Work Text:
“It’s freezing,” John gasps, wrapping his arms around himself and glancing up at Sherlock, who’s doing the same. “You didn’t say it would be this cold.”
“I didn’t know,” Sherlock confesses through a chattering grimace.
John’s face contorts into an indignant scowl. “You didn’t know the highlands of Scotland would be covered in snow and ice in mid-December?”
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock doesn’t bother to look at his friend when he responds. “Please, John, the Lecht is hardly Scottish Highlands. It’s one of the lowest operable snowsport destinations of all the Scottish Highlands.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. Can we get on with it then?”
Under any other circumstances, Sherlock might’ve cocked an eyebrow and glared at his companion. He might’ve reached out to wrap him in a hug or to pinch his behind, depending on the angle. Given their current circumstances, though, suspended in the air on a ski lift, skies hanging from their feet, none of these things are possible. Instead, he settles on crossing his arms tighter and staring ahead as their ride moves steadily through the air.
John is quiet, too, preferring to scowl at the foul weather than to engage in conversation that might distract him from his angry pastime. Of course, such a grumpy face has quite the opposite effect on Sherlock, who finds the entire thing quite adorable.
“You’ve done this before?” Sherlock asks, doing his best to scoot closer on the seat and share some of their warmth between them.
“Frozen my tits off on a ski lift? Not recently, no,” John responds gruffly. After a moment, he sighs and relaxes against Sherlock’s touch. “Yes, I’ve gone skiing before. I’m sorry I’m being a cock, I’m just cold.” Sherlock smirks but doesn’t answer, hoping to convey his understanding through his closeness more than anything.
As the lift rises above the peak of the hill and begins the descent towards their drop-off point, the sharpest hues of orange, pink, and red dance across the snow below. Perhaps shadows are cast by the light of the sky that gets caught in the trees, but the glistening white powder below reflects so much of it that there don’t seem to be any shades of black at all. Instead, the world is cast into a strange glowing hue. The sight takes their breath away and Sherlock smiles at John.
Straight above them, the sky is so dark, it almost looks like night time. The effect is more than a little mesmerizing and when it comes their turn to get off the ski lift, they nearly forget to.
“Are you still cold?” Sherlock asks as he pushes forward and tips from the seat. John mimics the movements and looks pleased to land upright. “Keep moving or you’ll get hit by the next person.”
They wait until they’ve made their way down the sloping hills and back to the bottom before talking again. Of course, their room at the resort awaits them at the bottom as well, and they waste only enough time to change out of their clothes and consume a delicious meal before finding much better uses of time than just talking. The other guests very politely refrain from comment when the two emerge again, more exhausted than they were after skiing.