Prompt from Sparky Dorian: 11. Blizzard.

I shivered in my saddle and allowed my mount to slow his pace. The snow that had been falling lightly when Holmes and I had left the inn in search of further data for my companion's case (though what even Sherlock Holmes could find on that bleak, snow-coated moor in such conditions I could not imagine) had become a disorientating, vision-reducing blizzard within half an hour. My face was numb with the cold and my leg and shoulder pained me dreadfully with each gentle step of the stallion.

Ahead of me, I could see that my friend's shoulders were hunched and that his head was slightly bowed; he was as cold and miserable as myself.

I shivered again and then sneezed.

"Yes, all right Watson; I know that it is cold," Holmes snarled at me over his shoulder as if I had just voiced a complaint.

His words and tone hurt me much more than they should have done, for I knew that his reaction was most likely borne out of concern and frustration rather than anger aimed at me.

I sniffed quietly. "I am sorry Holmes. It is hardly a thing that I can control."

"No indeed. My apologies old fellow."

He slowed his horse so that we were riding side by side. I could see now that he was also shivering violently. I privately cursed the wretched weather and asked myself why my friend had insisted upon venturing out into it as we rode on in silence.

"I should not have dragged you out in this with me."

The words were so quiet I might have imagined them. I turned to frown at my companion.

"Your wounds are hurting you," he added in a tone that sounded much too detached to be spoken by the lips that shared a face with his concerned and searching eyes.

I sniffed again. "They always do in cold weather; you know that."

He nodded and fell silent again. Thus we continued for what might have been an eternity as the snow soaked our clothes and lashed our exposed faces.

I was becoming tired and dizzy. Most likely, this was due to exposure to the elements but I was convinced that it was merely from straining to see through the whirling snowflakes. I caused Holmes to jump when I sneezed a second time and the fellow addressed me with a sharp glare.

"What is it? Are you unwell?"

I shook my head and attempted to find a rather more comfortable position in the saddle. "It is only the cold air, I am sure."

He muttered something beneath his breath that was muffled by the snowflakes.

Just when I was beginning to succumb to weariness Holmes gave a little cry.

"Do you see that Watson? Do you see it?" he asked excitedly.

I peered through the swirling mass of white and the sudden gloom but could make out nothing. I shook my head tiredly and admitted that it was becoming too dark for me to see even the snowflakes before me.

"Don't give up now!" he shouted at me with such unexpected volume that I gave a start. "Watson! There is a building ahead! Shelter old fellow. Even if it is only a barn, it is something. Can you hurry your mount?"

It was not the horse that had decided to reduce our speed and I admitted as much.

"Damn! Watson, you told me that you were not unwell."

"I am not!" I protested. "I am only cold."

He snorted with exasperation and snatched my reins from me. "Hum! 'only cold' indeed! You are deucedly maddening when you wish it. Hold on old chap - for goodness sake see that you stay in the saddle."

With that we were moving along at a canter, which soon became a gallop. I might have felt considerably more sympathy for the poor cold and weary horses that we rode on were I not so tired and had I not ached so terribly with every movement of my mount.

Though I did my utmost to remain alert, exhaustion must have taken its toll. I do recall being jostled for what seemed an eternity and then we came to an abrupt halt.

"By Jove!" Holmes slid from the back of his horse and came to my side, shaking his head. "We must have gone around in a wide circle! We are back where we started. Well, at least we shall not have to risk getting lost trying to find our way back again at any rate! Can you get down? You must be dreadfully stiff. Allow me to assist you."

My companion quickly saw that the horses were well tended to and then lead me inside. He deposited me somewhat unceremoniously into an armchair and pushed it up close to the fire, which was burning brightly.

"Something warming," I heard him say to himself. "Watson, remove that wet coat and your shoes and warm yourself. Do not fall asleep; your very life may depend on it."

Sherlock Holmes does not say such things lightly and so I did my utmost to obey. All the same, I was dreadfully tired and found it increasingly difficult to keep my heavy eyelids from sliding shut.

"Watson! Watson, wake up! You must wake up!"

I groaned and forced one eye to open. "What?"

He thrust a cup to my lips. "Drink this. Well, if it is not too hot."

I tentatively sipped at it. It was hot and I grimaced.

"Hum. You are much too cold. I thought as much when I observed that you had ceased to shiver. This drink is really not as hot as it seems to you."

When I did begin to shiver, Holmes took it as a good sign and escorted me up to the little room that we had been forced to hire for the duration of our stay. I was too weary and my fingers too numb to undo my clothing; much to my chagrin and annoyance, my friend was forced to assist me and put me to bed. He then prepared himself and curled up behind me. Despite his concern, his skin was not very much warmer than mine and I was suddenly glad that the fellow had requested extra blankets.

Now that I knew that my companion was most likely in danger due to the terrible cold to which we had been subjected himself, it was not so difficult for me to keep myself awake and talking.

I believe that we mostly spoke nonsense. We both did a lot of laughing, I seem to recall. It is difficult to keep from smiling when Holmes is in the mood for joking. I soon felt very much improved and I believe that he did too.