Fifty-Seven Candles

A John Watson - Sherlock Holmes tribute to Remembrance Day (Veteran's Day)

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The flat was still and all was silent when John Watson came down the stairs at six in the morning. He quietly made himself a breakfast of toast and tea. At six forty-five he retrieved the morning newspaper from downstairs and returned to sit in his chair to read the latest news. At seven-thirty he headed to the bathroom to shower and shave. Eight o'clock found him dressed. After tying his left shoe again, he walked to the fireplace mantel and picked up a small pack of index cards bound with a rubber band. He glanced at his reflection nodded and left the flat.

A few moments after John left. Sherlock came out of his bedroom. Fully dressed, he pulled on his Belstaff, tied his blue scarf about his neck and quickly departed.

At eight-thirty John arrived in front of the small chapel and was greeted warmly by an elderly clergyman who handed him a box of candles.

"Bless you Captain Watson," the old man smiled as John placed a small envelope containing payment for the candles. "It's good to see you again this year."

John took a few moments to chat and then walked to the front altar area and began lighting the candles one by one. Soon six rows of bright lights glowed in the dim chapel. John paused and watched as they flickered and danced in the drafty room. Fifty-six candles, fifty-six lives of men he had known, laughed with, cried with, and fought with. Fifty-six lives that were cut short, fifty-six families who grieved over loved ones that did not return to them alive. John knew all of these men. Some as close comrades, others less well and a few only in their last dying seconds. These were the men he hadn't been able to save. He didn't feel guilty about that, he knew he had done his best, but on this day he wanted to honor them, to remember the ultimate sacrifice they had made. He felt it was his personal duty not to forget these men who had touched his life and given their all in the service of their country. He was proud of them, of the ideals they had stood for and the freedoms they had protected.

Nine o'clock, it was time to begin. He pulled the cards from his pocket, removed the rubber band and started the special timer which dinged with a silvery note as it started to count the time.

"Private George Evans," John's clear voice echoed in the empty chapel. He waited silently as the minute passed.

"Ding!" The timer sounded.

"Major Jack Stewart."

"Ding!"

"Corporal Amos James."

"Ding!"

"Private Lesley Raines."

"Ding!"

Fifty-six names, fifty-six candles, fifty-six minutes. As he finished card number fifty-six, John realized that another card had been added to the stack. A slight movement and soft footsteps revealed the presence of his best friend and flat mate as Sherlock made his way to the altar and lighted an additional candle. Sherlock walked over to his friend a stood silently and John read out the newest addition to the list of names.

"Major Albert Mycroft Carrington Holmes."

"My father," Sherlock whispered softly. John nodded and they both watched the candles for an additional minute.

Fifty-seven candles glowed and wavered. Fifty-seven candles representing fifty-seven lives remembered.

John saluted sharply. "For Queen and Country," he said, then turned and crisply marched up the aisle, Sherlock smoothly keeping pace. Together the two friends headed for the exit and home.