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Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

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“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yes, Darling?” The shorter man whispered sleepily into Sid’s shoulder, his fingertips lazily tracing patterns on his chest as they held each other. They were curled up in the caravan, for some reason, despite the 3 feet of snow outside and lack of central heating in Sid’s home.

Sid pressed a kiss to his head, and then pressed his cold feet to his legs under the covers. Sullivan jumped and gently slapped his chest, before pulling him closer.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled

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“Terrible weather.” Lady Felicia announced as she swept into the presbytery, Sid in tow. There were general murmurs of agreement from Mrs McCarthy and Father Brown, Bunty however, sauntered over to her aunt.

“I know! I’ve been here for half an hour and haven’t warmed up yet!” She lamented, pressing the back of her hand to Felicia’s cheek, who gave a short, wordless, exclamation and slapped her hand away with a disapproving glance. Mrs McCarthy tutted as Sid stepped back to avoid the same icy fate that Felicia had suffered.

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“It’s awful out there!” The little man huffed, bustling into the police station, animatedly rubbing his hands together. He was bundled up against the snow and bitter wind, and very, very unhappy. Goodfellow looked up from behind the desk, all smiles, as per usual.

“Hello, sir, there’s been a robbery at the newsagents.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, probably some teenage miscreants,” Mallory moved behind where Goodfellow was sat, pulling his gloves off. “My hands are freezing.” He grumbled, pressing one to the side of the Sergeants exposed neck.

Goodfellow frowned and offered to make him some tea to warm him up, a little put off by the action, but brushing it off as a weird act of playfulness