nny | (no subject)

The noise is exactly the same as heavy gusts of rain-drenched wind against grey London windows, so it's a moment before he correctly identifies the warm lassitude as duvet-trapped and sun-caused, the distant rushing as wind, and trees. Mycroft's house in the country, of course, but it's not as though that makes any sort of difference; body heat to wake up to has always been too much to hope for.