The Freezing Moor
I shivered in my saddle and allowed my mount to slow its 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.
The chill in the air was causing my nose to run and I sniffed quietly, my hands too numb to release the rein of my horse to take up my handkerchief. "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 into these dreadful conditions 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 remain in your 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 as I sneezed a third time. "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. Even with my eyes open, I could not force my numb fingers to respond and unfastening buttons and untying shoes was beyond my capabilities.
"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 certainly was hot and I grimaced as it burned my tongue and throat as I swallowed.
"Hum. You are indeed 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."
Again I groaned and attempted to shiver, if only to reassure the fellow. Perhaps I simply no longer had the energy, for I was quite exhausted and could feel sleep beginning to pull at me again.
"Stay awake," my friend ordered. Perhaps it was only the imagination of a weary mind, but his voice seemed to shake with an emotion somewhere close to panic. "Please Watson, stay awake and talk to me. What are you feeling like?"
"Sleepy," said I simply. "Terribly sleepy."
He snorted impatiently and took to sitting upon the arm of my chair, despite the many curious stares that we must surely have already been attracting. "Hot? Cold? Any discomforts at all?"
I sniffed miserably. "I do have a headache. And of course I am cold Holmes - we have just been through a bloody blizzard!"
My dry throat was also beginning to tickle or perhaps itch as well, but I did not want to risk coughing as the dreadful ache in my head was causing me to become somewhat nauseous. Again I expressed a desire to sleep, believing that rest might be enough to soothe my head and cure the building nausea.
"You cannot sleep until I say otherwise," my companion told me firmly. "Do try to think of something else."
I groaned miserably, wondering whether I should inform the irksome fellow that if I did not I suspected that I would succumb to physical sickness.
He nodded and rested a hand upon my shoulder. "I know. I know that you are unwell. I should never have allowed you to accompany me and I promise you that I shall put this right. Just..." he leaned in closer to me, so that only I could hear him. "Just hold on please. I would be lost without my Boswell."
I gave him a slight nod and concentrated on controlling my protesting stomach, for I somehow had interpreted his instruction of 'hold on' to be an order to refrain from vomiting and not to remain awake and living.
I know not for how long we remained in that snug, close to the fire, but I remember becoming aware of Holmes' violent shivering shortly before my teeth started to chatter, my limbs to quake uncontrollably and a terrible chill to settle within my very bones.
"Ah, good," the detective remarked through his own chattering teeth. "You are at last thawing. Come along old fellow, we should get you into bed. Landlord! Two hot toddies with a generous helping of honey - and all the rugs that you can spare for room three please. Thank you."
Holmes half dragged me up the stairs and into the little twin room that we had hired upon arrival. It was small but clean and presentable, although the only source of warmth were the oil lamps and candles that we were provided with. My companion muttered darkly as he fumbled to light the lanterns and then he hastily found some dry clothes (fresh shirt, weskit, trousers and jacket) for us both.
"I should have brought you here before the cold made me so utterly useless," he grumbled as he helped me out of my wet clothes and into the dry ones as fast as his tremors permitted him.
I groaned and sniffed. "At least you still have the use of your fingers," I muttered in response.
He chuckled. "Yes, let us be thankful for small mercies. Into bed with you Watson."
I almost did so gladly, when my sluggish brain caught up and I remembered that I was now fully clothed in a fresh suit and naturally began to protest.
"Get into a bed Doctor," Holmes retorted with rather forced humour as he hurried to change his own clothes. "You must be warmed before you succumb to exposure - even now, you might go into shock. Choose a bed and get into it if you would be so good."
I had just pulled the blankets close to me as I curled into my bed when there was a knock at the door. Holmes hurriedly pulled on his dressing gown and fastened it about him before answering it.
"Ah! That is a very generous pile of rugs. Thank you, I shall take those. Set the drinks down anywhere please. Thank you. A sovereign each to the both of you for your kindness. Yes, I shall most certainly inform you should we require anything else."
He dismissed the visitors (the innkeeper's wife and son) quickly and then wrapped my quaking body with each blanket in turn, stopping only to scrutinise me and find a handkerchief from my belongings when I sneezed yet again, until I could barely shift at all beneath the weight. He then moved the drinks to the bedside cabinet and proceeded to scramble beneath the coverlets of my own bed, to press himself close to my side.
I would have protested under different circumstances, for there was nothing wrong with my companion's bed, but his hands were not so very much warmer than my own and he was shivering with almost as much vigour as I was. Any protestations that I had been about to voice became utterly ridiculous when I realised that the fellow must have been in as much discomfort as I was and that he had very selflessly preferred my own needs despite the fact that he had most certainly been much more aware of his discomforts than I had been of mine or else would not have acted upon the requirements of either of us.
"I am so very sorry Holmes," I began quietly as the fellow assisted me in sitting up and tentatively sipping at the heated whisky, honey and lemon drink. It was terribly sweet - not at all how I would usually take a hot toddy - but I voiced no complaint, for Holmes does not like sweetened drinks any more than I do and I know him well enough to be aware that he does nothing without good reason.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked as he watched me with concern.
My nose was still troubling me and I groaned and sniffed, which only caused the receding pain within my head to flare again. "I am sorry that I did not realise that I was suffering from exposure - that I failed to tell you as much..."
He smiled and hushed me. "It would have made very little difference old fellow - we were caught in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard severe enough to confuse even my sense of direction. Had I known that you were succumbing to exposure, I might have panicked and lead us further onto the moor, where we would both have likely perished. No, no. Do not apologise."
Even now, I am not quite sure that Holmes actually did say those words, for my mind was muddled and still on the edge of sleep. All the same, I drew comfort from them as I allowed my companion to tend to us both.
"Are you feeling any better?" my friend asked of me, pulling me back, once again, from the very brink of slumber. He was studying my fingers and it occurs to me now as I reflect on his behaviour that the fellow was most likely watching for signs of frostbite.
"My head is not paining me quite as much now and I no longer feel as if I might vomit," I responded, quite forgetting that I had not mentioned my nausea.
He raised his eyebrows at my words. "The next time that you feel sick, I would be most grateful if you tell me so a little sooner," he admonished me. "Some warning would be much appreciated."
Of course I apologised yet again and explained that I had thought that I had already mentioned it, to which the fellow merely tutted, gave me a wry smile and assured me that no harm had been done.
"And how exactly are you feeling now?" he asked while attempting to maintain a humorous façade.
"Better, I think. I am terribly cold though."
He nodded and drew closer to my side. "But what are you feeling like?"
"Do you honestly wish for me to catalogue my every complaint?"
He gave me another nod and a sly glare from the corner of his eye as he took a sip of his terribly sweet drink. "Ugh. You know that it is not in my habit to repeat myself - please do catalogue your many complaints."
"My complaints may not be as many as you think," I grumbled, causing him to give me another glare. On this occasion, he certainly did appear to intend for me to see it.
"I have a headache - which is not nearly as bad as it was - and some nausea, also receding. My leg and shoulder are both aching..."
My companion immediately pressed himself closer to me, so that his warmth - what little he could currently give - seeped into my paining shoulder.
"Thank you. That does help," I smiled at him. "I am all right Holmes - really."
"Hum. I do hope so Watson. You are quite sure that you are not becoming unwell?"
I nodded and sniffed again. My throat was still feeling uncomfortably dry, despite the drinks that Holmes had given to me, but I put that down to the Arctic air that I had been breathing and the scalding that my first sip of a warming drink had cost me.
"But how are you?" I asked with no small amount of concern.
He chuckled quietly. "I shall be all right - I have been out in far worse conditions and I have not become accustomed to the heat of Afghanistan. You need not concern yourself on my account - it is you that I am worried about. Hum! Perhaps I should request some hot water bottles for your old wounds before they take cold."
"I am all..." I interrupted myself with a violent sneeze that caused my head to swim dreadfully.
My companion immediately held me steady and then again took up my warming drink. "Your current condition would suggest that you are far from 'all right', as you must surely be aware Doctor. You are most certainly catching a cold at the very least. Now, drink this - it will help. It might even help to stop the sneezing."
I weakly attempted to push him away as I became irritated. "Your nose is also somewhat runny Holmes."
He immediately covered his nose with his hand, an expression of mortified horror springing unbidden to his eyes, as he set aside my cup. "Why did you not tell me?" he demanded to know as he rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief with his free hand.
"I thought that you knew," I retorted with a quiet moan.
The fellow addressed me with another of his irked glares as he dabbed at his nose. "Of course I did not - my wretched nose is numb!" he all but snarled at me in response to my words, which I must confess sound ridiculous to me now that I am not suffering with exhaustion and (more than likely) cold-induced shock. "Really Watson! Do you truly believe that I would ignore something like that?"
I shrugged my shoulder, feeling terribly aggravated. "I am exhausted and you will not allow me to sleep - surely even you cannot expect me to think clearly under the circumstances."
He lowered his eyes to again make a study of my hands, taking first one and then the other to closely inspect them in the light of the lamps. "No, I suppose not. My apologies."
Feeling utterly miserable, I groaned and wiped at my nose. "Can I please sleep? I do believe that it is the best defence against colds and chills, which would seem to be your main concern."
"Not yet," he grumbled, again taking up my cup to coax me to drink. "Not until I know that you are sufficiently recovered. We may not know very much about exposure and cold-induced shock, but I have heard accounts of men falling asleep and failing to awaken again after becoming severely chilled and I do not wish for such a fate to befall you. For God's sake remain wakeful!"
Such accounts were unheard of to me and I told my friend as much grumpily. "Where did you ever hear such horror stories?"
"On the Continent," my companion snapped. "And yes, I admit that the temperatures in mountainous regions and northern countries suffer much lower temperatures than we in Great Britain tend to experience but I know the warning signs Watson - I do not wish to risk losing you."
Even though I was terribly annoyed, something in his words caused me to cease my grumbling and to trust the fellow. Holmes would not usually refuse to allow me to rest when I was in such a condition and that alone was indication enough that he truly did fear that I was in danger.
With a somewhat weary sigh, Holmes pressed himself closer to me and slowly met my gaze. "This is boring."
I could not help but chuckle at his petulant tone and frustrated expression. "It was your suggestion that we take to bed and warm ourselves."
"It is necessary," he snapped at me in response before calming himself and permitting his face to relax into a smile. "Tell me Watson, did I ever tell you of the first case that I ever worked with Scotland Yard? It was a rather dull, common-place affair, but the tale might please you and help us to pass the time."
He told me of his first meeting with Lestrade, before he was an inspector, who was then a young man with plenty of ambition but sadly lacking in imagination. I soon found myself laughing at his descriptions of the man - indeed, Holmes really should take up his pen to write a story of his own one day, for he most certainly can tell a good tale when he so sets his mind to it.
When my companion's narrative drew to an end, he gazed at me with his analytical grey stare. "You should be quite out of danger and should quite probably try to sleep lest you develop a fever," said he. "I dare say I shall have need of you once this wretched weather abates."
"How is it," I mumbled sleepily as I at last prepared to succumb to my weariness, "that you make almost as good a doctor as you do a detective, while I would appear to be lacking in my own field almost as much as I am yours?"
"My dear Watson!"
I jerked once more into wakefulness and met his indignant and angry stare.
"What would you like for me to say, pray do enlighten me! That you are as dreadfully obtuse as your depiction of yourself in the Strand Magazine would have us all believe? That you are not even a competent doctor?"
"Perhaps. If that is the truth."
His eyes softened somewhat and he forced a smile to his lips. "I learned of the dangers of exposure to low temperatures while I was fending for myself. While we in Great Britain fear the onslaught of la grippe and perhaps pneumonia, our Continental cousins have learnt that exposure can be far more dangerous and that it can kill before the onset of so much as a sniffle - they have more incidents from which to learn and thus more knowledge at hand than you do Watson."
"It is not just my lack of knowledge in this field Holmes..."
He nodded and patted my wrist in a somewhat absent-minded fashion. "You are exhausted, more than likely ailing and so in turn a terrible melancholia is setting in. I have suffered such a reaction often enough to know the signs old fellow - sleep now and we shall see if that is enough to improve your health and spirits."
I could not say for how long I slept, for I was indeed exhausted, but I do know that Holmes remained at my side even after I was at last myself again.
The kindness that my dear friend can show to me when I am most in need has always baffled me. When I am well he can be most curt and hurtful to me, whether he intends to be or not, but when I am most likely to try the patience of any man due to my weaker constitution my friend will show time and again just how patient and solicitous he can be. He must truly value my company and what little service I can offer to him.
[Author's note(s)]Author's note(s): This story (or a shortened and, in my own opinion, rushed and not nearly as well finished version of it) appeared in my answer to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness 2013 . I was asked when I submitted it to my LiveJournal account to build upon it and this is the result. I hope that you have enjoyed it.
I have discovered (with the help of my dear Beta, researcher and - above all - friend) that hypothermia was not known about in Britain until the 1960s. Indeed, the Official Journal of the European Resuscitation Council's page on the History of Accidental Hypothermia says: "Death from exposure to cold has been recognised for thousands of years but hypothermia as a clinical condition was not generally recognised until the mid-20th century and then only in extreme conditions such as immersion in cold water or snow. In the UK, hypothermia in less extreme conditions was not generally recognised until the 1960s."
This meant that Watson would more than likely not know very much about hypothermia, while Holmes might have come to know more about it during his hiatus - which is just as well, seeing as one of them had to ensure that they would both recover and poor Watson was hardly up to par in any case.
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.
The chill in the air was causing my nose to run and I sniffed quietly, my hands too numb to release the rein of my horse to take up my handkerchief. "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 into these dreadful conditions 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 remain in your 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 as I sneezed a third time. "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. Even with my eyes open, I could not force my numb fingers to respond and unfastening buttons and untying shoes was beyond my capabilities.
"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 certainly was hot and I grimaced as it burned my tongue and throat as I swallowed.
"Hum. You are indeed 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."
Again I groaned and attempted to shiver, if only to reassure the fellow. Perhaps I simply no longer had the energy, for I was quite exhausted and could feel sleep beginning to pull at me again.
"Stay awake," my friend ordered. Perhaps it was only the imagination of a weary mind, but his voice seemed to shake with an emotion somewhere close to panic. "Please Watson, stay awake and talk to me. What are you feeling like?"
"Sleepy," said I simply. "Terribly sleepy."
He snorted impatiently and took to sitting upon the arm of my chair, despite the many curious stares that we must surely have already been attracting. "Hot? Cold? Any discomforts at all?"
I sniffed miserably. "I do have a headache. And of course I am cold Holmes - we have just been through a bloody blizzard!"
My dry throat was also beginning to tickle or perhaps itch as well, but I did not want to risk coughing as the dreadful ache in my head was causing me to become somewhat nauseous. Again I expressed a desire to sleep, believing that rest might be enough to soothe my head and cure the building nausea.
"You cannot sleep until I say otherwise," my companion told me firmly. "Do try to think of something else."
I groaned miserably, wondering whether I should inform the irksome fellow that if I did not I suspected that I would succumb to physical sickness.
He nodded and rested a hand upon my shoulder. "I know. I know that you are unwell. I should never have allowed you to accompany me and I promise you that I shall put this right. Just..." he leaned in closer to me, so that only I could hear him. "Just hold on please. I would be lost without my Boswell."
I gave him a slight nod and concentrated on controlling my protesting stomach, for I somehow had interpreted his instruction of 'hold on' to be an order to refrain from vomiting and not to remain awake and living.
I know not for how long we remained in that snug, close to the fire, but I remember becoming aware of Holmes' violent shivering shortly before my teeth started to chatter, my limbs to quake uncontrollably and a terrible chill to settle within my very bones.
"Ah, good," the detective remarked through his own chattering teeth. "You are at last thawing. Come along old fellow, we should get you into bed. Landlord! Two hot toddies with a generous helping of honey - and all the rugs that you can spare for room three please. Thank you."
Holmes half dragged me up the stairs and into the little twin room that we had hired upon arrival. It was small but clean and presentable, although the only source of warmth were the oil lamps and candles that we were provided with. My companion muttered darkly as he fumbled to light the lanterns and then he hastily found some dry clothes (fresh shirt, weskit, trousers and jacket) for us both.
"I should have brought you here before the cold made me so utterly useless," he grumbled as he helped me out of my wet clothes and into the dry ones as fast as his tremors permitted him.
I groaned and sniffed. "At least you still have the use of your fingers," I muttered in response.
He chuckled. "Yes, let us be thankful for small mercies. Into bed with you Watson."
I almost did so gladly, when my sluggish brain caught up and I remembered that I was now fully clothed in a fresh suit and naturally began to protest.
"Get into a bed Doctor," Holmes retorted with rather forced humour as he hurried to change his own clothes. "You must be warmed before you succumb to exposure - even now, you might go into shock. Choose a bed and get into it if you would be so good."
I had just pulled the blankets close to me as I curled into my bed when there was a knock at the door. Holmes hurriedly pulled on his dressing gown and fastened it about him before answering it.
"Ah! That is a very generous pile of rugs. Thank you, I shall take those. Set the drinks down anywhere please. Thank you. A sovereign each to the both of you for your kindness. Yes, I shall most certainly inform you should we require anything else."
He dismissed the visitors (the innkeeper's wife and son) quickly and then wrapped my quaking body with each blanket in turn, stopping only to scrutinise me and find a handkerchief from my belongings when I sneezed yet again, until I could barely shift at all beneath the weight. He then moved the drinks to the bedside cabinet and proceeded to scramble beneath the coverlets of my own bed, to press himself close to my side.
I would have protested under different circumstances, for there was nothing wrong with my companion's bed, but his hands were not so very much warmer than my own and he was shivering with almost as much vigour as I was. Any protestations that I had been about to voice became utterly ridiculous when I realised that the fellow must have been in as much discomfort as I was and that he had very selflessly preferred my own needs despite the fact that he had most certainly been much more aware of his discomforts than I had been of mine or else would not have acted upon the requirements of either of us.
"I am so very sorry Holmes," I began quietly as the fellow assisted me in sitting up and tentatively sipping at the heated whisky, honey and lemon drink. It was terribly sweet - not at all how I would usually take a hot toddy - but I voiced no complaint, for Holmes does not like sweetened drinks any more than I do and I know him well enough to be aware that he does nothing without good reason.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked as he watched me with concern.
My nose was still troubling me and I groaned and sniffed, which only caused the receding pain within my head to flare again. "I am sorry that I did not realise that I was suffering from exposure - that I failed to tell you as much..."
He smiled and hushed me. "It would have made very little difference old fellow - we were caught in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard severe enough to confuse even my sense of direction. Had I known that you were succumbing to exposure, I might have panicked and lead us further onto the moor, where we would both have likely perished. No, no. Do not apologise."
Even now, I am not quite sure that Holmes actually did say those words, for my mind was muddled and still on the edge of sleep. All the same, I drew comfort from them as I allowed my companion to tend to us both.
"Are you feeling any better?" my friend asked of me, pulling me back, once again, from the very brink of slumber. He was studying my fingers and it occurs to me now as I reflect on his behaviour that the fellow was most likely watching for signs of frostbite.
"My head is not paining me quite as much now and I no longer feel as if I might vomit," I responded, quite forgetting that I had not mentioned my nausea.
He raised his eyebrows at my words. "The next time that you feel sick, I would be most grateful if you tell me so a little sooner," he admonished me. "Some warning would be much appreciated."
Of course I apologised yet again and explained that I had thought that I had already mentioned it, to which the fellow merely tutted, gave me a wry smile and assured me that no harm had been done.
"And how exactly are you feeling now?" he asked while attempting to maintain a humorous façade.
"Better, I think. I am terribly cold though."
He nodded and drew closer to my side. "But what are you feeling like?"
"Do you honestly wish for me to catalogue my every complaint?"
He gave me another nod and a sly glare from the corner of his eye as he took a sip of his terribly sweet drink. "Ugh. You know that it is not in my habit to repeat myself - please do catalogue your many complaints."
"My complaints may not be as many as you think," I grumbled, causing him to give me another glare. On this occasion, he certainly did appear to intend for me to see it.
"I have a headache - which is not nearly as bad as it was - and some nausea, also receding. My leg and shoulder are both aching..."
My companion immediately pressed himself closer to me, so that his warmth - what little he could currently give - seeped into my paining shoulder.
"Thank you. That does help," I smiled at him. "I am all right Holmes - really."
"Hum. I do hope so Watson. You are quite sure that you are not becoming unwell?"
I nodded and sniffed again. My throat was still feeling uncomfortably dry, despite the drinks that Holmes had given to me, but I put that down to the Arctic air that I had been breathing and the scalding that my first sip of a warming drink had cost me.
"But how are you?" I asked with no small amount of concern.
He chuckled quietly. "I shall be all right - I have been out in far worse conditions and I have not become accustomed to the heat of Afghanistan. You need not concern yourself on my account - it is you that I am worried about. Hum! Perhaps I should request some hot water bottles for your old wounds before they take cold."
"I am all..." I interrupted myself with a violent sneeze that caused my head to swim dreadfully.
My companion immediately held me steady and then again took up my warming drink. "Your current condition would suggest that you are far from 'all right', as you must surely be aware Doctor. You are most certainly catching a cold at the very least. Now, drink this - it will help. It might even help to stop the sneezing."
I weakly attempted to push him away as I became irritated. "Your nose is also somewhat runny Holmes."
He immediately covered his nose with his hand, an expression of mortified horror springing unbidden to his eyes, as he set aside my cup. "Why did you not tell me?" he demanded to know as he rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief with his free hand.
"I thought that you knew," I retorted with a quiet moan.
The fellow addressed me with another of his irked glares as he dabbed at his nose. "Of course I did not - my wretched nose is numb!" he all but snarled at me in response to my words, which I must confess sound ridiculous to me now that I am not suffering with exhaustion and (more than likely) cold-induced shock. "Really Watson! Do you truly believe that I would ignore something like that?"
I shrugged my shoulder, feeling terribly aggravated. "I am exhausted and you will not allow me to sleep - surely even you cannot expect me to think clearly under the circumstances."
He lowered his eyes to again make a study of my hands, taking first one and then the other to closely inspect them in the light of the lamps. "No, I suppose not. My apologies."
Feeling utterly miserable, I groaned and wiped at my nose. "Can I please sleep? I do believe that it is the best defence against colds and chills, which would seem to be your main concern."
"Not yet," he grumbled, again taking up my cup to coax me to drink. "Not until I know that you are sufficiently recovered. We may not know very much about exposure and cold-induced shock, but I have heard accounts of men falling asleep and failing to awaken again after becoming severely chilled and I do not wish for such a fate to befall you. For God's sake remain wakeful!"
Such accounts were unheard of to me and I told my friend as much grumpily. "Where did you ever hear such horror stories?"
"On the Continent," my companion snapped. "And yes, I admit that the temperatures in mountainous regions and northern countries suffer much lower temperatures than we in Great Britain tend to experience but I know the warning signs Watson - I do not wish to risk losing you."
Even though I was terribly annoyed, something in his words caused me to cease my grumbling and to trust the fellow. Holmes would not usually refuse to allow me to rest when I was in such a condition and that alone was indication enough that he truly did fear that I was in danger.
With a somewhat weary sigh, Holmes pressed himself closer to me and slowly met my gaze. "This is boring."
I could not help but chuckle at his petulant tone and frustrated expression. "It was your suggestion that we take to bed and warm ourselves."
"It is necessary," he snapped at me in response before calming himself and permitting his face to relax into a smile. "Tell me Watson, did I ever tell you of the first case that I ever worked with Scotland Yard? It was a rather dull, common-place affair, but the tale might please you and help us to pass the time."
He told me of his first meeting with Lestrade, before he was an inspector, who was then a young man with plenty of ambition but sadly lacking in imagination. I soon found myself laughing at his descriptions of the man - indeed, Holmes really should take up his pen to write a story of his own one day, for he most certainly can tell a good tale when he so sets his mind to it.
When my companion's narrative drew to an end, he gazed at me with his analytical grey stare. "You should be quite out of danger and should quite probably try to sleep lest you develop a fever," said he. "I dare say I shall have need of you once this wretched weather abates."
"How is it," I mumbled sleepily as I at last prepared to succumb to my weariness, "that you make almost as good a doctor as you do a detective, while I would appear to be lacking in my own field almost as much as I am yours?"
"My dear Watson!"
I jerked once more into wakefulness and met his indignant and angry stare.
"What would you like for me to say, pray do enlighten me! That you are as dreadfully obtuse as your depiction of yourself in the Strand Magazine would have us all believe? That you are not even a competent doctor?"
"Perhaps. If that is the truth."
His eyes softened somewhat and he forced a smile to his lips. "I learned of the dangers of exposure to low temperatures while I was fending for myself. While we in Great Britain fear the onslaught of la grippe and perhaps pneumonia, our Continental cousins have learnt that exposure can be far more dangerous and that it can kill before the onset of so much as a sniffle - they have more incidents from which to learn and thus more knowledge at hand than you do Watson."
"It is not just my lack of knowledge in this field Holmes..."
He nodded and patted my wrist in a somewhat absent-minded fashion. "You are exhausted, more than likely ailing and so in turn a terrible melancholia is setting in. I have suffered such a reaction often enough to know the signs old fellow - sleep now and we shall see if that is enough to improve your health and spirits."
I could not say for how long I slept, for I was indeed exhausted, but I do know that Holmes remained at my side even after I was at last myself again.
The kindness that my dear friend can show to me when I am most in need has always baffled me. When I am well he can be most curt and hurtful to me, whether he intends to be or not, but when I am most likely to try the patience of any man due to my weaker constitution my friend will show time and again just how patient and solicitous he can be. He must truly value my company and what little service I can offer to him.
[Author's note(s)]Author's note(s): This story (or a shortened and, in my own opinion, rushed and not nearly as well finished version of it) appeared in my answer to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness 2013 . I was asked when I submitted it to my LiveJournal account to build upon it and this is the result. I hope that you have enjoyed it.
I have discovered (with the help of my dear Beta, researcher and - above all - friend) that hypothermia was not known about in Britain until the 1960s. Indeed, the Official Journal of the European Resuscitation Council's page on the History of Accidental Hypothermia says: "Death from exposure to cold has been recognised for thousands of years but hypothermia as a clinical condition was not generally recognised until the mid-20th century and then only in extreme conditions such as immersion in cold water or snow. In the UK, hypothermia in less extreme conditions was not generally recognised until the 1960s."
This meant that Watson would more than likely not know very much about hypothermia, while Holmes might have come to know more about it during his hiatus - which is just as well, seeing as one of them had to ensure that they would both recover and poor Watson was hardly up to par in any case.