A/N: I've never done a calendar challenge before so yeehaw. Also not beta'd by the nature of the challenge. Aaaand I didn't spin it through the Brit-inator so them's the breaks fellas.

From Ennui Enigma: First Snow

"W-would you know it, Doctor Watson, I've n-never seen s-snow before."

Our young client was bundled to the ears in makeshift blankets. The manor house's outbuilding was little more than a glorified storage shed and kept the heat about as well. What I had been able to find stood more in the line of feed sacks than blankets. The lad's stable-hand disguise was his saving grace. Hiding amongst the horses necessitated warmer gear.

"Grandmother wrote about it often, b-but we'd never m-made a trip north during winter."

The cut on his head had stopped bleeding, mostly. We'd had a narrow escape. If our luck lasted until Holmes arrived on the morning train, I'd be much relieved. The only benefit I could see to being stranded in a snowstorm was that our client's murderous uncle would have a harder time getting at us.

"England is so c-cold, Doctor Watson. Would I have to st-stay if I s-survive to inherit?"

Thinking like that would hardly keep him through the night. We shouldn't keep a lantern, though I set a curtain rod askew as a sign for Holmes and the low light was better than none. It wouldn't last, however. We would be longing for as much as a candle once night fell, or something else to raise our spirits.

"You might learn to love it, Mister Wainwright. Once Holmes arrives you'll see it in a different light."

I could see his breath as he huffed something too low for me to hear. While the tone sounded more positive, it may be in his best interest to stay quiet. I doubted his uncle would be out and about to hear him, but the man had already killed twice. Most likely he would let the storm take care of us. Ever an opportunist...

I glanced out the window again. It seemed the light was fading. In the dead of winter this would be more disconcerting, but snow had come early. It would be fourteen, sixteen hours at most until Holmes arrived, barring any accident.

"You know Doc-Doctor... I may be warming to it after all. It's n-not so cold as it felt earlier."

That did not reassure me at all. My own hands were cold to the point of numbness, and though it was an ill development I was relieved that my skin no longer stung. It would, I reminded myself, when we were allowed to come in from the storm.

"Don't let down your guard, Mister Wainwright. We've got a night ahead of us and your uncle still on the prowl." I could still see enough of his face to watch it crease in displeasure. Murderous uncle or no, I felt I would need to build a fire before long.

"You c-could take him, Doctor. I th-think." He swallowed, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "Uncle Thomas is so very old."

I bit back a laugh. "I've met men of three-and-fifty with more than enough fire to kill. Best if we stayed vigilant." I would have to build that fire. Sooner rather than later, I thought as I stretched my hands with a wince. Young Wainwright might not last the night, and if I wanted to stay in fighting shape I would have to make changes. But, the smoke from the fire would certainly alert Thomas Wainwright. Perhaps I would have to set a trap for him- and use myself and our client as bait.

It was a necessity I did not relish. But there was no other choice to be made, and so I stood and moved to gather logs. If Wainwright had any objections he didn't voice them. I wasn't going to worry about lighting a match until I had the logs stacked and, after that, keeping the flame alive would not be a concern until I had one struck.

In the end it was almost too easy. The wood had been kept dry, and the fireplace well attended. My concern for our safety only grew. While our chances of surviving the storm had improved, the chances of succumbing to less natural causes increased as well. I found my revolver in the pocket of my coat, now draped over young Wainwright. Instead of huddling next to him I paced. I would keep the blood pumping, my gun at the ready, the door-

A sound at the entrance had me aiming and ready before our client could complete the turn. The hammer was drawn back and we waited in silence. I jerked the barrel to the ceiling when Holmes poked his nose over the threshold.

"Ah, Watson! Mister Wainwright. I daresay the manor house is more hospitable than this shed- well, now that the pest problem's been cleared up."

I shook my head at his theatrical appearance. More than once he'd pulled the same trick when I was sent away on account of his 'more urgent business' that had to be attended to before he could focus his attentions on a new case. Preposterous. And I fell for it again. "Thanks to you I suppose, Holmes?"

"Of course." He looked smug about it too. "Your dear uncle doesn't have half the bite of this snowstorm."

Our client grinned and piped up. "My first, Mister Holmes!"

"Well!" My friend was unusually cheery over the victory. I was sure he would spare no detail once the police were here, or when his client was in a better posture for listening. "I hope you have many more less perilous. English winters are capable of some beauty."

"I told him as much." I bent to help our client to his feet. No use reveling in the victory if we were all still in mortal peril. "Come, Holmes, help me get him inside before we all freeze."

To his credit, he hopped to it. Better still was the denouement by a roaring fire, ensconced in blankets, and secure in the knowledge that the murderer was locked in the wine cellar surrounded by drafts and rats. Poetic justice.