One is about Psycho!Mycroft (Sherlock's brother, who is too much fun to write as being dangerously nasty, even if he isn't at all appropriate for Valentine's Day). Exactly 100 words.
"I know how my brother intends to escape your clutches, leaving you caught instead."
"Not every man can be purchased, Mr. Moriarty."
"Every man has a price, Mr. Holmes."
I gave a tight smile. We understood each other. "Sherlock will be traveling with the Doctor, who is not to be harmed."
His lips pursed. "That may be unavoidable."
"No. You must find a way. I insist."
"Do you want him brought to you?"
"Unnecessary. He will be quite easy to… manipulate… once my brother is gone."
I laid bare Sherlock's plans, salivating in anticipation of my own.
And the other uses the prompts of slush, Mycroft, and pantaloons (although not particularly well, but hey, at least there are no psycho siblings). A schmaltzy double drabble (200 words).
I trudged through the slush. Mycroft had provided me with the answer yet again—`Well, if his pantaloons were as you say, then his assailant must have had an accomplice.' The fact that two men were involved significantly reduced the list of suspects and—
I stopped abruptly as I saw Watson making his way through the foul weather. He limped slightly, the dampness obviously bothering his wound.
I caught up with him and linked my arm with his. His smile of delight upon seeing me made my knees slightly weak. I wondered how he could affect me so.
"Holmes! How is everything with the case?"
"Nearly complete, my dear Watson. A few more enquiries and I believe we will have a successful resolution."
"Where are you heading to on a night such as this, Watson?"
He flushed slightly. "I was going to the tobacconist."
"Weren't you there just yesterday?" I asked, puzzled.
"Yes, but you are almost out of your strong shag. I wanted to make sure you had some on hand in case you were dealing with a two pipe problem."
The cold outside could in no way compete with the warmth I felt at my friend's care.
*yawn* Off to bed for me now.