mumble grumble
Who: Holmes and Watson
When: Afternoon, some time into the snow and yeti-enforced houseboundness
Where: Their cottage
What: Watson is sore because of the weather and housebound because of his reaction to the weather and because of dangerous yetis roaming about. He is not a happy camper.
Watson was having a very poor day. It was cold, and he hurt, and he had been left to his own devices. Holmes had gone... somewhere, he hadn't been clear on it... and he had taken Nell, too, so he couldn't even snuggle up with the dog.
He had made himself some tea but felt in no mood to drink it. He had tried to read, and had been uninterested in that, too. After tossing the book across the room (it landed rather satisfyingly against the wall) he had built himself a fire, muttering and cursing to himself under his breath as he worked. Once he had a blaze going, a fire that was far warmer and cheerier than he felt. Stiff and sore and miserable, he pulled a chair up to the fireplace, wrapped himself up in blankets, and proceeded to descend into a proper sort of sulk.
He hurt. He could barely move. He was tired of these rationed, packaged meals. And he was left to suffer alone.
Life was simply splendid, wasn't it?
When: Afternoon, some time into the snow and yeti-enforced houseboundness
Where: Their cottage
What: Watson is sore because of the weather and housebound because of his reaction to the weather and because of dangerous yetis roaming about. He is not a happy camper.
Watson was having a very poor day. It was cold, and he hurt, and he had been left to his own devices. Holmes had gone... somewhere, he hadn't been clear on it... and he had taken Nell, too, so he couldn't even snuggle up with the dog.
He had made himself some tea but felt in no mood to drink it. He had tried to read, and had been uninterested in that, too. After tossing the book across the room (it landed rather satisfyingly against the wall) he had built himself a fire, muttering and cursing to himself under his breath as he worked. Once he had a blaze going, a fire that was far warmer and cheerier than he felt. Stiff and sore and miserable, he pulled a chair up to the fireplace, wrapped himself up in blankets, and proceeded to descend into a proper sort of sulk.
He hurt. He could barely move. He was tired of these rationed, packaged meals. And he was left to suffer alone.
Life was simply splendid, wasn't it?