To Return From Death

by KnightFury

Holmes may not know it just yet, but he is fast approaching the end of his hiatus. All he wants now is to be reunited with his Boswell and walk the beloved streets of his London, but he has his fears and doubts - London may have changed dramatically and Watson may not want to forgive him. Chapter 10 revised 15-09-14 as I have never much liked it. Rated T for drug usage.

1. Home Thoughts From Abroad

Home Thoughts From Abroad

Oh to see England again... I have been away from home for far longer than I ever expected, much less intended. I miss London, the familiar hustle and bustle of the streets, and still ever more keenly I miss my dear friend Watson.

Time and again I have relived those moments at Reichenbach in my dreams and attempted something different. I have returned his desperate and heart-wrenching calls, I have revealed myself to him, I have not concealed myself at all... I am unsure whether my subconscious only wishes to remove my guilt, but every alternative has met with some form of tragedy. Never the less, it matters not. Still I miss my friend and regret leaving him to grieve for these three years. Perhaps one day I shall explain my reasons to him, if he ever forgives me.

The news of the death of my Boswell's wife has come as a terrible shock. My heart weeps for my dear, gentle friend who needs me now more than he ever has. I must return soon, but first Colonel Sebastian Moran must make a mistake. I have been waiting for one since I first went into hiding and there are moments, in my darkest hours, when I doubt that the wretched man ever will make one. How I wish that news of my Watson had not reached me, for no amount of wishing, hoping or longing can return me to his side. I must be patient.

For what feels like the hundredth time I have taken up my pen to write for my dearest - my only - friend. Even the opening line of 'My dear Watson' sounds trite. How can I even write it? How could I make the fellow see that he is still dear to me when I have abandoned him? I screw up the piece of parchment and throw it upon the dying fire. I shall write to Mycroft instead and tell him to let my friend of old know that I am alive and endeavouring to return to England. My brother knows all; he can explain. It was, after all, my brother who talked me into allowing my friend to continue to believe me to be dead in the first place.

I pace restlessly. My thoughts continuously running ahead of me, to board a steamship bound for England and return to my home. My very soul cries out for English tea and London's fog, smell and noise. But, above all else, I miss Watson.