Iced

Sherlock pouted and turned over where he was laying on the couch in 221B Baker Street. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be demeaned and reduced to publicity fodder PLUS risk hypothermia. No. No, thank you! Molly, get my checkbook, sign off a thousand pounds, and let's be done with the whole nasty business!" he huffed into the sofa's upholstered backrest.