Snowball Fight, Dumplings

The snow in the manor's backyard lay a foot deep. The snowball Watson had packed struck Sherlock squarely on the back of the neck.

Sherlock shook the snow out of his coat collar and threatened, "A crude tactic. You won't want to experience my aim-"

Watson roared with laughter as a second snowball burst against Sherlock's coat. "My battlefield experience still gives me the edge, old friend!"

Sherlock pretended not to care, then suddenly lunged behind a pine tree, grabbed some snow and returned fire. But the snowball fell apart into a cloud of powder in midair. "Damn fluid mechanics... Can't we be rational? A childish activity like a snowball fight-"

"Rationality says to remember your scarf next time!" Taking advantage of Sherlock's pause, Watson hurled another snowball.

Smack! This one was even better-a bullseye. The snowball hit Sherlock right on the nose. The great detective brushed the snow off his face, gritting his teeth.

"John Watson!"

After that, Sherlock ignored Watson's harassing attacks and rolled an enormous snowball, as big as one of the stone bollards in the square. He lifted it with both hands and chased Watson for half a mile.

"This is murder!!!" Watson's boots had no grip, and he couldn't stop in the snow. He ran and skidded, scrambling to evade Sherlock's revenge.

"Wait, stay away from me! Stay away from my house! Go away!" Sitangna hurried to her feet to protect the snow-and-ice castle at her feet, though it was still only a matchbox.

"The weather's lovely today. Nana, look, there's a bird over there." Watson, who had just been running for his life, came back and pointed something out to Nana.

"Where?" Sitangna looked up and followed his finger, but saw nothing.

"Got you! Take this!" Watson hit her with another snowball. The cold made Sitangna jolt, but she was too full and lazy to chase him. She quickly wiped her face dry and went back to building her castle.

"Ah! My snow house!" Watson hadn't noticed it when he came over and had stepped on more than half of it. Sherlock's snowball came right on his heels and destroyed the rest.

Sitangna quickly crouched down and tried to restore it, but the snow there had already been trampled dirty. "You're done for! You're both really done for!"

A snowball battle was about to erupt. The three each fought for themselves, and for a while the snowy yard was in chaos, with shouts and curses ringing out without end.

"I've never seen Sherlock so cheerful. Those two friends must mean a great deal to him." Mr. Holmes drank his hot cocoa, warmth spreading through his stomach and his heart.

"Yes. It's been so many years. I thought he really would grow old alone."

"It's wonderful, just like when he was little." Having said that, Mrs. Holmes thought of something else, and her smile froze on her face.

"It's enough that he's alive. As long as he's alive, there's hope. I don't ask for anything else anymore." Mr. Holmes knew exactly what was troubling his wife. He put an arm around her and patted her shoulder in comfort.

Then Sherlock took a snowball for Sitangna. The two hit it off at once and joined forces to attack the great villain Watson.

Outnumbered two to one, Watson didn't last long before he was defeated. The two of them pelted him until he looked like a snowball himself.

"I'm done, I'm done! You two are ganging up on me. It's not fair! I surrender!" Watson spent ages shaking off the snow before he finally salvaged his clothes. It was too cold. Snowball fights were fun, but he couldn't overdo it.

"That's enough, Nana, that's enough. Could you help me first? She just takes off her hat and scarf and she's perfectly fine. Look at me, man!"

"Quick, help me get all this snow out." Watson couldn't shake the snow out of some of the nooks and crannies behind his neck, so he asked Sherlock to brush it off. Some of it had already melted from his body heat and stuck to his skin, chilling him to the bone.

Sitangna hung everyone's soaking wet coats by the fireplace to dry, then went back to her room and came downstairs wearing a wool pullover.

"You had it coming. I was building my house, minding my own business. We were getting along fine, and you only had one opponent. Then you stepped on it and forced me into the fight."

Sitangna poured herself a glass of punch. It was sweet and sour and not very strong. She had fallen in love with it after trying it once; it was like a sweet little fruit-flavored alcoholic drink.

"Don't drink too much. Your period is due soon." Sherlock had also changed into a thick knitted sweater. He had finally been willing to take off his polo coat.

"How do you know?" Sitangna paid him no heed and took another big gulp, only for Sherlock to take the glass away the next second.

"Migraines, drowsiness, swelling, and some irritability. Very typical premenstrual syndrome." Sherlock drained the glass and put it in the sink to rinse. "Go drink something hot."

"But I slipped some painkillers into your bag beforehand, so don't worry."

"Don't change the subject. I drank from that!!!" Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes weren't there. Sitangna grabbed Sherlock by the neck and shook him back and forth.

"Stop flirting. I think I need some cold medicine now." Watson had gone to change clothes in the end. The temperature difference between indoors and outdoors was too great, and his undershirt was too wet from the melted snow to wear.

"I had it ready long ago. One cup each, hot ginger tea." Mr. Holmes came out of the kitchen carrying a tray. He had just dug up the wild mountain ginger himself, which made it more effective.

"Darlings, for dinner tonight I've prepared roast fish, vegetable soup, and one roast squab per person. What would you like for the staple? We have dough and noodles."

Mrs. Holmes had kneaded the dough in advance. She had heard that people in China liked to make dumplings for the New Year.

"How about dumplings? But I'm not very good at making them. Would anyone like to help me~?"

"I can! I'll do it!" Sitangna quickly raised her hand. She didn't let the other two off, either. Sherlock was assigned to wash the vegetables, and Watson went to chop the meat for the filling.

"A bowl of water and a spoon. Uncle, you roll out the wrappers, and the rest of us will make the dumplings together."

Once everything was ready and the filling had been seasoned, the whole family sat around the dining table, and Sitangna began teaching them how to make dumplings.

Everyone there was sharp. After Sitangna showed them twice, they picked it up very quickly. Mrs. Holmes was quite skillful, and once she got the hang of it, her dumplings were even more intricate than Sitangna's.

As for Watson, he couldn't make pretty pleats, so he simply made his dumplings cone-shaped, pinching the wrappers together and calling it done.

"The ugly ones you made are yours to eat." Ruthlessly mocked by Sherlock, Watson smiled silently, then turned to whisper with Sitangna.

"Nana, later, fish out all the ugly ones and the ones that leak and put them in his bowl."

"Consider it done."

Everyone was engrossed in making dumplings when a rustling came from the doorway as someone opened the door.

"Mike! Weren't you going to be home later?" Mrs. Holmes quickly wiped her hands and rushed forward to give her eldest son a bear hug.

"It's Mycroft. You chose it yourself, so could you please just call me that?" Brother Mycroft wore a crisp suit and looked as though he had just come from a formal occasion.

His dark tailored suit was now covered in quite a bit of flour from Mrs. Holmes. He sighed softly. Oh well, never mind.

"All right, dear Mike, come over and make dumplings with us. I promise it's great fun."