"Scotland," Sherlock says as he sits.

Joan looks over at him. He gives a small shrug.

"My boarding school had yearly skiing trips to Glencoe Mountain."

"You ski?" Joan says, amused.

"And risk a torsion fracture?" Sherlock replies, his nose wrinkled in distaste. "No. While the other boys were risking life and limb on the snow, I was in the lodge reading by the fire."