Festivities and Fruitcakes

December 15

December 15: “Below freezing.” (from Lucillia)

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A/N: Warning for angst. This story did not go as planned, it just sort of wrote itself as I went, and to be honest I've never written anything quite like it before.

Hopefully it will make sense. Holmes is definitely suffering from hypothermia.

Holmes’s POV.

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I had been cold before, of that I am certain, but never like this.

Every muscle in my body ached from shivering. I had long ago ceased to feel my hands, feet, and exposed skin of my face. My mouth was dry and my tongue felt papery. I wished I had some water. And I wished I could find Watson.

I had tried to be careful—truly, I had! …I couldn’t quite remember what precautions I’d taken, but I was sure that was the case.

I stumbled over a stone and nearly fell before catching myself. Confound it, why was I walking? I was too tired to walk. For that matter, where was I going?

And why was I so confused?

All I could see by the dim starlight was the snow, falling quickly and covering everything around me. Where was I? And where the devil had Watson gotten to? Hadn’t he just been behind me?

I held up my gloved hands to my face, to assure myself that I at least still had a body of some sort. I was starting to feel very strange indeed.

Still staring at my hands, I thought of my violin, and wished it were in my hands now. It was dreadfully silent here, alone in the dead of night. 

If I concentrated, I could hear the opening notes of my latest improvisation. As the music carried on, it seemed to cease being a part of my imagination, and began wafting through the forest about me.

The melody wove around the trees and over boulders, down the stream, among the stars. I could hear interweaving harmonies I had never before imagined, and felt a wave of calm wash over me.

What did it matter that I didn’t know where I was or how I got here? The music was so beautiful that nothing else mattered.

My heart leapt as the music built to a crescendo, and I began to laugh. Ah! Truly, in all the world, there was nothing like a well-played violin! How I wished my dear Watson were here to hear it.

Before I realized what was happening, my laughter had become sobbing.

Because now I remembered.

I remembered walking with Watson along the cliff to the Falls of Reichenbach, sending Watson away with the boy in search of a sick woman who didn’t exist. I could still see Moriarty in my mind’s eye, watch our fight at the falls, and my escape. And I will never forget Watson’s voice, never stop hearing him call my name. It tore me apart to do it, but I never answered him. I couldn’t. I could not put him in any more danger.

After nine long months, here I was.

Lost, cold, and so very alone.

The music faded and died, and I thought that perhaps I would too. Who would come for me, if not Watson? This is how I would meet my end, I could see it now.

My knees buckled and I fell to the ground. I would die as I had lived: lost, cold, and alone.

I watched the snow fall silently about me, to exhausted to move a muscle.

“God, please, don’t let me die.”

The raspy, cracked voice pierced the stillness of the night. I didn’t recognize it at first as my own. I couldn’t remember willing myself to speak. But the words hung heavily in the frigid air, and with them began another melody.

This new music was deeper, and richer. At first I thought it was two violins, but then I recognized the cello. The violin whispered. The cello hummed. And the sound began to build.

No! I didn’t want to go yet. I wasn’t ready. God, please! I’m not ready!

I could barely hear my ragged breathing over the music, growing louder and louder as I began to panic.

The violin screamed, the cello wailed, and I was not going to die!

With painful sluggishness, I dragged myself to my feet.

I took a step. And then another. Perhaps I would die either way, but I was not going to give up so easily.

One step, and then another. On it went, in time with the music about me, giving me the strength to keep walking.

But I was still lost, still cold, and still so very alone.

I missed Watson.

I would never see him again if I did not survive. I would never solve another case with him by my side. I would never see his smile, or hear his laughter. I would never I would never be able to tell him how sorry I was that I had abandoned him. I would never be able to deliver the thousand apologies he deserved.

Even more than the melody piercing the night, this gave me the strength I needed to continue.

An eternity seemed to pass as I weaved clumsily between the trees, in search of shelter.

Time stood still as I struggled with exhaustion and perhaps the inevitable.

“Herr Holmes! Herr Holmes!”

The music stopped. My heart jumped. Had I been found at last?

“I’m here!” I tried to shout, but my voice was too weak.

“Herr Holmes!” I saw the two figures coming over a hill.

“Here!” My voice was louder this time.

“Holmes!” the voice cried, and I saw them rush towards me.

Relief flooded through me, and for the second time that night, I fell to the ground. But this time I did not fall because I had given up.

I fell because I knew that even if I had not the strength to go on, I had friends who would always be able to pick me up.

Perhaps I was lost.

Certainly, I was cold.

But I was not alone.