A quick little bit of fluff because it (finally!) snowed this weekend, so (of course) I got to thinking about John and Sherlock.

Everything belongs to BBC and the Moftiss. Un-Beta'd and not Brit-picked, so corrections are welcome.

"John!"

John groaned and sniggled farther under the covers.

"Jooooohn!"

Sherlock flung open the door to their room. "Get up! It's snowing! There's already 10 centimeters on the ground! Come on, we're going out." He pulled the covers off of John, pecking a kiss on his cheek. "Get up, John, there's nothing better than London in the snow." John rolled on to his back, running a hand through his hair, looking rather delicious (pull yourself together, Sherlock, it's snowing.)

John sighed. "All right.

Half an hour later, they were walking down Baker Street to Regent's Park, not holding hands but so obviously together, Sherlock chattering on about the formation of snowflakes.

"They're really quite amazing, John. Beautiful little ice crystals, no two alike. Rather like people. Can you fathom how many snowflakes are covering London, right now? It's mind-boggling. How many ways can nature make those little six-pointed flakes? The number is infinite, of course, but differences in environment virtually guarantee that no two snowflakes are exactly alike. All the snow in all the world, John, and it's all different. It's fascinating." John smiled and kissed Sherlock lightly, shutting him up (for the moment.)

"Yes, Sherlock, it's remarkable." (Just like you.)

They'd reached the park and were now walking through it. Parents were already out with their children, making snow angels and having snowball fights. "Isn't it glorious?" Sherlock said, twirling, his coat billowing out, trying to catch a snowflake on his tongue.

"I guess it is." John turned his face to the sky, trying to catch his own snowflake, when suddenly—

"Oof!" Something cold hit him in the back. He turned to see Sherlock dusting snow off his hands, grinning maniacally. John crouched down, grabbing a handful of snow and shaping it, then pulling back and letting it fly. Sherlock moved quickly, but, John thought as he clipped the detective on the shoulder, not quickly enough. Sherlock dove behind a tree, trying in vain to take cover. John was an army doctor, after all, and had tried to (and succeeded) hit more difficult targets than a certain skinny detective. He was hit as he bent for more ammo, but he ran full out and pelted Sherlock with snow, eventually tackling him to the ground.

"Ha," John said triumphantly, pinning Sherlock, their breath puffing out between them in little clouds, "I got you."

"What are you going to do with me, then, now that you have me?" Sherlock looked up at John, the contrast of the paleness of the snow beneath him actually making him look like he had some color.

"Well…. You'll just have to wait and see." John kissed Sherlock on the tip of the nose and stood up.

"Oh, I most definitely look forward to finding out. But first…we have to build a snowman!" Sherlock exclaimed, and darted off.

"My god, you really are twelve years old!" The good doctor ran after his detective, laughing.

Ok, I have no knowledge of London at all except that Regent's Park is literally right next to Baker Street. Even that I got off of Google. So I do apologize for anything that seemed off about the park (there's a distinct lack of scenery descriptions for a reason…)