First of all, I am one of the few people I know who absolutely adore the season of winter. Everyone else in my family and friends hates snow and ice and winter and cold, and I live for December through February. And this fic encapsulates everything I love about it and more - and is so refreshing when the thermometer outside is a very nasty, humid 89 degrees. ^_^
The first three paragraphs are so made of wonderful, I felt all warm and almost Christmassy just reading them. That's just how I feel when I wake up in the wintertime (although I am also grateful for my space heater, lol).
"Holmes was hunched in his chair, ignoring it apart from a steaming cup of coffee around which he had curled his long fingers like a beggar's around a match" Adorable mental image, and awesome simile - all in the same sentence. You've a remarkable talent for choosing not the right word, or a great word, but the perfect word, and that's why your stories are always a cut above the rest of us mere mortals. :P
Mrs. Hudson's care for the two of them on such a morning (when she herself would be getting older by this point in the timeline), and Watson's appreciating it, were also perfection, and very sweet. *needs to find synonyms for wonderful*
"I held out both my hands and twitched my fingers in imitation of one of his more frequent impatient gestures." -- I think this is where I melted into an insensible puddle, and it remains my favorite line of the whole thing. Watson imitating Holmes is adorable on its own, but when it's a conscious imitation, it's even more so. A gesture that would be mocking in another person is only affectionate here, and I LOVE it. *<3 <3 <3*
And then there is more snow-squee-inducing description, so much so that I just sighed and sat here for a few minutes wishing it were December here. And the bit about Pythagoras and Dante was brilliant, too, btw.
Then the "I could never tell anyone else, you know. Mycroft would only laugh. And Lestrade... well, I dare say that he would either be excited beyond imagining that I had finally lost my grip on reality, or the poor fellow would do himself harm trying to work out what on earth I meant and why he couldn't keep up." was inspired, I tell you. So sad, and sweet, and hilarious, all in one little bit of dialogue. *brain explodes*
And the last paragraph. *melts completely into snow-slush*
(looking back, I'm not sure that this is any more coherent than it would have been last night...)
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The first three paragraphs are so made of wonderful, I felt all warm and almost Christmassy just reading them. That's just how I feel when I wake up in the wintertime (although I am also grateful for my space heater, lol).
"Holmes was hunched in his chair, ignoring it apart from a steaming cup of coffee around which he had curled his long fingers like a beggar's around a match" Adorable mental image, and awesome simile - all in the same sentence. You've a remarkable talent for choosing not the right word, or a great word, but the perfect word, and that's why your stories are always a cut above the rest of us mere mortals. :P
Mrs. Hudson's care for the two of them on such a morning (when she herself would be getting older by this point in the timeline), and Watson's appreciating it, were also perfection, and very sweet. *needs to find synonyms for wonderful*
"I held out both my hands and twitched my fingers in imitation of one of his more frequent impatient gestures." -- I think this is where I melted into an insensible puddle, and it remains my favorite line of the whole thing. Watson imitating Holmes is adorable on its own, but when it's a conscious imitation, it's even more so. A gesture that would be mocking in another person is only affectionate here, and I LOVE it. *<3 <3 <3*
And then there is more snow-squee-inducing description, so much so that I just sighed and sat here for a few minutes wishing it were December here. And the bit about Pythagoras and Dante was brilliant, too, btw.
Then the "I could never tell anyone else, you know. Mycroft would only laugh. And Lestrade... well, I dare say that he would either be excited beyond imagining that I had finally lost my grip on reality, or the poor fellow would do himself harm trying to work out what on earth I meant and why he couldn't keep up." was inspired, I tell you. So sad, and sweet, and hilarious, all in one little bit of dialogue. *brain explodes*
And the last paragraph. *melts completely into snow-slush*
(looking back, I'm not sure that this is any more coherent than it would have been last night...)
Thank you for a lovely read!