"So, should I tell the truth now?" I asked with the extreme politeness the moment required, for I knew very well what Holmes was going through.
"I'd rather you made something up", he answered, his grief in display.
The day Professor Moriarty was arrested had been the saddest in Holmes' life. It had been the cruelest of coincidences that the arrest had taken place only a couple of hours before the terrible disaster.
I can still remember the bitter tone of his voice in which he spoke to me after the funeral.
"I can only thank you, Watson, for hiding her all this time", he said. "I read the chronicles you wrote, and it's as if she never existed."
But that was not the first time in which Holmes had spoken in that tone. I could never forget when, three years before, he addressed me in a low, eerie voice.
"I need you to kill me", he said then. "You know what I mean; I'll be retiring now to take care of her… for as long as she makes it". Then he waved his hand towards the impressive falls and added: "Just make it in style, will you?"
Little of 'The Final Problem' was true. We were on that trip alright, but on the occasion of our holidays. I remember him thrilled running like a child to get a good view of the falls; and I was some good yards behind when the Swiss lad brought the letter from the hotel. There was only one English lady staying there, and – curiously enough – it was only when I got to the hotel that I realised it was Mrs Holmes who was sick. She wasn't precisely dying, but I noticed she was very ill and I sent for Holmes. Three days later she was diagnosed leukemia.
During her last months of life, Holmes had been back on business, finding undeniable proofs against Moriarty and cunningly setting up his trap upon him.
Her last words had been: "we did it."
How much Holmes loved her it's fairly impossible to explain. She was not only young and beautiful, but also impressively smart in a very mysterious way.
And as we sat that day under the shade of a tree, some yards from the grave, I thought there was no longer need that she should remain a secret. Holmes was still to capture Moran, which promised to be the first adventure we had together for three years; perhaps the story would be the proper occasion to tell the truth.
When Holmes answered my question, I noticed his eyes were still wet.
"I'd rather you made something up", he said. "You have style!" he smiled and I could only cover my face.