"Watson," Sherlock Holmes complained, "you are going to break one of my ribs."
"You deserve it," Watson murmured. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He clutched Holmes a bit harder and peered over his friend's shoulder. "It's a long way down," he murmured. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he repeated.
"Oh please, Watson," Holmes countered. "I am not chucking you down the mountain head first. It will be fun! And much quicker than hiking back down. Besides, If anything happens, I am in front and therefore I will cushion your fall. Now, are you ready?"
"This is a bad idea, Holmes." Watson said, and peered over his shoulder again. "We are two grown men, not children. Children can do things like this, Holmes, we can't. There is nothing besides this fragile piece of wood between you and me and dying rather painfully."
Holmes turned his head so he was peering over his shoulder at Watson while Watson peered down the mountain. "Come now, Doctor, where's your famous sense of adventure?" he said to encourage him. "It will be fun!"
"Sledding," Watson sighed. "How did I let you talk me into sledding down a thousand feet of treacherous terrain?"
The two of them were sitting on a crude wooden sled atop a high peak where they had been looking for any signs of a killer's hideaway. Watson had already been stroppy with Holmes over the whole thing, insisting that the local police could perform a search just as well as they could, but Holmes had insisted that he didn't want to trust the job to anyone. To top it all off, Holmes had spent the most of their search puttering around and improving a ramshackle sled which he insisted was 'worthy of the good Saint himself, Watson.'
Watson's arms were around Holmes' middle, his legs were wrapped around Holmes' waist, and he was hanging onto his friend like a lifeline. Holmes was sitting with his legs outstretched and was grasping his makeshift steering rope with both hands. He'd found the bare bones of a sled in the town below and had bought it, dragging it up over a thousand feet and making a few improvements.
"If you kill me," Watson murmured, "I will haunt you."
"That is ridiculous, Watson," Holmes huffed. "I don't know much about spirits, but I know they haunt places, not people. If I want to commune with you once you've passed, I will have to bring my candles and salt circles and all that rubbish back up here."
"I am not sure you're correct," Watson pointed out. "Besides, isn't salt used to ward off spirits instead of attract them?"
Holmes shrugged. "I don't know, Watson, but it comes to nothing for I will not be coming to the mountain to commune with your spirit. The only afterlife I believe in does not include human spirits haunting mountains. Even if I did believe your spirit would be hanging about, that would be too much work just to come hear you say 'I told you so.' Now, since you have your afterlife plans so nicely sorted, can we commence?"
"No! I'm having second thoughts, Holmes. This really isn't a good idea."
"Watson!" Holmes whined, "where's that famous bravery of yours?"
"Taking a backseat to my famous good common sense! I don't mind taking risks, Holmes, but that is when something is important like catching a criminal or saving a comrade. I don't wish to lose my life because my friend wanted to take the 'fun way' down a mountain. And what if I'm not the one who dies, but you? Don't even try to insist you wouldn't haunt me if you could because we both know full well that you would."
Holmes sighed. "Are you certain, Watson? It is a long way down, and it will take longer to hike."
"My point exactly, Holmes. That is a long way to fall down."
"It is just snow, Watson. If my impeccable skills as a sled driver do happen to fail, simply roll off before we hit something. I will do likewise. Now, ready?"
"Your impeccable what? You don't ride sleds, Holmes, and therefore I have no faith in your skills whatsoever."
"Of course I am an expert," Holmes sniffed. "I made this, didn't I? I went sledding often as a lad and never once crashed into a tree."
"You are no longer a lad," Watson replied, "And I do not trust your construction skills, either."
"Didn't you ever sled as a child?" Holmes demanded.
"No, but I did fall through the ice once and quite nearly die."
"So did I! My brother saved me, and believe me, he's never let me forget it, either. That's just all the more reason to do this, Watson. You missed out on all the fun of wintertime."
"It is not winter, Holmes. It is July, we just so happen to be far from London."
"But it is cold and snowy here! It feels like Christmastime! Please, Watson?"
"Holmes, I don't like this."
"But you trust me?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"That settles it, then! Off we go!" Holmes quickly planted his feet on the ground, and gave a great shove. Watson yelped and gripped him with even more force as the sled slipped downwards. They slid down, progressively getting faster… and then they hit a bump. The nose of the sled dipped downwards and they slowed until they stopped, stuck in the snow.
Watson rested his forehead on Holmes' back, breathing a sigh of relief. "Don't do that to me," he complained.
Holmes was frowning. "That's never happened to me before," he sighed. "I suppose you will get your wish after all." He put his feet in the snow again, pushing them backwards so they could escape the snowbank.
The sled, however, curved onto the new fresh snow. The next thing they knew, they sled had whipped around and they were sliding down backwards and gaining momentum fast.
"Holmes!" Watson cried.
"Don't worry!" Holmes shouted. "I am an expert!" Holmes reached one foot out and let it drag through the snow as he pulled on his rope until they spun back around. Watson yelled in fright as several trees flew by on either side of them.
"Holmes!"
"Relax, Watson!" Holmes cried, his words barely reaching the doctor behind him for how fast they were racing. "I am completely in control!"
Watson felt his whole body being jarred as they bumped along faster and faster, and shrieked again as they rapidly sped towards a tree.
Holmes, however, was as good as his word and expertly steered around it. He steered them well until Watson actually opened his eyes and did, indeed relax. Not much, but enough to maybe, just maybe, admit he was having fun.
That ended abruptly when he saw what was coming.
"Holmes…"
"Uh, Watson, you'd best hang on to me," Holmes shouted back at him.
"Holmes!"
"Hang onto me!"
Straight ahead of them, the snow simply stopped.
"Holmes!" Watson screamed, and then the sled was over the edge.
Holmes had enough good sense to let go of the sled, and it sailed beyond them. The two of them hit the ground, and the world disappeared around them as they were buried in snow.
Holmes emerged first, sputtering but quite happy. Watson then popped out of the snow, and he was not quite so amused.
"Are you alright, Watson?" Holmes asked, still smiling.
"Yes, no thanks to you," Watson complained.
"Oh, come now, doctor! You had fun, admit it! And look, now we are at the bottom and you not only had fun, but you also didn't have to hike down."
"If you wanted to save me the trouble," Watson pointed out, "You should have listened to me and we would not have hiked up in the first place."
"But then we could not have sled down."
"You always planned on this ridiculous stunt, didn't you?" Watson accused him.
Holmes shrugged. "I did not plan on crashing. Are you certain you're alright?"
Watson rolled his eyes. "Oh, now you're concerned about my safety, are you? Even though you couldn't be bothered about it when you were ready to toss me off a cliff?"
"Hardly a cliff, Watson. Hardly a mountain, in fact. And I did not toss you. I knew nothing would happen."
"You also claimed you'd never crashed."
"No, Watson, I said I'd never crashed into a tree. The sled itself? Oh, yes, I almost always crash that."
"Holmes!"
"Be at ease, Watson! I did not kill either of us, and you'll remember that I checked the snow this morning. I knew a crash here wouldn't hurt either of us."
"You are insufferable, Holmes!"
"And yet you had fun."
"Well, maybe a little, but never again, Holmes!"
"Ah, here is our hired sleigh! Right on time!"
"You did plan on sledding!" Watson accused him, "You knew we would be at the bottom of the hill now, before we should have if we had hiked."
Holmes simply shrugged and didn't answer him.
The sleigh driver was a small little man, hardly taller than a child, but had a long, full white beard which clearly said he wasn't one. He was dressed in a deep purple coat tied with a cord of gold. His cheeks were rosy and a corncob pipe was clenched between his teeth and he waved at them as if impatiently, but he was genial and smiling and both Holmes and Watson liked him right off.
Holmes stood and stepped forward, crying out when he put pressure on one of his ankles. He hobbled to the sleigh and leaned against it.
"Serves you right," Watson mumbled. "Is it hurting you?"
"I… no, Watson. It did for just a moment, and now I feel fine."
"Good," Watson replied. "Nevertheless, I'll take a look at it when we get back to the hotel."
"Need help up?" asked their driver.
"No, but thank you, Mr…"
"Please, call me Nikolai." At first, the man seemed vaguely Slavic. Then, he seemed somewhat Spanish, then American. Holmes stared at him as he held out his hand to Watson to help him into the sleigh. He could deduce nothing from him, but for some reason that didn't worry him. And suddenly, as if only a second had passed, they were back in the town.
He looked at Watson, who looked back at him just as quizzically. "Did I fall asleep…"
"Gentlemen," said their driver, "here we are!" He had stepped out and was holding out his hand to them. His bright red beard and hair made his green eyes shine even brighter, and as Holmes stepped down he thought briefly about how it was a nice change to look up at someone for once.
"Oh, doctor, don't forget your cape," Nikolai said. He reached back into the carriage and brought out a gorgeous brown cape. He set it on Watson's shoulders, and somehow it warmed the doctor without weighing him down.
"And you, Mr. Holmes, you've almost left yours." He handed Holmes a similar cloak, this one a rich, deep black. It was light on Holmes's shoulders but warmed him like no other coat ever had.
"There you are, gentlemen. Now, if you don't mind, I've got to be going. After all, I'm a very busy man. You don't mind if I keep the sled, do you? No? Thank you." And with that, he was gone.
"Holmes…" Watson ventured. "Are these ours?"
"I suppose they are now, I…" his hand slipped into the pocket of his new cape and he pulled out a magnifying glass. The handle looked like it was made of solid wood and the handle wrapped around the glass and back into itself seamlessly. The glass itself was crystal clear and the whole thing fit into his hand perfectly. At the bottom of the handle his initials were inlaid in it in gold. "I guess this is mine," he whispered with a shrug.
Watson reached into his own pocket and his fingers found an object, too. He pulled it out and found it was a journal. It was bound in what looked like seamless leather and was tied with a braided cord. At first, Watson didn't know how the cord could possibly unwind, but when he touched it, it came off easily in his hand. Inside, he found the pages were made of something strong and soft and there was a new fountain pen made of seamless gold which bore his initials.
"I suppose this is mine," he said, echoing Holmes' surprised sentiment. "Holmes, was that…"
"No, Watson. I couldn't have been. Besides, it's July."
"I suppose. How… how would you describe him?"
Holmes couldn't answer him, for they had both completely forgotten everything about the man they'd just met save for his kindness.
"What are you doing here?" came a voice from just beyond them. "I suppose ye won't be needing me to come an get ya after all," said the local man whom Holmes had hired to come pick them up from their excursion up the mountain. Holmes scrambled for his watch, and found that he there was still an hour yet before he'd predicted being back down the mountain.
"No, uh, thank you," he said, and tipped the driver. His mind raced,, trying to remember what exactly had happened that day. He couldn't seem to recall anything clearly, but somehow, he wasn't terribly bothered about it.
"Watson, I'm so tired," Holmes said softly. "Why don't we go rest?"
Watson agreed, and the two of them entered their hotel, barely getting back to their rooms before they were fast asleep.
When they woke, it was to warm congratulations on solving the case and finding the killer's hideout. Neither admitted they didn't quite remember doing so. All that was left in their memories of the day was of laughing and having a wonderful time as they went sledding down the hill again and again all day. Neither was quite sure they were remembering correctly, and neither spoke of it.
Their cloaks never wore out, stained, or tore, and Mrs. Hudson never once questioned why she never had to clean them. Holmes' magnifying glass never broke and its glass never clouded, and he never gave it a second thought. The fountain pen in Watson's journal never needed to be refilled with ink, and the cord that sealed his journal only ever opened for him, but he didn't think it was odd.
From then on, they were both a little brighter, a little kinder, and smiled a bit more like the man they didn't remember meeting. And they both knew, come Christmastime in London, that there was something more than themselves, something sacred and worthy of the celebration. Something worthy of becoming better for, so become better they did.
Both Holmes and Watson cherished the memory of that day they couldn't quite recall with any clarity, and they never did forget the time they paused an investigation and simply went sledding on a snowy mountain in July.