A/N: Combined the 5th and 6th Dec prompts together, rather than splitting this chapter into 2. Enjoy!
From mrspencil: footprints in the snow
From mrspencil: cracked ice
"It is astounding how such an intelligent man can be so utterly stupid."
Lestrade doesn't think he was meant to hear that, so doesn't comment on Doctor Watson's grumbling, which continues in a similar vein as they trudge together through the heavy snow. The two sets of footprints they follow are swiftly disappearing under the thick flakes, and time is of the essence.
There had been an unexpected scuffle at the end of the latest case, which Lestrade had brought to Holmes and Watson's attention just over a fortnight ago. The culprit had turned as Lestrade went to cuff him, landing a mean right hook that sent the Yarder to the ground. As Watson went to Lestrade, Holmes ran in hot pursuit of the criminal. It was a dramatic conclusion, the kind Lestrade is sure would go down a treat with the readers of the Strand were Watson inclined to publish the case - but that all depends on if they can get Holmes back safe and sound.
"Stupid, bloody idiot." Watson's pushing through his limp, half-jogging half-walking, and Lestrade wonders how long he can keep this up with his old injuries. Small mercies, the snow is at least starting to let up. "If he's not dead when we find him, I'm going to kill him."
The culprit in question, Lord Burling, has extensive grounds. At the beginning of the case he told them the square footage, but Lestrade has long since forgotten the figure. Burling was boasting, a fact made even more despicable given that the grounds were where they eventually found his missing wife. The wife he himself had murdered. It is these grounds they now track him through.
Lestrade's temple throbs where Burling struck him earlier, but he knows Watson will recklessly push on no matter what. So he pushes on too and, when they finally reach Holmes a few minutes later, he is glad that he did.
"Holmes!"
He is sprawled on the frozen surface of a lake, legs and arms akimbo in an attempt to distribute his weight. He looks up at Watson's bellow of his name, calls back,
"Don't come onto the ice!"
The reason why is immediately clear. A web of dark cracks have formed at the centre of the lake, just a few feet in front of Holmes and, in the largest of these cracks, Burling's corpse bobs half in and half out of the frigid water.
"Dear God," Lestrade murmurs and he'd probably say worse, but Watson has just surged forward. "Doctor Watson, you can't go out there!"
Watson growls in frustration, hovers on the very edge of the water. "You're a bloody fool!"
Holmes ignores him, is already pulling himself forward inch by inch. The ice cracks behind him with every move he makes and Watson shrugs out of his overcoat, crouches down and flings it out onto the ice for when Holmes is close enough to grab it. Holmes speeds up when he sees the coat, just a few feet in front of him, and the ice cracks louder and faster behind him. Lestrade sees what is about to happen too late. Holmes seizes the sleeve and Watson starts to pull, but his leg - already strained from the journey through the snow - buckles and sends him toppling forward onto the ice. With a final resounding crack, both men are plunged into the water.
And Lestrade's head is throbbing but he ignores it, glad again that he came with Watson, because now the detective can pull them both back to safety and to solid ground.