Story beta'd by BrokenKestral
This is the story referenced in Bah! Humbug 5: Vigils
"You should not have come after me."
"You should know better than to think I wouldn't."
"Someone's coming."
The furtive whisper barely carried through the rapidly falling snow, and Holmes ducked further behind the bushes. Their target was not supposed to arrive for another thirty minutes. Who would travel this part of town so late at night?
Muffled footsteps sounded just ahead, and a shape appeared out of the white. A familiar silhouette took the street at a limping run, aiming straight for the bushes just left of where Holmes crouched.
"Watson!" he hissed when the shape grew close enough, and his friend changed direction to dive behind Holmes' cover. "What are you doing here?!" He had purposely not alerted his friend to this stakeout. Watson should not have even known where to find him.
"This is a trap!" Watson whispered, urgency lacing every word. "The gang knows you're here!"
An ice far sharper than the type building on the streets shot through him. They had set an ambush to catch one of the more violent gangs terrorizing the docks, but there were far too many access points for the gang to use as their own ambush.
"Lestrade!" he called as loudly as he dared, and the shape three bushes away turned to look then crawled slightly closer. Holmes quickly relayed Watson's words, and Lestrade's face stilled as he hurried towards the others. He would get the warning out, and Holmes turned back to Watson, intending to tell him to leave. It was far too cold outside for someone currently prone to hyperthermia; Watson was already shivering despite running from Baker Street.
Watson's gaze focused behind him, and his eyes widened.
"Behind!"
The warning cut off Holmes' words, and he spun, blocking the heavy punch aimed at his head and returning one of his own. Figures poured from the alley behind them, and the attacker went down only for another to take his place. Another back landed against his, Watson's shivering noticeable even through the tenuous contact. They needed to end this quickly.
Shadows filled the street, discernible only by shape and the occasional gleam of badge or weapon as the Yarders fought to turn the ambush back on the gang. Even the moment's warning had made the difference, and one by one, their attackers fell to the ground, dazed. Silence reigned within a few minutes.
"Watson?" Holmes asked immediately.
His friend waved an acknowledgement but said nothing, clenching his jaw as he scanned the shapes moving through the storm to ensure there were no injuries.
"Come." Holmes moved closer, grasping Watson's trembling arm. "The Yard's doctor can handle any problems."
Watson scowled but followed Holmes away from the Yarders, and Holmes smothered a frown. He had expected at least a token protest, and he did not like how violently Watson was shivering—or that he was beginning to stumble instead of limp. Holmes moved quickly, dragging more than leading Watson toward the flat and warmth. After nearly drowning the previous spring, Watson had displayed a worrying sensitivity to cold that had already sent him into dangerous hypothermia once. They needed to get out of the storm.
A familiar door finally loomed out of the blowing white, and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the entry as the door closed behind them.
"Doctor," she greeted, her expression conveying the worry her words did not when the lamplight illuminated Watson's bluing lips.
"A fresh pot of tea," Holmes ordered on the way toward the stairs, taking Watson's arm more firmly when his friend's leg nearly buckled, "hot water bottles, and a hot toddy, if you can. Are the extra blankets still in the same place?"
"Yes," she answered as she turned away. Her footsteps hurried back into the kitchen, and Holmes helped Watson slowly climb the stairs, the doctor fighting his violent shivering for every step.
Only Holmes' grip on his arm prevented Watson from falling as he stumbled across the room, and he pulled a blanket over himself as he sat heavily on the settee. A minute later, Holmes looked up from building the fire to find Watson relaxing further into the cushions, his eyes closed.
"Stay awake!" The words came out in something close to a snap, and Holmes leaped to his feet, shaking Watson's shoulder as his friend forcefully opened his eyes.
"Right," Watson mumbled around chattering teeth, gaze looking through the floor as he tried to wrap the blanket tighter. "S-sorry. Tired."
Holmes went back to building the fire, though he watched his friend almost more than he watched what he was doing. Watson kept his eyes open, however, sitting hunched but upright on the settee as violent tremors shook him beneath the thick blanket he had draped over his shoulders.
Mrs. Hudson bustled through the door as Holmes finished with the fire, setting a tea tray on the closest end table even as she glanced worriedly at where Watson shivered on the settee.
"Anything else, Mr. Holmes?" she asked when Watson gave no notice to her presence.
Holmes shook his head, and she left as he gained his feet. Grabbing a nearby blanket, he helped Watson readjust to lay beneath both layers. One hot water bottle went on either side of his chest, and three more blankets soon draped over the first two.
"Tryin' t' bury me?" Watson mumbled, readjusting under the weight though he stared blearily through the wall. "No' ready yet."
Relief at the humor fought with worry at how much the words slurred, and Holmes placed the final water bottle near Watson's stomach.
"You should not have come after me."
Watson gripped the blankets, nearly stretching them as he tried to wrap them tighter. "Headed into a trap," he replied slowly, obviously aware enough to realize that the last sentence had been slurred though his gaze remained unfocused. "'Course I'm comin' after you."
"How did you find us?"
Watson readjusted again. "Flat was closer th'n home," he answered, struggling to keep his eyes open but successfully enunciating most of his words. "Needed…out of the storm, but no one answered th' door. Block 'way when Irregular found me, looking for you."
Holmes made no effort to hide his scowl. "You have a key. Use it."
Watson twitched his shoulder in what could have been a shrug—or a spasm. "Would've been fine t' get home. Just uncomfortable. An' it let me reach you sooner."
That block had probably been a walk of several minutes in this weather, and those few minutes were the difference in Watson's warning arriving barely in time or not at all. Holmes' safety was not worth Watson' health, however, and Holmes made no reply, studying his friend in the firelight.
"'M fine, Holmes," Watson told him when the silence stretched too long. "I feel warmer already, and m' shivering is slowing."
His violent shivering was finally beginning to slow, and the difficulty speaking could be more fatigue than cold. Perhaps they had avoided the more dangerous stages of hypothermia, but that did not change the truth of Holmes' statement.
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