They were going to die. They were both thinking it, but neither said anything, just kept moving through the snow one step at a time, going in the direction they hoped was right. Holmes walked ahead, weaving through the trees and breaking a path for Watson to follow. The doctor moved slower, his limp pronounced and his wounded arm held stiffly. They went on steadily as the sun set and night encroached upon them.

It was full dark when Holmes began to despair of finding a place where they could shelter for the night, much less actually making it back to town. He paused, his sluggish brain finally realizing Watson had fallen far behind. He turned, saw his friend was hardly moving now, his head down and both arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Holmes said nothing, only doubled back and took one of Watson's arms, pulling it over his shoulder. He didn't know if he was hurting him, but doubted Watson was even feeling it if he was: they were both too numb for that.

Holmes dragged himself and Watson along as far as he could. His eyes stung from cold, his lungs ached, his limbs were heavy, and the weight of Watson was almost too much. His strength was spent, and his hope was dashed. He was nearly ready to give up, but he wouldn't. Not until Watson did, until Watson's stumbling footsteps ceased altogether and he found he was dragging a corpse. Then, he would lay down and die beside him, but not before. As long as Watson still tried to live, so would he.

That was when he saw the cabin. It was an old game warden's cabin, long since abandoned. "Watson," Holmes said, shaking his companion slightly. "Just a little bit longer. Rally your strength, man!"

Watson looked up. "Let's go, then," he groaned.

They trekked on, a renewed vigor in each step. Holmes pulled Watson into the cabin and leaned him against the wall.

"Stay upright, Watson," he commanded as sharply as he could. "It may take me some time to make a fire. I think there are some suitable logs outside, but they'll be wet."

"I'll… do something," Watson murmured unsteadily.

Holmes nodded. "Do."

Holmes found a few large chunks of wet wood not too far into the woods and brought them in. He looked for something dry to burn and saw a couple abandoned chairs near the doorway. He quickly broke them, loading the pieces into a disused fireplace. It was filthy, but he didn't bother to clean it. If he accidentally burned the cabin to the ground, then at least they wouldn't die of cold.

"Paper?" he asked, looking around to find Watson was still where he'd left him.

Watson fumbled, opening his jacket with a shaking hand and tossing his journal to Holmes. Holmes ripped some pages out of the back, crumbling them quickly, and using them to light the dry wood ablaze. Once the flames had caught, he took some large chunks of the chair and arranged them in such a way that they tented over the flames. Then, he was able to place some of the large, wet logs on top of that with their dry sides down so that they would be able to catch when the fire was hot enough. He loaded the fire up with all the rest of the small pieces of wood and hoped the larger logs would catch. He wasn't sure if he'd done it right, but he hoped.

"Good job," Watson praised, his voice cracking. Holmes stood, helped his friend kneel stiffly before the fire and aiding him in pulling off his wet gloves. Watson held his blue tinted fingers towards the flames and Holmes joined him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, shivering and trying to get warm. Finally, Watson shook himself.

"Here," he murmured, "take your outer layers off and lie down."

Holmes looked then, and saw that while he'd been making the fire Watson had been slowly covering broken windows and attempting to insulate them from the worst drafts. The cabin was still as cold inside as the temperature outside, but with any luck it would warm.

Watson had also found a small, bare army camp bed and brought it in front of the fire. There were only a few blankets, certainly not enough to keep the cold away, but perhaps enough to fend off hypothermia.

Holmes wanted to just go to sleep and bugger anything else, but his clothes were wet and Watson was quite correct. They needed to come off if he didn't want to catch hypothermia.

He fumbled with his jacket, and Watson helped him pull it off. He returned the favor and they hung their wet clothes on a coat rack Watson had found in a corner. They each removed their wet trousers, too, and stood shivering in their woolen undergarments, but at least they were shivering. Holmes reached to put his boots back on, but Watson stopped him.

"Don't," he stuttered. "It will cut your circulation while you sleep." Watson placed both of their boots near the fire so they could dry as well. They stayed near the fire, taking turns warming their extremities with the other's body heat. The wet logs began to catch, and Holmes carefully arranged the rest of the wood he'd gathered, hoping it would burn though the night.

After an hour or so, Holmes gestured to the camp bed. "You sleep there so you're off the floor," he said. "It will be warmer. I will sleep before the fire."

Watson chuckled weakly. "We are at risk of dying of cold tonight, Holmes," he murmured. "If you can deal with human contact for one night, I'd be happy to have your company."

"I was trying to be gracious," Holmes pointed out.

"I understand," Watson replied, touching his arm. "And I appreciate it. Now lay down, I'm freezing. Besides, it's Biblical."

"It is?" Holmes asked as he lay down.

"It is. It's Ecclesiastes. One of my favorite passages, the one about how two are better than one. 'When two lie down together, they keep warm, but one can't keep warm alone.'"

"That's nice," Holmes said, trying to make room for Watson. "How does the rest of it go?"

Watson lay next to him. "Two are better than one," he said softly, trying to hide how badly his body was shaking from cold even though Holmes was trembling, too. "Two are better than one," he repeated, "because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep each other warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

"Who would our third strand be, Watson?" Holmes murmured.

"Your brother?"

Holmes huffed a laugh. "What about Inspector Lestrade?"

"Inspector Hopkins?" Watson offered, amusement in his tired voice.

Holmes was amused, too. "He wishes!"

"I know who! Mrs. Hudson!"

"If Mrs. Hudson were here, she would have never let ourselves get into this mess," Holmes pointed out.

"I suppose that's true."

"Should we be staying awake?" Holmes asked with a yawn.

"Yes. But you're shivering?"

"Yes."

"And you weren't before?"

"I… don't think so. Shivering stopped a few hours ago, then started again."

"Then it likely means you're warming. I think we'll both be alright to get a little rest, especially since we're going to need our strength to get out of here."

Holmes let his friend rest his head on his shoulder. "I'll stay up as long as I can. Goodnight, Watson," he sighed.

"Goodnight," Watson murmured, and Holmes did as he promised. He used the last of his strength to stay up long enough to ensure they really were warming instead of freezing before falling fast asleep himself.

He woke to find the last logs from his fire slowly being consumed by the hot coals. He blinked lazily at the embers, watching them dance for a moment before realizing his clothes were dry and had been laid over him for warmth. Watson was gone, but that was no mystery for long.

"Holmes?" Watson called, coming back into the cabin as Holmes had finished dressing. "Come on. I've been out, and I'm sure I know which way to go now. We were right last night, and the town's not far. With any luck, we'll make it in time for a very late breakfast. With even more luck, we'll be in time to help your client."

"Thank you, Watson," Holmes said.

"Thank you," Watson said sincerely. "For saving us."

"We saved us, Watson," Holmes said. "Just like we always do.'

"Pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up," Watson murmured.

"Do you know what else is Biblical, Watson?" Holmes mused, "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." He laid his hand on Watson's arm. "Are you ready?"

Watson nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

For the prompt from goodpenmanship: lost in the forest.