holmes_minor | Fic: Snow: Teen (Reply)

Title: Snow
Rating: Teen for snow smooch.
Length: 500
Notes: Retirement!lock, inspired by fan art Romance in the Snow by Ishouldreallybedrawing/fictionforlife for mistyzeo for 2016 winter Holmestice.
Summary: Holmes & Watson have a snowball fight in Sussex.

Holmes’s shovel stopped its work at the voice calling from the door of the cottage.

“How is it going out there?”

“Mustn’t grumble,” grumbled Holmes, adjusting his hat for the third time. Then he scooped up another shovelful of snow and hurled atop a growing pile.

“The snow’s lovely here,” cried Watson. “Not like London!”

The cottage door closed.

Holmes harrumphed.

It was lovely snow if one was, like Watson, viewing it through a window, beside a roaring fire, with one’s hands wrapped around a mug of mulled wine.

It was not lovely snow if one was, like Holmes, viewing it directly, with one’s gloves wrapped ‘round the handle of a frozen spade; and it was most decidedly not lovely if one was viewing it for the purposes of removing as much of it as possible from one’s dear beehives.

Holmes toiled on, his sweat threatening to freeze on his temples and his breath fogging with every ragged exhale.

Really, even if the hives were his purview, Holmes really didn’t see why Watson did even offer to help with this arduous business of—

THWACK!

Holmes was started out of his silent complaint by something cold striking his shoulder.

He looked down at what was left of the snowball. Then he looked over at a grinning Watson who, fully dressed for the elements, was packing a second missile between two gloved hands.

“Watson!”

Watson laughed.

Holmes fixed him with a challenging stare and a gloved index finger. “You are in trouble.”

“Doubtful. Your single-stick expertise won’t help you here, my dear man.”

“Neither will your rugby, Doctor.”

Just as Watson’s snowball sailed by, Holmes bent to sink his cupped hands in the snow and prepare his own ammunition, but when he righted himself, a third snowball caught him square in the face.

Watson cackled.

“Now you most certainly are in trouble,” warned Holmes as he raced after a fleeing Watson.

The skirmish lasted for the better part of an hour, with Watson scoring more direct hits but also being more prone to stumble, which Holmes used to great advantage.

“Watson?!”

Holmes had just lobbed a large projectile directly at Watson’s head. Watson’s hat flew in one direction, with the rest of Watson falling to the ground in the opposite direction.

Holmes ran to Watson’s side, calling his name.

Watson flipped onto his back, panting and laughing and grinning. “I’m fine, ol’ sport. More than fine. Oh, we couldn’t do this in London, could we?”

Watson’s mirth was contagious. Holmes found himself grinning, too. “This either.”

And with that, Holmes tore off his own hat and tossed it towards Watson’s some paces away. Then he fell atop his beloved and kissed him soundly.

When their lips parted, Holmes said in a husky voice, “Shall we resume this important discussion by the fire?”

“Yes, I’d very much like to spend the remainder of the day admiring the country snow from afar, that is, of course, after we dig out your bees.”

“Oh, Watson.”