Jan 2, 2014
(this one, too: Poetry Book))
Lestrade had wanted to make sure that the presents were wrapped up perfectly. After all, they weren't going to just anyone. The wrapping paper was Christmas-y, naturally. He hadn't bothered with ribbons and bows- what the point of those frilly things, anyway? He just made sure that the paper had covered the books properly. He had set the package on the kitchen table and dug through his cabinets for that bottle of wine. It was cheap wine, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Compared to Mycroft Holmes, though, and his lavish home and lavish wines and lavish everything... Lestrade fretted that his humble abode wasn't worthy.