Search for the Sunlight

Ascending the waterlogged foothills, small particles of ice began to form on their twiggy hair and clothing. The higher they climbed, the thinner the air became until eventually, struggling to catch his breath, Herbert stopped and sat down on a soggy tuft of withered rock fern. He peered out into the freezing Scotch mist and with a loud sigh, and the grizzliest of faces, he turned and looked at Basil.

“How on earth do you suppose we get Sherlock through this lot and over the top of the mountains?” he said.

Basil remained silent. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to think of an answer to Herbert’s question, but there was none. Cold, damp and miserable, the two friends sat motionless on the lonely mountain side.

They were gazing trans-like into the fog-bound emptiness, when a light breeze began tickling the fine twigs on Herbert’s face. The gentle movement of the air sculpted swirling patterns and eddies in the mist and as he watched the changing shapes twist and turn, through a brief clearing, a round dark shape appeared. He stood up for a better look, but at that moment the breeze calmed and the mist thickened again. Whatever it was that he had seen, disappeared from view. A few moments later, the breeze returned and the mysterious shape became visible again. This time Basil saw it too.

“It looks like a cave,” he whispered, straining his eyes to see through intermittent breaks in the fog. With their line of vision fixed firmly to the spot, they picked up their lapsacks and stumbled over the ice covered boulders towards the unidentified black hole.