a/n: prompt from Aleine Skyfire-Holmes misses Watson in the Christmas of 1891-
Holmes and companions do not belong to me.
Letter
A crate, to serve as table;
Lit by glowing candle light.
A pen, a sheet of paper;
He sits down and starts to write...
~o~
My Dear Watson,
Season's greetings,
Time to talk to you, again.
(Though sadly only two small
Stubs of candle still remain.)
I've many things to tell you
Of the places I have been
(And they're, oh, so very different
From that London fireside scene.)
~0~
I'm sure your house is full
Of holly, cards and mistletoe.
I wasn't really fond of all
That nonsense, as you know.
(And yet, in such a god forsaken,
Lonely place as this.
A touch of festive cheer, would not
Entirely go amiss)
~o~
And, Watson, such wild scenery;
Such animals and birds!
I'd like to see, old friend, just how
You'd put this into words.
I'm sure you'd use embellishments,
Romance and purple prose,
(Circumstance has made me
Much more tolerant of those.)
~o~
I am keeping fully occupied;
With research lines anew.
And yes; I'm eating properly;
(And sleep...an hour or two.)
~o~
My last two letters told you
Of the choice I had to make.
I hope you understand
The path I felt compelled to take
Baker Street, and those within,
Are often on my mind.
(What traveler leaves his sounding board
And whetstone, far behind?)
~o~
Send fond regards to Mary;
She'll be always at your side
I trust you'll think of me,
Just now and then,
This Christmastide.
~O~
The candle dimmed and sputtered;
He stopped writing, sighed and stood.
At moments such as these,
He'd turn the clock back, if he could.
~o~
He read through what he'd written;
Then, like every one before,
This letter joined the others,
Torn in pieces, on the floor.
~0~