The End of Things.
Prologue
Holmes looked up from the paper he was studying and glanced across at Watson, he was fast asleep in his chair and Holmes smiled – almost mockingly. They were getting old, and Watson more so than himself, was feeling it. The First World War was over and Holmes had lived in Sussex for nearly three years, there were times he missed London but he pushed these feelings – as he did with all his emotions – firmly to the back of his mind. He stood and walked to the mirror at the opposite side of the room, the paper still hanging loosely in his long fingers and he stares at himself.
He has grown old, although he does not look it, he is sixty five and he feels younger, he has come to terms with everything he is and he is – for all intents and purposes – a contented man. He senses a movement behind him and whirls round,
"What are you doing?" Watson's sleepy voice seeps into Holmes' consciousness and he smiles at the man who has been his companion for more years than he cares to think about.
"Contemplating the cruel walk of time Watson."
Watson gave a small laugh,
"That's incredibly vain of you Holmes."
"It is not vanity Watson, it is…curiosity."
"I will never understand you Holmes."
Holmes smiled as he turned back to the mirror, knowing that Watson was the only man who would ever truly understand him.
"Tea Holmes?"
"Mm? Oh yes, thank you Watson."
Holmes went back to the paper he had been studying, leaving his reflection to forever wonder after him. Seating himself, he could feel his bones throb against the movement and cursed the onset of old age, he needed something to do, something to engage his tired body and mind.
"When do you leave Watson?"
"I can stay as long as you need me."
"I would have you stay indefinitely old fellow but I don't think Mrs. Watson would thank me."
Watson smiled as he handed Holmes his tea.
"Perhaps not, I will leave at the weekend."
Holmes tried not to flinch at the words, that gave him three days. Not long enough…..
"Very well."
Watson sat down with a groan.
"Are you alright?"
"Perfectly, do stop fussing Holmes."
Holmes smiled at the reverse in character's that was becoming so frequent these days. The old monotony of the days before the war was slowly returning and the horrors that they had both witnessed were slowly fading into blurry grey images, locked away never to be returned to. There were times during his dreams that Holmes returned to them, times when he screamed aloud and he would wake to find Watson staring over him, holding his shoulders, his eyes full of empathy and understanding. Holmes shifted slightly in his chair; his own weaknesses were not something he liked to dwell on. Watson was the only person he had ever relied upon and even that was done with some hesitation.
"Are you alone after I leave Holmes?"
"Yes, Mrs. Morgan is still away visiting her daughter."
"I do not like to think of you alone up here."
Watson looked around as if fearful of some presence. Holmes smiled at his consternation.
"I am perfectly fine here Watson, I have lived my life alone, this place suits my moods."
"It is your moods I worry about." Watson replied, still glancing around the ever darkening sitting room. Holmes stood and lit a lamp above his friend's head, as always responding to his thoughts rather than his words.
"I am past all that."
"Are you? I remember how ill you were at the end of the war."
"We were none of us at our best Watson."
"No, but you seemed to take it the worst. I have never seen you cry until that day Holmes."
Holmes cleared his throat and shifted again in his chair, his eyes firmly fixed on the paper in his hands.
"And you never will again."
"It is nothing to be ashamed of Holmes."
"I am not ashamed."
Watson smiled; Holmes was the most stubborn man he had ever known.
The three days passed quickly. They almost fell into the old rhythm of things, Holmes became used to being greeted by Watson every morning, and Watson became used to Holmes' eccentricities again after so long apart. But it could not last. On Saturday morning Holmes had risen early, eager to be awake and savour every last moment of the life he knew was leaving him. Watson was his life, he had known no other. He had no other friends; he had merely acquaintances that were more attracted to his reputation than to him. No, Watson was the only man that Holmes would ever completely trust. Again he walked to the mirror and gazed at himself, his black hair was now greying at the sides, his face was as white as ever but his eyes had changed, they no longer held the cynicism and defence of his youth, they were wise almost, open and understanding, tinged with the glow of a lifetime's unshed tears. He heard movement and the soft sound of Watson's laughter and he turned with a smile.
"You are getting vainer with age Holmes."
Holmes smiled; he saw no value in enlightening Watson of his morbid thoughts.
"Perhaps."
Watson seated himself at the table and began to eat the breakfast Holmes had prepared, Holmes watched him with sadness. Watson looked up,
"Are you not eating?"
"I am not hungry."
Watson shrugged; he leaned back and opened the morning paper. Holmes sat opposite him.
"What time are you leaving?"
"I take the one o'clock train." Watson replied between munches of toast.
"That's a little early."
Watson was about to answer when they were interrupted by a sharp ringing. Holmes grunted.
"Infernal machine."
He walked over and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear; he began to speak in that stunted tone that comes with a telephone conversation.
"I'm afraid I can't Mr. Stevens, at least not today…no of course not but….well yes, I do understand…very well I will try and see you later….yes…..thank you Mr. Stevens…goodbye."
Watson smiled as Holmes all but threw the receiver down and stalked back over to the table.
"Who was that?"
"A client. I do believe Watson that the telephone was invented to torment me."
"Torment you?"
"Yes, it enables any client to contact me at any time of the day or night and they expect me to drop everything and run to their aid!"
"You have done that in the past."
"Yes in the past, when the situation called for it, but honestly Watson all I seem to get these days are petty little crimes that the official police would soon tire of."
"I am sorry Holmes."
Holmes sighed and waved a hand in an imperious gesture that Watson simply smiled at, his attempt at sarcasm immediately rebuffed.
"Yes well you have a life to return to, a wife, children, while I am forced to remain here and deal with lost dogs and senile old men."
Watson put down his paper and looked at his friend, age had treated him kindly but there was something about the eyes that betrayed his emotions, something that had not been present when they had first met.
"Do you wish me to stay?"
Holmes sighed,
"Yes I wish it but I will not ask it, you have a family and they have been without you enough." Holmes bestowed his friend with a genuine smile.
Watson nodded,
"Yes I suppose they have. Come back with me?"
Holmes shook his head.
"No, thank you, the domestic scene is not for me."
"You have never met my children Holmes."
For a brief moment something like guilt passed through Holmes' eyes but was then gone.
"No I have not, perhaps it is better that way, after all did I not destroy their father's life?"
"No, you enriched their father's life. You have made me who I am Holmes."
Holmes smiled; reaching across the table he took his friend's hand in his own and gripped it.
"And you have saved me Watson; I would have been dead a long time ago were it not for you."
"Oh I don't believe that Holmes there isn't a man alive that could defeat you."
"Your confidence in me does you credit Watson but I fear I would have been defeated by my own demons were you not there to pull me out."
Watson held Holmes' hand for a moment and smiled, he was quite overcome with emotion but Holmes had seen him cry once and that was more than enough, he swore he would never do it again so he blinked back the tears.
"I could take a later train," Watson suggested releasing Holmes' hand, "I feel like reminiscing."
Holmes raised an eyebrow at his friend.
"Reminiscing? About what exactly."
"Us, our life together. I think we are both aware that when I leave here it may well be for the last time."
Holmes nodded and crossed his legs.
"Very well," he added with a smile, "Where would you like to begin?"
A brand new story, with a twist! This is just a taster which I'm hoping will turn into something longer, that is if people like it and wish to read more! I will keep updating my other story for those that are following it – and I'm very grateful if you are! – but thoughts about this one would be gratefully received and we'll see where Holmes and Watson's reminisces take us!