I just knocked this up in an hour. Sorry if it's terrible. I have read it through twice but if the grammar is really off just tell me. It's a bit archaic and prosaic if you can stand that. It's just been a bad day for me and I just needed to turn my pain into something more beautiful. Hope you are all having a happy, safe Christmas. X

It was in the dewy, frost covered fields of Sussex that the pale winter's Sun first broke the edge of the pore-less arched horizon. From my place on the hilltop, I could see the black sea beyond growing indigo and then blue with the eclipsing of the washed-out yellow rays of the sun. In the air, gusty, drawing and cool, grazed snowflakes whirled widely to an unspoken music, seemingly each alone, but together creating a Yule Ball of swirling majesty in the blazened light of our distant dying star.

The sun on this particular day always seemed a degree warmer, in colour and in warmth. It's temperament calmer, smoother; more blessed and more forgiving. It felt the giver of time rather than the loathéd marker, or rather the conjurer of timelessness; that, in this moment, life was a mere freedom rather than a gasping, grappling struggle. I could see our cottage – the fairy lights burning in the windows. O, what it will be to be wrapped up beside the fire, nursing tea in the arms of a lover.

There was a clarity to everything- to sight, to thought, to understanding. A clarity clearer than the claret wines of Provence rested in the hands of well-read poets on summer eves. A clarity clearer than tropic waters beneath a full midnight's moon. Clearer than a world seen through new glasses perched on end of a greasy nose. All the more clearer with a beloved hand in mine

As John Watson took my hand, I was seasoned with a new warmth- different from the sun and different from my own; a deeper, more comforting warmth. His fingers intertwined with mine, removing the frost bitten bite within my bones. Above us, a fast fading violet sky, littered with white specks. No uniformity yet it was an image of order... Nothing could be wrong…

There was no sound; save from the distant call of a night bird buried deep within the next valley glade. The soft, minty breath of my amour patterned against my hollow cheek, banishing the settling ice. I rested my curl leaden head on top of his, watching the sun rise through our condensed, clouded breaths. I felt rooted to the Earth despite the tug my coat tails felt in the sea-salt wind. Squeezing John's small, weathered hand closer to mine, I sighed amidst the blossoming of our returning youth, feeling nothing but contented ease. I look down to see my blogger, my amour, stare with glistening eyes at the unfurling billion year old beauty before us, the snow setting in his greying hair, on his satin, sandy-brown lashes. I smile as I see him playing absent-mindedly with the new, shiny gold band on his left hand. I cannot go on to describe how I feel because no words could ever explain - only that we are such stuff as dreams are made on. I close my eyes in the untainted ecstasy of us and allow myself to forget everything, focusing only on the hand clasped in mine.

"Merry Christmas, John." I whisper.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

Hope that was worth a quick read. If you'd like to leave a comment, good or bad, that would be nice. Well wishes to you all. X