Work Text:
Summer had come early, heat crashing down on London like a ball of sun. Even shade was unbearable these days; walking an agony for even his well-calloused feet. How could anybird tolerate this weather?
The doctor lay still in the rooms he shared with his brilliant crime-solving partner, his belly resting on a scuttle full of chipped ice; he moved only to change sides and top to share the delicious coldness. Mrs. McGillicuddy charged extra for such a luxury, but needs must.
His partner and mate understood; Duck always understood. "Indoors for you till Michaelmas, Steve," he quacked affectionately, grooming the other bird's flippers. "I'll correct Constable Lingonberry until we can work together again." Steve felt a wave of his own affection, remembering that evening.
Turnabout was fair play. The two of them could share two seasons as crime-fighters and police assistants – spring and autumn. But Duck would be the one to retreat to the indoors after the first hard snow of the winter, and not leave Baker Street till the crocuses braved the air, while Steve reveled in the low temperatures and the ice-sheets on their accustomed ponds.
But for now…
The penguin turned his head to look at the thermometer next to the calendar showing May 1895.
Twenty degrees Celsius.
A squawk of despair came out of Steve's beak.