Prompt: Bonfire
From: V Tsuion
...
"... ya ever been to a bonfire, sir?" asked Angel Hamilton, glancing at the man he came to know as Siger Holmes.
"I have, but not like this," replied Holmes, eyeing the pyramids of bamboo and sticks along the riverbank. "Tell me, Mr. Hamilton, is there a reason for these… bonfires? Where I am from, we do not light bonfires at Christmas."
Hamilton laughed. "I tell ya, sir, it's quite something," he replied. "These bonfires light the way for Papa Christmas, ya know." He winked at his guest, who merely scoffed silently in response. "On top of that, Mr. Holmes, sir, we like to celebrate with our family, friends and neighbours, we eat food and meet up between the fires."
Holmes thought of his friend, Watson, and also of his dear landlady, Mrs. Hudson, as well as his elder brother, Mycroft. Mycroft knew he was alive, but Holmes still missed his brother, no matter how much of a nuisance he could be at times.
He missed Mrs. Hudson's cooking, and her maternal kindness towards him.
He missed Watson; the man he had been proud to call friend. Though, in all honesty, Holmes considered Watson a brother, much in the same regard he held Mycroft.
"Ah, here's my neighbours, the Jamiesons!" Cried Hamilton, as a family of three approached- a man, a woman, and their young son of about four years old. Greetings were exchanged, and Holmes was introduced... albeit with his different first name.
"What do you wish for Christmas, mister?" asked the little boy curiously.
"Thomas." His mother said warningly.
"I wish my friend could have joined me," Holmes said simply. It was true, he wished he could experience this tradition with Watson- or, perhaps, be at home beside him at 221B, where he'd be with his faithful friend, and his kindly, long-suffering housekeeper, and his brother a short distance away.
"... is he dead?" the little boy asked, confused.
"Thomas!" his father chided sternly. Holmes only grinned ruefully. He knew Watson was not dead, but he feared that Mary Watson was starting to come under the weather. He decided that, come tomorrow, he would go to Europe. He also needed to ask Mycroft for updates on Mrs. Watson; for it was only through Mycroft that Holmes could hear about his friends at all, and it stung that he could not reciprocate the news exchange.
"No, no, dear boy, he's not dead." Holmes smiled. "I am merely in one continent, and he in another."
"Why don't you just go back?" Thomas asked innocently. "I'm sure he misses you.
'But he believes me to be dead, and I only wish I could say otherwise," he thought sadly. He felt tears prick at his eyes, and he tried to blink them away.
"…did, did I make you cry?" Thomas asked, gnawing his lip guiltily.
"No, no, my boy, the bonfire is very hot, and making my eyes water," Holmes said. It was a white lie, but a believable one.