Little Light in the Dark II
May 1899
Holmes was shivering, not with cold, but with a healthy tinge of fear, as he wandered amidst London's mustard fogs in the lower London, searching for a familiar way to recognisable roads rather than this dense yellow he saw everywhere. Fervently, he clutched his Christmas gift from Watson, a small silver ring carved with runes that the British Museum had identified as Elder Futhark. He had escaped before the docents had asked who had carved it. It was rather awkward to confess that his friend understood and could use an ancient language meant for casting magic to bind actual magic to the trinket.
He pressed the ring close to his clammy hands, slowly focusing on a happy memory... barrelling down alleys after some rogue, Watson following at his heels, constant as the northern star itself as Watson kept up with his sprint. The joy of dashing after someone, on the scent, on the great adventure that came with mystery, and always with that constant presence...
The ring glowed a bright white light within his palm, to his very astonishment, as the gloomy shadows gave way to weak white light that illuminated his path then.
He then understood why had Watson insisted that this, above all, was the best kind of magic. All that was needed...was a little light in the dark.
End of A Little Light in the Dark