Stories of Our Lives: The Collective Exploits of Holmes and Watson in Mundane and Magic

The Unknown Compendium of A Wizard's Adventures with His Partner

I am John Hamish Watson, titled Doctor, and I am a wizard.

As I write this, my intimate friend Sherlock Holmes is preparing to shoot more bullet holes into my waistcoat, which due to some... things worked into it have now managed to survive intact. So far, my waistcoat has lasted two months in Holmes's constant barrage and soon I might have to lay enchantments on it again before Holmes somehow damages the entire thing, coat and all, beyond repair.

Most of our adventures together during that time from 1898 to the end of the great war will never see the light of day, hopefully languishing in the darkness forever where they and their contents belong. Two decades of wizardry will be buried, before I and Holmes set out to the metaphorical lines of battle to wage our war for our home. There is a high chance that we would not survive our skirmishes with the mad necromancer Kemmler to tell our tale; the stories and anecdotes of the fast fading gaslight and horse-carriages era. Even if we do survive, already I see old age catch up with Holmes and I. I would probably live through the torture that age brings for centuries more; Holmes would not. If it must be that my friend must face the certainty of the dark shadow, then I may only pray that I may join him when he moves on.

"Do not grieve for me," my close friend says. "I love my work. There is no better way to die than in the pursuit of something one loves." Indeed, Holmes would probably die in the pursuit of that great game rather than peacefully in bed.

Once more, Duty calls upon the citizens of the British Empire to rally against those who threaten the freedom and independence of His Majesty's Dominions, and Sherlock Holmes is called into service to put his skills towards thwarting the enemies. Once more I stand by his side, hidden in shadow, waiting, watching, writing, and working the magic in the hope that one day, one day, war would be over, that the monsters would run back into the dark, the demons back below, the faery to the Nevernever, and the horrors of the night once again stay in the night rather than roam the battlefields of humans, revelling in the chaos, and us back to our rooms, be they Baker Street or Sussex.

This time, we are called to strike against the perverter of the Laws of Magic, Heinrich Kemmler, and we may not survive. Kemmler is a madman, he had started the war that now spans the six powers of Europe and threatens the safety of our Empire, all in the quest to master the forbidden magic; necromancy. He is evil and malignant, a perverter seeking to master even life's constant and ascend over mortal-kind. He is the very reason the White Council places harsh penalties on those who break its Laws, of which there is only one.

Already, I can feel our time drawing near, and that, soon, Holmes and I would be swept into the currents of change or dead. Should we survive Kemmler, what then?

Holmes will pass on, and I would be alone again, a dead man walking throughout the centuries.

I swear that if it should ever come to that, I will die by Holmes's side anyway. Life no longer has meaning for a Boswell without his subject. In sickness, in health, in life or death, for better or worse, I will follow. Death may triumph in the end, but we would be together, side by side, I think.

I am John H. Watson, human and wizard, mortal and magical, and I write this, in the hope that the stories of our lives be read one day.