"It seems to work that way," Watson remarked, hugging himself close against Holmes. He ran his hand over his face, distressed to find that his moustache was full of salt water. Frigid salt water, at that. "Someone has to have sensible ideas to counteract the insane ones."

He laughed, rather shakily through chattering teeth. He was finding something rather nice about the feel of Holme's wet skin through his shirt, and thought there might be something to another swim, a longer one, when the weather was warmer.