Chapter Text
Greg rubbed his hands together. Despite the rather pleasant weather outside, he was freezing inside. How was he to know when he’d left the house that morning that he’d end up at a snow-covered crime scene? Some sort of special event where they hauled a load of man-made snow into an ice rink for special needs kids to come play in for the day, complete with a snowman contest, hot chocolate, and—
Thump!
“John!”
“Hehehehehe. Your face, Sherlock. Greg, did you see his face? Hehehehe.”
…and snowball fights.
“What are you, five?”
The two bickered as Greg shook his head and looked over his notes a final time. Luckily the murder hadn’t occurred until after the families had left for the day. He would’ve hated it if those poor kids had had their day of snow-filled fun marred by a grisly murder. Unfortunately for Greg, this was the third murder this week that had the victim dressed up like an elf, so he’d had to bring in Sherlock and John for help. And John, not being five, had at least waited until forensics and Sherlock had wrapped up before throwing a snowball at his friend.
Greg couldn’t begrudge the two a little fun, after how horrible the last two years had been for each of them. Sherlock may have left John alone to grieve, but that that didn’t mean Sherlock’s time away had been all daisies and puppies. He saw it in the tenseness of Sherlock’s posture, the way his eyes darted around any time he entered a new room—not deducing, but checking for exits and possible assailants—the way he looked at John, with more fear and love than he’d ever let show before.
Greg wasn’t sure what was going on between the two, but if a little goofiness at a crime scene loosened them up just a bit, it was worth a bit of mess. He looked up to see Sherlock barreling after John, ball of snow in hand, grin firmly in place. Yeah, definitely worth it.
Sherlock let loose the snowball. The throw wasn’t bad, but the ball fell to pieces before it even hit John.
“What was that? Haven’t you made a snowball before?” John taunted as he stopped to roll his own ball.
“No,” Sherlock replied quietly, smile melting from his face, shoulders stiffening.
John froze. “Oh. Yeah. Well, um…”
“John, school your genius mate on the art of snowball making. Donovan and I are coming for you!” Greg called before he could really think about it. He didn’t like seeing that lost look that came over his friend’s face whenever he realized he had obviously missed out on some childhood experience or another.
“What?!?” Sally looked over a Greg in horror.
“Afraid to lose, Donovan?” Greg teased.
Sally cast a calculating look over to where John and Sherlock were now huddled together as John explained some aspect of snowball construction. Sherlock nodded seriously, taking in John’s every word, but that gleam of happiness was back in his eyes.
“Nah, boss. We can take ‘em,” Sally returned with an evil grin. “You’re going down, Holmes!” she shouted as she started gathering her own snow.
Sherlock’s head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide. Things had been different between the two since Sherlock’s return—Sally was less biting, Sherlock less impatient. But they were far from besties.
After a moment, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, but he was smirking. “With John’s arm and my genius? I don’t think so, Donovan.” He stepped closer to John and started speaking quickly. John grinned up at him in delight.
“Come on, Lestrade. You’re falling behind!” Sally yelled. “I’m not doing this all by myself.”
Greg looked away from the couple that was not a couple and concentrated on figuring out how to beat them instead.