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Greg parked across the street and a few spots from 221b Baker Street. It was late afternoon and shockingly almost no vehicular traffic on the snowy street. A few uni kids were passing on the pavement side when one grabbed a handful of snow from a nearby bonnet and lobbed it someone else. Greg grinned as he skirted around the impromptu snowball fight that broke out amongst them as he climbed out of his car. He was mid street, past the center line when he heard an almost too sharp whistle. Naturally, he turned his head to look, and was immediately pelted with snow.
And not just a snowball. But several.
All aimed at him.
It was soft snow, but more than enough for the seasoned cop to understand what was happening. He laughed lifting his hands to mock protect his himself, and soft head shots became more solid body shots from all directions, he could not move.
"Problem Graham?" He mentally cursed as he looked up and spotted Sherlock laughing from the open window.
Mycroft’s sedan pulled up and the man himself rolled down a window. “Need assistance?
“You’re all I need right now.”
Mycroft stepped out and the pelting stopped.
“I thought you said let bygones be bygones…” Sherlock laughed from the window.
“Point.” Mycroft reached for some clean snow, made a ball, and launched it.
“Mycroft!”
Greg laughed at Sherlock’s affronted face at Mycroft’s direct hit.
Mycroft grinned grabbed more snow and landed one solid snowball dead center of Greg’s chest, then all but dived in the sedan, as a grinning Anthea closed the door behind him.
It was rare to catch a Holmes off guard. Mycroft had laughed and said he was so impressed that it even happened it was all bygones. Greg really should have known when he threw a snowball earlier that day, which dumped a hefty mound from a snow laden branch on Mycroft's head, it wouldn't go unpunished.
“Oh, you bastard!” Greg was so surprised and delighted all he could do was laugh as the sedan drove off.
He barely heard Mycroft’s merry laughter as the window rolled up.
“Bye! Gone! Muah!”