latest mystery while Sherlock amuses himself by piecing together a cold case from 1930s Patagonia. Outside, traffic murmurs along the wet London streets and rain-riddled wind rattles the windowpanes. Inside, however, all is calm and cozy, as the fireplace crackles and the clock ticks on into the night.

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