Sherlock bustled around the kitchen, throwing a cupboard door open and pushing a package of nicotine patches out of the way to retrieve two mismatched mugs. A kettle whistled plaintively, as if it was trying to get attention the whole time. Sherlock absently pulled the kettle of the burner, poured tea into the two mugs, and carried them into the living room.
Dr. Who was sprawled over the chair it had collapsed into last night, when it had appeared at the door muttering inanely about lost regenerations and knackered navigation systems. It made a whining noise as Sherlock tucked the shock blanket it had thrown off during the night back a around it's shoulders.
Supernatural was in similar straits, curled up on the floor with a throw pillow and a ragged trenchcoat around it's shoulders, and was alternating between crying and muttering about domesticity potential.
A thudding on the stairs indacated the ruckus had finally awoken Merlin, who poked it's head in the room and tied a scarf around it's neck, it's hair sticking up at all angles. Blinking blearily at the mess, it seemed to realize what had occurred when it picked up a discarded bow-tie from the floor, holding it between forefinger and thumb. "Is it that time already?"
"It was bad this year," Sherlock whispered, trying not to exacerbate the already fragile Fandoms under it's care.
"I remember what it was like," Merlin muttered, running a hand through it's hair and pulling a cape off the nearby coat rack. "I'll go to the store, we're out of milk again. Might as well get some custard, fish fingers, and salt."
Supernatural gurgled something quietly.
"No, I won't forget pie."
