Heedless of the man trailing behind him, Holmes strode through the deep snow, feeling the biting cold as it soaked through his trousers. In places, it was nearly three feet deep; such had been the level of fall over the past few days. The dark spot that his keen eyes had detected from the distance of the house now grew closer; becoming more familiar, a more welcome sight… Holmes closed the distance quickly, and reached out…
"Watson!" he exclaimed, "My dear fellow…"
His delight soon gave way to trepidation; for although he had only been out on the moor for a couple of hours, Watson was horribly pale, almost blue with cold, and he stumbled forwards with awkward, shuffling steps, as if he no longer remembered how to walk.
"H-H-Holmes?" he stuttered out, through clenched teeth.
"Yes, Watson," Holmes grabbed him quickly, supporting him, looping one of the doctor's arms over his own thin shoulders, "come on, old chap; we need to get you warmed up…"
"H-Holmes," Watson stammered, feebly, "I-I-I s-s-saw him…"
"Hush, Watson," Holmes chided him, doing his best to hurry back towards the warmth of the Hall, "save your strength… Sir Henry! Your assistance, if you would be so kind!"
"Good God," Sir Henry caught up with them, and, thinking quickly, took off his overcoat and fastened it around Watson, even as he took the doctor's other arm over his shoulders.
Between Holmes and Sir Henry, they managed to half-drag, half-carry the semi-conscious doctor back into the house, where a shocked Barrymore was waiting for them.
"I'll have my wife bring hot drinks, sir," he said, quickly, "there's a good fire blazing in the sitting room – I'll fetch some blankets."
The butler quickly disappeared, as Holmes and Sir Henry carried Watson into the sitting room. Sir Henry dragged the couch closer to the fire, whereupon Holmes gently laid Watson down, taking one of the doctor's hands in his.
"He is hypothermic," Holmes frowned, "we must get him warmed up – and quickly!"
"Mr Holmes…" there was an edge of worry in Sir Henry's voice, enough to cause Holmes to glance up enquiringly, "… I'm fairly sure that this isn't my blood…"
Holmes saw the red mark on the other man's shirt, and repressed the urge to swear.
"Watson? Watson, can you hear me? You must stay awake!" Holmes called, to the unresponsive doctor.
Barrymore reappeared, with an armful of blankets, which were quickly shaken out and wrapped around Watson, who remained only semi-aware throughout.
"Give him a little brandy!" Sir Henry cried, "Surely that will warm him?"
Holmes ignored the other man as he sat on the edge of the sofa beside his half-frozen friend, and took Watson's right hand in both of his, horrified by the icy chill he felt in the fingers. His keen gaze travelled up Watson's arm, noting the tear in his jacket and the bloodstains, taking in the pallor of his face, blue-tinged lips, and the dark, livid bruise to his temple.
"S-s-s-saw him," Watson suddenly hissed, through clenched teeth, "H-Holmes, I s-s-saw him…"
"Who, Watson? Who did you see?"
Watson turned to him, shivering, a fearful expression on his face; "S-S-Stapleton!"
~*~