elaby | Fic, holy cow. A real long time coming, too.

I started writing this fic, like... a frillion years ago XD Okay, maybe last summer or something like that. It's the skating fic I kept talking about! It's taken me several months to get the Holmesian mojo to finish it, which is rather pathetic, but it's done and that's all that matters XD I quite like it, after all that. It's a companion piece to Musica Universalis, my other winter fic.

Title: Skating in Kensington Gardens
Characters: Holmes and Watson
Words: 1660
Summary: Watson convinces Holmes to go ice-skating at the Park.
Rating: G. Ridiculously, fluffily G. As usual, slash if you like or friendship if you like. I prefer to think of it as both, myself.
Warnings: Holmes and Watson acting utterly married? I don't think that needs a warning XD
Notes: This is for my lovely

caitirin, who asked for Holmes and Watson ice-skating, and suggested just about everything in here that makes it good. <3 Most of the background information I used to write this was from www.victorianlondon.org, and Curiosities of London Life by Charles Manby Smith.

I don't think it would have ever happened if the ragged boy who accosted us in Kensington Gardens had not been the smaller brother of McGowan of the Irregulars. He and half-a-dozen of his compatriots were intercepting everyone who walked past, thrusting a pair of leather thong ice-skates into their faces, and crying: "Try a pair of skates, sirs? Have an hour on 'em for sixpence!"

"McGowan the younger, is it?" Holmes asked, gazing at the ice-skates with far more distaste than he did at the boy. "I'm afraid you'll find no interested parties here, will he, Watson?" Holmes turned to me, and my name turned into a half-groan on his lips when he saw my expectant expression.

"Oh, come, Holmes, it's only an hour. I haven't been skating in years."

"I should say not, with that leg of yours," he replied in a low voice, and I knew he must be very reluctant indeed if he felt driven to such tactics. Holmes may be eager to point out my shortcomings in the realm of literary endeavors, but I have never known anyone so courteous, or so careful of my pride, when it came to physical ability.

"Skating is even easier on it than walking, if I recall," I said, and turned to McGowan. "Two pairs, if you please, young man."

"That'll be a shilling, then," he replied, beaming.

"Highway robbery," Holmes grumbled, and handed him half a crown. The boy's face lit even brighter.

"You won’t regret it, guv!" he piped, and tore off to another crowd of likely-looking victims.

"I rather suspect I will," Holmes replied under his breath. I bit my lip to keep the smile off my face, but he saw through it - as he always does - and glowered at me. We found a convenient bench and Holmes began to lace on the skates, muttering all the while about the frivolity of such pastimes. I've picked up a modest amount in the art of deduction over the years, and I wondered if my surmise in regards to his stringent objection was correct. It was solid enough to test, at any rate.

"You cannot tell me, Holmes," I said, "that you've never in your life been ice-skating."

"Once or twice when I was a boy," Holmes said dismissively. "I hadn't the time once I discovered more worthwhile pursuits. Besides, I never considered myself to be particularly adept at balancing on razor-blades."

I found that hard to believe. Holmes is probably the most graceful human being I have the pleasure of knowing; in all our years of acquaintance, I have never seen him put his foot anywhere he did not expressly mean to - and if it ever appeared so, it inevitably turned out later that I had been taken in along with everybody else.

I removed my dark blue mittens and set about donning my own skates. Mrs. Hudson had knitted the mittens for me the previous Christmas, and she attempted to bestow the same upon Holmes, but he would not hear of replacing his gloves. She knitted him a scarf instead. "No harm in giving it a try," I replied cheerfully.

Holmes twitched the scarf over his shoulder and bent down to buckle the straps. "Save for broken necks, sprained wrists, and shattered dignity, of course."

"I assure you, you are only in danger of the third, and very little danger at that as long as you stay close to me."

Holmes tilted his head up and eyed me from where he leaned half doubled over. "You're truly enjoying this, aren't you? A situation where you have more experience than I?"

"It happens so rarely, you see," said I, "that you can hardly begrudge me a small amount of satisfaction."

Holmes sighed. "I find that I can begrudge you precious little these days." That made me grin, and this time I didn't bother hiding it.

The Long Water was open for skating, the Serpentine on the far side of the bridge not yet having been judged safe by whichever official person deemed it so, and it was there we proceeded. Holmes held my arm hard with both his hands, but otherwise walked with perfect elegance down to the frozen lake. We paused at the edge, and Holmes surveyed the frigid expanse with a speculative air. It was flat and fairly well cleared of snow, and had been used enough to be thoroughly scarred with criss-crosses and figure eights. I watched him press his lips together and I could sense his displeasure at the fact that he could read very little from the scene that would help him in this exercise.

"We shall keep away from that young man and his acquaintances," he said, nodding toward a man and two ladies who all three looked like they were barely out of public school. Just as the words left Holmes's mouth, the young man's feet flew out from under him and he landed on his back, dragging one of the girls halfway down with him. The other young lady clearly thought it all very funny, but she offered them both a hand back up.

"Surely you do not fear the same fate, Holmes?" I asked, and it was clear he did not appreciate even the gentlest teasing. He heaved a sigh.

"I realize you are quite the athlete, Watson, but dare I hope that you will sacrifice your liberty to assist the inexperienced?"

"I would not have rented two pairs of skates if I'd wanted to go by myself."

He looked down at the edge of the ice but did not manage to hide the smile in his eyes. "Oh, very well, then." I stepped onto the frozen lake and turned a small curve so that I was facing the shore again, and held out my mittened hands. Holmes, gaze fixed determinedly on the ice, gripped my hands and allowed me to draw him slowly away from the land.

For several minutes I skated backward along the edge of the lake, pulling Holmes after me and watching the intensity on his face as he slid each skate precisely along. Every so often, he would start to wobble, and his hands would tighten on mine and I would stiffen my arms to provide him stability. After some time of this, he said:

"I don't suppose you've noticed the man in the red coat, skating near the bridge now? He passed us a few moments ago. He's a draper from Billingsgate. I believe he has rheumatism in his knees."

I smiled. "Oh, you do?"

"And the young lady with her husband behind you used to be a painter - watercolor, I believe - but hasn't taken up her brush in some time."

"Holmes," I said, "you needn't distract me. You're doing fine."

His eyes flashed up at me, and I countered the heat in his look with a placid smile. "I have no idea what you're--" he began, and then one foot went out from under him. The other knocked against my ankle as he fell backward, and I ended up on one knee on the ice with my legs tangled in those of a sputtering detective.

It was one of the most valiant efforts of my life, I can assure you, but in spite of myself I could not keep from laughing. Holmes most certainly did not appreciate it; he untangled his long limbs from mine, and I retrieved his hat from where it rolled some feet away on the ice. With a minimal struggle I got him back onto his feet. Holmes let go of my hands for a few moments to brush himself off, and I kept watch of his expression as closely as I dared lest he notice. Pride is not low on the list of my friend's imperfections, but as in any of his other shortcomings, I would not have him otherwise, and I would not for all the world push him past the bounds of teasing into true hurt - and no matter what our other acquaintances would tell you, I must pay special attention to preserving a balance in this area. Holmes finished straightening his jacket and looked up at me with lowered lids. He was clearly chagrined, but stronger than that - and to my relief - I detected an almost mischievous anticipation of one of his favorite remonstrances.

"Very little danger, eh?" he said, and I let him have his I told you so. "Just stay close to me, you said. No harm in giving it a try, you said!"

"Holmes," I replied patiently, "if you would be so good as to use those charming skills of yours on the people around us, you may observe something."

He blinked at me, and then his eyes scanned our surroundings, quickly and expertly. "What do you mean?"

I smiled and held my mittened hands out for his. "No one cares, Holmes."

We skated for outwards of an hour after that, until we were too frozen to go any farther, and we stumped off the ice to remove our skates and return them to little McGowan. I knew Holmes was feeling generous then, and happy with our escapade, because he allowed me to stop and purchase steaming cider and gingerbread off an old soldier selling the wares to other park-goers. We walked arm-in-arm back toward Baker Street, Holmes holding my cup of cider and taking occasional drinks of it and I with the gingerbread, which was made with enough ginger to make my tongue tingle. Holmes and I have been Holmes-and-I for so long that I no longer need to thank him for days such as this, but with my arm warm in his, and the cider warm inside us against the chill winter air, I believe my gratitude shone brighter than a mid-July sun.