"Jack Frost, as he is sometimes called, is a benevolent being that lives in a cold country far to the north. He visits our fair isle in glorious splendor but once a year, riding in a carriage of golden clouds drawn by his favored steed, 'North Wind.'"
My greeting startled him.
"A human has not seen me in many years," he said with a wide smile. "Are you some new creature?"
"No, sir," I replied with a grin of my own. "I am human, but I have always been able to see more than I should."
"Jack Frost loves to share his riches with others, so when winter draws near, he harnesses his horse and travels the world. He builds bridges stronger than iron, leaves behind intricate wreaths and sprays of his lovely northern flowers, and melts the brightest colors of gold and rubies over each and every leaf, all for our pleasure, for who does not love the beauty of autumn?"
"It is a pleasure to meet you, John Watson. I love my creations, but every artist likes to know that others enjoy them as well."
"I know the feeling," I answered with a nod. "'Tis the life of an author to write without notice."
"Ah, that explains it, then." He finally dropped the reins and joined me on the ground. "When did you see your first?"
"Jack Frost has only two neighbors so far north, King Winter and Father Christmas. King Winter is a cruel, surly old man better suited to living much further away from us humans than he does, but Jack Frost and Father Christmas became strong friends over the centuries."
"At about six, I believe," was my reply. "The creature had been injured, and my lack of writing skills probably ruined what remained of its story, but others came later. Each one grew harder, more intricate, until I was catching the faster rabbits even my brother could not see."
"And you have seen my friends, as well?"
"Aye. Father Christmas joins me each Christmas morning, well before the sun comes up, and I have met at least one of your helpers. Young Nixie finds herself in the Irregulars' courtyard almost monthly with how many of them have loose teeth."
"They shift for each other, you see, when schedules get hectic. Jack Frost usually directs the Pole's doings through Boxing Day while Father Christmas recovers from his long nights, and Father Christmas returns the favor each autumn. Jack Frost's mission lasts far longer than just the couple of days that is the Christmas holiday, and his young faeries find all sorts of trouble in his absence. Father Christmas spends several days a week at the Frost manor while Jack distributes his beauty."
"Wait a minute!" Icy white eyes studied me from beneath a shock of equally light hair. "You're the young writer that led Kris to that group of children!"
"I am," I agreed, mildly surprised to be recognized. "They had established their headquarters only a year or two before, and one of the elves had misplaced Nicolas' map."
"He talks of nothing but seeing you every December! He will be thrilled to know I met you." That brilliant gaze checked our surroundings. "Do you come here every Turning?"
I felt my cheeks flush at his exuberance but shook my head. "I am only here for a couple more days. Holmes and I had a case at Freedmack Manor, but he will want to return to London as soon as our host is secure. I wandered out here to enjoy the pleasant weather. Your travel schedule is so uncertain, I never thought to meet you as well."
"Jack's travels take months as opposed to Father Christmas' two nights, but his are also the more irregular. He never takes the same path twice. Look for him where the sun is bright and the nights have just found their first chill. 'Tis a sure sign that North Wind is not far away."
A golden neigh lifted from his stallion, and he glanced back.
"Wind is right. I should get moving, but it sure was a pleasure to meet you!"
"And you as well." I lifted a hand in farewell as he leaped to the bench with all the grace of the immortals.
"'So the next time you experience the Turning or the glow of the holiday, young reader, keep your eyes open. You never know when you might find the one responsible.'" The voice paused with the crinkle of pages. "I still cannot believe you hid this from me for so long. No wonder you were so adamant that I stop scoffing at Father Christmas."
"Stay here for a few minutes!" he called as he took the reins. "I will give you a show you won't soon forget!"
The carriage lifted smoothly into the air as I settled against a rock, and he was right. I would never forget the sight of molten rubies, gold, and clinohumite dripping through the leaves. The spectacular view remained in my dreams and even influenced the animals that followed me for years to come.
A hand grasped mine, gently nudging the dreaming memory aside. "Open your eyes, Watson. I know you are awake."
Dulled confusion shot through me. Who was speaking? And was I truly awake? I rather wanted to drift back to sleep.
"Your fever broke hours ago," he continued, "and you really have no excuse to ignore me. Open your eyes, even for a minute."
Holmes. That was Holmes' voice, and only then did I recognize the hand holding mine. Where was I?
An element of…something crept into the words. "You need to come back. Please, Watson. You are beginning—" A strange sound interrupted the thought. "You have slept long enough."
Pleading. That was pleading, and worry tried to join it. My confusion grew. Why was he so upset?
"We need to talk about your tendency to hide things, Watson. You might have recovered faster if you had said something instead of making me find you."
I had scared him. Whatever had happened had scared him, and I searched my memory. What could have necessitated him "finding" me?
He readjusted, shifting my hand a few inches to continue holding it. "I also need you to help me understand this…unfathomable discovery. You have always done well at explaining the inexplicable."
No, that was his job. My job entailed staying out of his way and not ruining days of work with one unfortunate comment.
But what could he have discovered?
"Mrs. Hudson is worried about you, you know. I think you frightened her with that last fever dream. She has not stopped cooking for hours."
I finally registered the bed beneath me, a familiar blanket pulled up to my chest. Only my room held the mattress with the one stiff spring I used to support my shoulder, and more pieces fell into place when I tried to move.
Everything felt heavy, sluggish. My mouth was drier than a desert, and niggling pain behind my eyes made it difficult to stay awake. I had been severely ill.
I had been ill, and he had made an unfathomable discovery.
Fever dream, I remembered with a shot of fear. Illness exacerbated both sleepwalking and sleep talking, and patients usually dreamed their greatest fears.
Could over a decade of hiding have dissolved with one illness?
"Easy, Watson. You are alright." Some of my unease must have bled into my expression, as that familiar hand gently squeezed. "You are safe here. I swear."
His words did nothing for my increasing grief and alarm. I would have to leave, have to flee for my freedom. Holmes would never accept my stories of the beings that inhabited our world, and I could only hope he would give me the chance to recover before calling the authorities. I would never escape the asylum in my current condition.
"I will not do that, whatever you are thinking. You are safe here." Something tugged my toe, and Holmes readjusted again. "Ah. No, Little One. You leave that alone."
Small hops across the foot of my bed announced the presence of a rabbit, but Holmes did nothing more than shoo it to the other side of the mattress. Alarm abruptly faded behind confusion. Why was he so calm?
"I see that, Watson. Open your eyes."
"Do you have a pet in here?"
The memory flickered to life, bringing understanding with it. That stubborn rabbit had gotten itself caught, but Holmes had apparently decided I had gotten a pet without telling him.
"Open your eyes, Watson. Your small friend has not left me alone since you fell sick. The creature seems very interested in having you back."
He had. He had decided the animal was my pet. I preferred that over him discovering the truth, of course, but now I had to pretend the thing belonged to me. They hated that. I would not be able to write for months.
"However did you teach the creature to bring items from your medical bag?" His hand jerked suddenly, and something thumped to the floor. "It has very good aim."
They did, indeed. Some liked to throw my pen at me before they let me catch them. I had failed to duck more than once, ending up with the utensil's imprint on my face.
Why would it throw anything at Holmes?
"Watson?"
My eyes finally obeyed my commands to open, and his other hand cupped mine as I blinked at the ceiling.
"Watson, can you hear me?"
My vision took another moment to focus, but I slowly looked toward him. He made no effort to hide his relief.
"Do you know where you are?"
I nodded. An attempt to swallow nearly started me coughing, and I flicked my eyes towards the water on my end table. He helped me sip nearly half the glass before I managed a question.
"What…'appened?" Memory flickered, recalling travel plans, writing, and a fatigue headache. "What day 's it?"
"You have been sick for two days," he answered. "It is morning on the third day."
"Th'—conference."
"Easy." He gently stopped my attempt to sit up. "Your friend wired shortly after I found you. His reply conveyed well wishes and a promise to meet another time."
I gradually relaxed back into the pillow, resuming my slow sips from the glass Holmes still held. Even if I could make it to the station, I was in no condition to teach my class. I would have to earn the money in other ways.
"Found me?" I eventually repeated.
He nodded. "A noise sent me looking for an intruder. You had buried yourself in the blankets, and I did not realize you were still home until you reacted to my presence."
An intruder. I reflexively glanced at my wardrobe but continued the motion toward the locked window.
"You were alone," he confirmed. "I must have heard the building settle." I nearly choked, and he used a second pillow to help me sit up a bit more. "Why did you not say something?"
"Thought I w's just tired," I deflected as he set the empty glass aside, deciding not to admit the true cause behind my recent lack of sleep. I ignored the fatigue-dropped vowel to eye the quivering rabbit on my bed.
I had been right. The creature was the same one that had escaped mid story, and irritation escaped in a faint scowl. We would have words later for getting itself caught.
"Does it have a name?"
"No." Not one that he would understand, anyway.
The creature heard my silent correction easily enough, but that did not prevent the half-hearted growl from rumbling my covers. The animal waited for Holmes to look questioningly at me before it disappeared, reappearing a moment later with the first page of my notes held in its teeth.
Put that back!
The creature paid me no mind, carefully hopping the page to Holmes, and I pushed myself off the pillows. He did not need the clue contained on that piece of paper.
My grab missed horribly.
"Watson!"
The room rotated around me, dipping and whirling like a drunken top, and I slumped sideways. The incriminating paper fluttered to the floor as Holmes barely caught me before I fell off the bed. That had been a foolish thing to try.
"Watson?"
My clumsy grip on his arm confirmed that I was still awake, but several moments passed before the room stopped spinning. Holmes knelt by my bed, one hand still tabbing my pulse, when I opened my eyes.
"What do you need?"
I shook my head, closing my eyes for another moment when the action renewed the vertigo.
"Watson, are you about to faint?"
"No."
The word came out barely audible, but the line of concern in his forehead had relaxed when I focused on him yet again.
"Sorry."
He waved aside the apology, still studying me. "Why do you not want me to look at your notes?"
I grimaced. Lack of surprise did not mean I had wanted him to accurately identify my actions. "Don't worry about it. Just put it on my desk. Please."
The rabbit let out a growl, and Holmes looked between us.
"I think it wants me to read it," he noted, "but I do not know why."
"Because it's a stubborn thing," I answered over the silent threats I directed at the confounded animal. I wondered more how he could so calmly note that the animal understood us, but Holmes replaced the page without complaint.
"Did it learn that from you?" he asked as he resumed his chair.
I huffed, unable to kill a small smile at the ribbing. "No. Rabbits are notoriously stubborn—and mischievous. That one delights in making a nuisance of itself."
"How long has it been here?"
I shrugged. "Month or two. I hope it did not find your chemistry set?"
"The only time it left your room was to come get me," he quickly reassured me. "The creature tried to alert me to your illness."
What on earth—
I halted the thought, staring at him. What could have possessed the animal to seek out Holmes?!
"It placed itself directly on my notes," he told me, apparently overlooking my incredulous surprise. "I thought at first that Mrs. Hudson had gotten a pet."
That was more likely than that I had gotten a pet. I had no wish to care for an animal—more because I was too busy with other things than a lack of interest in the companionship—but I would not have expected the creature to alert anyone, much less Holmes. Most rabbits cared only about their own story. Anything that did not pertain to development, the chase, or the writing was best left alone, in their world. They did not get sick, and my illness was simply an inconvenience to endure, not an excuse to seek out the one person I expressly ordered each of them to avoid.
"It would not let me catch it," he continued when I made no answer, "but I found you a few minutes later. It has stayed nearby ever since." Strange noises carried from the small mound, and he checked on the animal beginning a nest in my covers. "How did it learn to—vanish?…"
He continued, searching for the right word and adding something about searching my books, but I did not hear. I could not hear above the wave of fear and horror washing over me. He had seen it disappear. The animal had sought him, aligned itself to me, and then refused to act like a normal rabbit. He was not asking about a pet. He was stalling, waiting for the hospital staff to arrive, and I would never make it out once in their custody. I needed to get out of here, needed to escape this bed before—
"Watson, listen to me."
The placid words pierced the terror overtaking me. I found myself firmly pinned to the mattress, his hands on my shoulders holding me in place despite my feeble attempts to break free.
"You are safe, Watson. I swear. Calm yourself before you do yourself harm."
"You are not sending me there," I replied, still fighting. "I'll leave today, tomorrow, whenever you want, but you are not sending me there."
"I am not sending you anywhere. You are in no shape to get out of bed."
He pushed too hard on my left shoulder, abruptly releasing when I flinched, and I ducked his other hand only to limply impact the covers. The room needed to stop spinning so I could leave.
"You are going to cause a relapse."
I did not care, provided I could escape before it hit, but the room refused to hold still. He was going to keep me here, trap me until the officials arrived. The next time I woke, I would find myself in a cell. I would be locked away as a danger to the public, unable to write or even see the sun for however little time I had remaining. Just the thought stole my breath in fear.
I should have fled when he started getting curious.
Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review :)
Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter! PrinceJai, I am curious as to whether your wish will change with info found in this chapter and the next.
