[ Even a thick coat like his isn't enough to guard him from arctic temperatures. This isn't London. The thick muffler is pushed up around his ears and over his nose as he presses on through the wasteland. What was he looking for all the way out here? The wind stings his eyes and flecks his thick curls with ice.
In this frozen desert, there's only one thing other than himself, and that's a man kneeling in the snow. He's digging and worse for wear than him as far as clothing went. The human body with little protection succumbs to freezing in fifteen minutes or less. Frostbite will come sooner, especially with the fellow digging with his hands bare.
Bare hands?! Idiot.
Idiot for not going to find shelter, for digging in unmarked ice.
Still, he does seem to be looking for something...
And Sherlock needs to know. He really, really does. ]
[ Jade will see a dark-haired man drop before him, a big, blue scarf covering the lower half of his face. He does so in a way that makes Jade the rampart against the storm, even if he himself is seemingly better clothed for the weather. He doesn't address the man, just digs leather-gloved fingers into the blood-tainted snow and shovels it aside in great, impatient, voracious heaps. ]