This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the
letting go—
- Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
Holmes
The wind howled in my ears and tore at the exposed parts of my face, chapping the skin raw though I could barely feel its effects because of the cold that came along with it, seeping through my thick overcoat and then muscle and tissue to settle into my very bones.
No one could last long in such cold; it was inconceivable that anyone could trudge through this mess for more than a few minutes when it dragged at a man, sapping the strength from his limbs.
And for someone who had suffered a fall from a horse and possibly been unconscious...
No! No, I would not let that be the end of it, I had to find him…I had never wanted anything more in all my life than to see the form of my dear friend at that moment, cropping up out of the endless white expanse.
But there was nothing, only more of the same as I trudged on and on, listening to the shriek of the wind as it howled like a chorus of lost souls in the storm.
I pulled the horse with me, one arm before my eyes in a futile attempt to protect them against the onslaught. It was my natural inclination to turn away from the wind, to make it easier on myself, but if this was the way Watson had gone…
Great Scott…could that be it…could that be the very reason that I had not yet spotted my friend here or at the lodge?
I had already searched a small arc of area in front of the building but the majority of that had been against the wind, not with it.
Men did not walk straight, and most had a natural inclination to list either to the left or to the right; this was why so many found themselves going in circles in the desert only to come upon their own tracks several hours after their beginning.
I had observed that Watson's own inclination was to veer to the left since he had a habit of favoring his right leg, and the wind itself was blowing against the path he would have to have taken to reach the lodge.
I turned back at once, causing the poor beast with me to whicker in protest, though it seemed as glad as I to turn its back to the storm. If I could just find the path that Watson had started out in and go to the right which was in fact his left, letting the wind drive me as it must him…
Yes it would work…it had to work…there was no other way of finding him. I stumbled gamely onward, struggling with every step I took to lift my foot that was weighted down with thick wet snow and then drive it once again through the icy drifts before lifting the other and starting the process over again.
It was taking too long! I was confident now that I was going in the right direction, but there was no sign of him, no hint or shadow, only the white that I could barely see through despite the trees that now surrounded me.
Blast it all, man, cursed a voice in my head. You're a detective, The world's only consulting detective as you so arrogantly put it - can you not find one man in a snowstorm!?
I couldn't, there was nothing but snow, miles and miles and heaps of it, covering everything, muffling it in a great blanket, snuffing out life and leaving nothing detectable. And I…who was I to face such odds, to do such an impossible task? I had already done a splendid job of mucking up this whole affair, of underestimating my enemy and allowing him to not only torment my clients but my friends as well.
And now because of a stupid blunder upon my part in underestimating Watson's cursed tenacity I was going to lose him.
No, he was already lost, there was no way I could find him. It was impossible.
Impossible…a word of which Watson had been very fond early on in our acquaintance before I had dazzled him with my deductions. A word that was part of a ridiculous quote he had put into one of his stories, some drivel or other about the truth not being impossible but only improbable…some self-satisfied equation that I had given him.
Funny now how important it had seemed to me at the time, and how worthless it appeared right now.
Impossible…I could not lose him, it was impossible, unthinkable…I had to find him.
I pushed myself, driving my legs to move through the drifts, ignoring the complaints of exhaustion from my body as I had many times before, peering with my trained eye to notice the one detail, the one clue that would be of the most vital importance…that would help me find Watson.
I had drifted fairly far from the path between the lodge and the ditch by now…nearly twenty minutes off, surely I had gone too far…perhaps I had been wrong and he had listed to the right instead.
I was passing by a line of trees and brush and glanced to my left.
My heart stopped.
The frozen air stalled in my lungs and I felt myself, what parts of me I could still feel, go numb with shock.
There in the hedge, was a break…a passage that someone had made by crashing through, leaving a mess of trampled branches and scattered snow in their wake.
My legs took control and I stumbled as quickly as I was able towards the spot, dragging my mount with me. I scrambled through the break and out into a denser part of the forest, where the snow was not quite so thick.
There! On the ground just after the break was a mark…a footprint that had been protected from the storm by the bushes. I recognized it at once as Watson's, noted the direction, replaced the lantern on the horse's saddle and took the reins again, leading it onward in that direction.
There was a sudden tugging on the reins in my hand and I turned back to see my horse shying away from something, some irregularity, and it only took me a moment to find the dark shape in the snow.
"Watson!" I struggled through the drifts toward him, dropping the reins when the horse lagged behind, stumbling and tripping in my haste to reach him.
"WATSON!"
At last I skidded to a stop beside him, falling to my knees in the icy drift so deep that it came up past my middle, heedless of the manner in which it soaked through my clothing as I seized my friend's dark-clad shoulder and turned him over onto his back, brushing away the snow that had piled up around him.
He'd lost his cap, and his coat, boots, and trousers were covered in a layer of icy sleet, created from a combination of sweat, melting snow, and freezing temperatures. His hair was stiff with frost and all I could see of his face under the frozen muffler were his closed eyes and his snow-flecked lashes.
I tore off my gloves, heedless of how badly my hands were shaking and the cold that bit at my flesh the moment that I exposed them to the air. I further numbed them by tugging on the folds of the scarf, knocking aside the bits of ice that had coated it and caught in the knot at his throat. It was cursedly tight and I swore under my breath as I tugged at in a vain attempt to loosen it. It was too solid, Watson's own breath had contributed to the freezing of it. At last I drew my penknife from my pocket, fumbled free the blade, and carefully cut the woolen wrap away from my friend's face.
I swore again in horror, my chest and breath constricting in desperation as I took in Watson's countenance, whiter than a freshly caught fish, with a tinge of blue, his lips chapped. Was he even breathing?! Had I found him too late?!
"Watson…Watson, wake up, old fellow," I gasped, shaking him and patting his face in an attempt to bring color back into it as well as rouse him, all the instructions that I had ever heard regarding victims of cold situations fleeing my mind in one panicked instant. "Watson, look at me, open your eyes and look at me!"
There was nothing, no change in his expression nor any flickering of the eyelids. I felt the back of my own eyes burning, and not just from the cold.
"Blast it all, Watson! Why in heaven's name did you do this?! You bloody idiot!" I replaced my knife and stuck my gloves in my pocket before leaning over him once more, trying to busy my hands so as to regain my composure, or what little I had left of it.
I had to calm down, I was no good to Watson in this state. Only…this was the one situation in which I found it almost impossible to be calm, my whirling mind bordering constantly on panic.
I slid my hand beneath his collar and felt his neck, trying to ignore how cool it felt even to my cold hand, searching for the small beating of the artery that would tell me he was alive.
For a breathless moment I felt nothing, then I felt my own heart leap as it appeared, a small thready pulse that reminded one of the fluttering wings of a dying bird. I nearly went limp.
He was alive, thank God. He was alive.
But was he breathing? In another instant I had fumbled my lens out of my coat pocket and held it in front of my friend's mouth, watching with an influx of joy as the glass fogged up with the warm, moist air from his lungs.
Good man! He was here, I'd found him and he was alive!
But he would not remain so if he stayed here for much longer; I could not even tell if he was still shivering. I had to get him out of this cold now.
I looked up, searching for the horse.
It was gone! I had let go of the reins, idiot that I was! It had already been skittish and now it had bolted, not stupid enough to remain in the storm where I ventured.
The Castle was over a half hour away by horse and over an hour by foot, there was no way we would make it back without the beast. I spared no thought for the animal's fate…horses were gregarious by nature and it probably was well on its way back to the castle by now. But what were we going to do…
The solution came readily to my mind as I looked down at my friend, remembering his original purpose for coming here in the first place. The lodge, I could get him to the lodge; it was only fifteen minutes from here, I only had to waken him.
"Watson," I called in his ear over the wind, which was much dimmer thanks to the trees that surrounded us. "Watson, wake up. Wake up, man."
Still no movement…did he perhaps have a concussion? Had he injured himself internally from the fall and was now loosing blood at a rapid rate?
No, he had gotten to his feet and had gotten absurdly far for that type of his condition…his footsteps had been erratic however, indicating a blow to the head of some sort.
I pushed back his hair, searching his scalp for signs of blood, but found only a bruise that when I felt it gave no signs of being a fracture. There were a few slight abrasions at the side of it, but the small amount of blood had coagulated long ago…that accounted for the stains in the snow where he had been thrown, but obviously the scrapes were not serious, and the bruise did not appear to be particularly so either.
It must have been painful, however, for he winced as I pressed on it.
That was it, heaven help me but I had to wake him up somehow.
"Forgive me, Watson," I murmured, and with careful precision, I pressed on the colored skin just to the side of the swelling.
He winced again, his brows drawing together, and he let out a low moan that I had trouble hearing.
I patted his face again, laying my hand on his forehead.
"Good man, Watson, come on old fellow, open your eyes, come on!"
He groaned and stirred, his eyelids flickering, halting as his frozen lashes refused to part.
I brushed a hand gently across his eyes for a moment then pleaded again with him as he tried to turn his head away from the treatment, moaning and letting out a shiver as his senses began to return.
"Watson, you must get up. I need you to, come on."
At last the leaden eyelids lifted revealing the familiar hazel orbs, glazed and dull and taking little interest in their surroundings.
It mattered little, he was awake.
"That's it, old man - now look at me."
He blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the trees and snowdrifts around him, all of which were growing increasingly dark in the gloom.
"Look at me, Watson, concentrate. It's Holmes."
I laid my hand back on his forehead, rubbing the shoulder that lay closest me with the other.
He gave a slightly weary sigh and turned his head towards the sound, his brows furrowed. His eyes settled on my face.
"Holmes," I repeated, watching his face expectantly.
He stared at me for a long moment, then a light of recognition lit his eyes and they sharpened, his lips formed my name.
"That's it, Watson! I'm here!" I gripped his shoulder then drew my hand back as he suddenly grimaced, groaning again.
He'd hurt his shoulder in the fall, and his bad shoulder to boot, blast it.
"Sorry," I said automatically.
"'S all right," he rasped, just as quickly before coughing deep from in his lungs, shaking and beginning to shiver in earnest at the movement, some little colour coming back into his cheeks.
"Gently," I said, unknotting my own scarf and wrapping it around his throat. "Can you stand, Watson?"
His expression was still one of intense blank confusion; he seemed to recognise me and little else…a side effect of the hypothermia if not the blow on the head.
"I need you to stand up, Watson," I said, gripping both of his shoulders gently.
"S-stand?"
"Yes, stand up now. Come on."
I bent and levered him up out of the snow, pulling his good arm round my shoulder and rising to my knees and then my feet, raising him with me. I could feel the chill of him through both our coats, and his whole frame was shaking now with cold, his body trying its best to generate heat now that his blood was flowing again.
He swayed for a second or two and then steadied.
"Ready?" I asked, though I was unsure that he knew what I was asking.
He nodded, his hand clutching my coat, the other wrapped around himself for warmth.
I turned him back the way we had come, slowly so that he could keep up with me pushing through the drifts in an attempt to make the path easier for him.
For a while we went steadily; Watson was disoriented and shaky but still had some little strength left in him, and I was fresh compared to his own condition.
We passed the break he had left in the brambles and followed my swiftly disappearing footprints back to the path that stretched between the site of Watson's accident and the lodge we were aiming for.
Watson said nothing, only trudged on beside me, his breathing sounding very fast and shallow in my ear. Whenever I turned to look at him it was to see his head drooping low and forward, like a draft horse pulling a too-heavy load.
Soon the snow began to drag on both of us and sapped our strengths as the effort of shoving through it took its toll. Watson began to lean more and more of his weight on me, and I found myself struggling to keep him upright.
My friend began to lag, stumbling more and more often, his grip on my coat loosening, and his lungs gasping for breath.
I was so caught up in forging ahead that I hardly noticed until his legs seized up suddenly and he halted, catching me off balance.
I shouted in alarm as I fell forward, the frozen ground rushing up to meet me, too late to let go of Watson, pulling him with me. I lost hold of him as I crashed into the endless sea of snow so deep that I was certain I would disappear beneath it.
My concern for my friend drove me back up to my knees as I rubbed the frost from my face with my hands, sputtering and searching about me frantically.
"Watson!"
He had landed beside me, facedown. I could make out his trembling shoulders and head, covered once again in white.
"Watson." I reached out and pulled him up again, drawing on the final reserves of strength that I usually reserved for the last desperate hours of a case.
My chronicler was shivering violently now, his muscles jerking and twitching, his face contorted, breathing far too fast and too shallowly. Sweat beaded on his face, freezing almost instantly to create trails on his features.
"It's all right, Watson," I gasped, pulling his arm round my shoulder again. "Come on."
Watson shuddered, his eyes closed.
"C-cold, H-Holmes…"
I could barely discern the words over the wind and the chattering of his teeth.
"The lodge is just ahead, Watson, come on now. Get up."
He shook his head clumsily, made to lie down again.
"No, Watson!" I snapped, pulling him upright again. "Come on!"
"T-tired," he gasped, his head lolling. "L-leav-ve m-me alone."
My temper flared. Even as an invalid…especially as an invalid, he could be terribly stubborn.
"Come on, Watson! We haven't the time. Get up, come on, I won't let you lie down here! Get up!"
He opened his eyes and looked at me, more confused than when I had first found him, unrecognising. I sighed and settled beside him, gently rubbing his uninjured shoulder and trying to shield him from the snow swirling and falling about us.
"Please, Watson, old chap, we're so close, come on. You've listened to me in the past, listen to me now. Get up."
There was that spark of recognition again, dimmer this time, but there.
"H-Holmes."
"Yes Watson, it's warm there, come on now. Get up."
He grimaced. "C-can't."
"You must." I began to rise slowly, pulling him up.
He tried, allowing me to help him to his feet, but his legs shook, and not just from the cold. He went limp again, trying to sink back with a moan of frustration.
"C-can't H-Holmes. C-can't f-feel m-my legs."
Blazes! Not now, we were so very close, the lodge was just ahead.
"There is no choice in the matter, Watson," I snapped, taking a firmer hold on him and pulling him forward, his feet lagging. "You must."
He groaned as I began to drag him with painstaking slowness through the drifts, his hand no longer clutching my shoulder, too frozen to grip onto the cloth.
The lodge was just ahead…we were almost there…I took one step, then another, my arms and legs burning and screaming with the effort, my shoulders quivering.
"Please, Watson, I know you can, come on. A little farther… a little farther…" I stepped again, ignorant now of the snow that flooded over my frozen boot, of the wind that ripped into us with renewed energy…and this time when I stepped…Watson stepped with me.
Watson
There was a steady beating just above my left ear and I had the most unusual sensation of being on a boat as I felt myself rise and fall on a very rhythmic wave. I listened to the beating and realised with some amusement that my own breathing had slowed to match it, deep and even.
My head felt heavy and slow, as though it were swathed in dark cotton.
Not that I minded, it was very peaceful here…and warm…so very warm which for some reason made me exceedingly glad. I was exhausted, my limbs as heavy and unresponsive as blocks of wood. I was so very comfortable and heavy, something covered me, weighting me down further, but I would be quite content to rest here for a long while.
But my mind would not let me; something stirred, a memory, flashes of white that cut through the muffling darkness.
It had been cold…terribly cold, which was why the warmth felt so wonderful now.
Intrigued, I found myself trying to remember now, encouraging the darkness to roll back.
There had been cold and darkness and a terrible biting wind…flashes of white between the trees as I rode after…after what…
Other senses came to my attention, the snapping and crackling of logs on a fire…of damp wood and cloth…the feel of rough, warm wool against my skin.
My quarry had been on a horse as well, I could remember snatches of his shadowy form riding through the trees.
My heart gave a sudden jolt as the chase and its terrifying ending came back to me, the terror of flying unrestrained through the air only to be brought up short against a numbing force.
I'd hit my shoulder…and my head, and as I recalled this both of them began to ache sharply, as though my body only just remembered that I should be in pain.
There was something else restraining me besides the blankets I was wrapped in, and I struggled against it feverishly.
A sigh sounded somewhere in the general vicinity of the beating that I had awoken to earlier and whatever I was leaning against shifted again, and the arm…it was an arm…slid off of me.
There were more memories…ones far more scattered and blurry…of a darker landscape… and endless trudging through the snow that burned the muscles of my legs…and that same arm, holding me upright despite my fervent pleas to be allowed to sink down into the snow, which at the time had appeared deucedly comfortable.
Whose arm?
The answer came at once, more from my heart than from logical deduction, for I knew the grip and feel of that arm, thin and sinewy as it was.
Holmes.
Again his heart sounded just above my ear. He was here…heaven only knew how…but he was here! I forced my eyes open and peered blearily about me at the small room that I recognized as the Count's hunting lodge, the one I had never reached this afternoon.
There was a great puddle in front of the door… and another larger one beneath a pile of soaked clothing. A fire burned merrily in the hearth. I myself was wrapped in a several thick blankets.
I turned my aching head to see that I was leaning against Holmes, who had settled against the wall, in his trousers and shirtsleeves, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
He was asleep, his eyes deeply shadowed and his head lolling against the planks of wood.
As I shifted to get a better look at him his head snapped up, and he peered about blearily, almost in confusion. I could hardly blame him, for excessive cold was sometimes more effective than a powerful drug…and if as I suspected he had come after me in that storm he should be exhausted.
His confusion only lasted a minute and he looked down at me almost at once, his eyes wide with worry, his face unshielded from its usual cold mask.
He relaxed slightly as he saw me awake, and let himself settle back against the wall with a weary sigh.
"Watson."
I smiled, feeling my lips split as I did.
"Yes, Holmes." I grimaced…my throat was horrendously dry.
"These bedside vigils grow weary, old fellow. You really must stop putting yourself in these situations."
I laughed, and shivered as the movement awoke more senses in my body, it seemed I was not yet completely thawed…I could barely move my hands or my feet.
Holmes straightened once again with concern, he put one hand on my forehead and took my pulse with the other.
When he did not remove them at once I raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Have you changed your mind about professions, Holmes, and now want to become a physician? I warn you it is not easy."
He did not laugh but sighed and reached out beside him for a mug which he brought to my mouth.
"Can you drink this, Watson…it's hot…should help."
I nodded and sipped at it, feeling its warmth trailing down my throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I sputtered and turned my head away.
"It's terrible, Holmes…what on earth is it?"
"Tea." Holmes said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "And don't make a face, you've already had several cups of it."
No wonder it was awful…I had come into contact with Holmes's attempts at making tea several times before.
"Several cups?"
He nodded.
"What happened, Holmes?"
He set down the cup.
"I came back to the castle, and Alfie told me how you had gone haring out on your own and I went after you. It took me nearly an hour, Watson."
I closed my eyes as a sudden feeling of guilt washed over me, his voice sounded very shaken.
"You were shivering like mad when I found you and got you moving and you were frozen stiff by the time I got you back here…it was two hours before I was certain you would even make it."
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head wordlessly, though his hand had come to rest on my arm and it clutched the knotted muscles convulsively.
"Not as sorry as you will be if you ever do anything that foolish again…not half as sorry as I will. Blazes, Watson…I thought I had lost you."
I worked one arm free of the blankets and reached out to grip his hand with my own numb one, he returned the grip warmly.
"Thank you, Holmes," I said at last, very simply…for indeed what else was there to say? I was not used to expressing my emotions either…both of us had grown up in an age that looked down on such displays, and I felt that any words I could choose would be terribly inadequate. "I would have died if you had not found me."
Holmes smiled slightly and closed his eyes.
"My dear Watson," he said, his voice as warm as I had ever heard it. "So would I."
As promised. :) Au Revoir, everyone - see you Friday!
