The morning after Cardiff Heddlu’s Halloween Costume party, Jack was still in character as Sherlock Holmes. Not that he was still in costume, Ianto had at least managed to persuade him to dress in his usual World War II era clothing, but the British accent was still in place, as was the pipe, though thankfully it remained unlit.
Ianto was busying himself making coffee when Jack approached.
“There you are, Watson! What’s afoot, my good man?”
“Twelve inches,” Ianto replied.
Ianto smirked as Jack’s American accent reasserted itself.
“A foot is twelve inches, Sir, and the party’s over.”