Prompt: Candlelight
By: Garonne
Only Juliet Hawkfair belongs to me.
I huddle close to the little warmth that I have. It is only four, but it is already dark, and I do wish that I had more light than a sliver of candle wax and the weak shivering flame it is now holding. I have a bad case of the beggar's pride, and not even the good and honourable Doctor Watson can cure me of it. I gaze out onto the streets, longing for my friend Madame Fleur Phillips, a kindly lady who sometimes employs me. She often gives me shelter and food, plus a warm bed to sleep in. Mr Holmes helped her once.
"Miss Hawkfair?" A deep voice asks
I jump. "Mr Holmes?"
"What are you doing out here?"
"I have nowhere else to go, sir." I reply. "Madame Phillip's servants will not welcome me."
"Well, you can come in."
"Oh thank you Mr Holmes!" I cry. I ran in and breathe in the smell of lemon buns and I could also hear a kettle boiling away on the stove.
"Tea will be in a moment, so how about a little concerto to pass the time, Juliet?" This was one of only three times he used my first name with no formalities attached.
"Well, alright, but only if you don't mind doing so Mr Holmes." I reply, sitting by the fire.
"It will be my pleasure."
He played his violin- I think it was Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata or Vivaldi's Four Seasons, but I cared not. All I care about is that on the mantle, a beautiful white candle lies there, and in gold writing, was the name Mary.
I caught my breath.
When Doctor Watson came in half an hour later, he was surprised but touched that the candle I had in my pocket as a spare from the one I used before was now burning in tribute to her.
The flames flickered, one weak and shivering, yet mustering as much oxygen as could be made into light, the other flickering and dancing gracefully.
But both flames held out strong until midnight, where we prayed to Mary, even Mr Holmes, and then we went to bed.