The sun set slowly, bathing the Sussex land with splashes of red and orange. All was still; not even the shadow of a breeze dared to blow. It seemed, just like me, that the land had stilled to a silent vigil. There was not a sound, other than the soft, slow breathing of my friend.
Said friend lay with his long body stretched out under the sheets of his bed. His dimming eyes gazed almost longingly out the window, where the sun was inching closer to the edge of the horizon.
In earlier years, I would have been relieved to find my friend so still, so peaceful.
But now that peaceful gaze sent a shiver of dread down my spine.
He seemed to know what was happening as well, for his eyes would dim with a hint of sadness, before they quickly jumped back to their old mirth.
Sherlock Holmes was dying.
I had stayed by his side silently from sunrise to sunset. It made it easier, for both of us.
We had shared so many adventures, so many troubling times, and this would be no different. I would stay by his side until he no longer needed me. Nothing could pull me away.
"Please, hand me my violin, Watson." Holmes's nearly inaudible voice broke the silence.
Automatically, I obeyed.
I handed him the well-polished Stradivarius, he took it in shaking hands.
He ran his long, white fingers lovingly over the smooth curves of the violin. He could no longer play, but I knew that if he could, he would have played a beautiful, breath-taking piece in that moment. I knew that he wanted to; his longing eyes said so.
Holmes placed the Stradivarius by his side slowly, then suddenly looked up at me, his eyes distant.
He must have seen the throbbing dread in my eyes, for he gave me a warm smile. It was not one of those half-hearted smiles he would always show during cases. No, this was a full smile, one that told me exactly what I needed to hear.
He was thankful for me; he considered me his closest brother, just as I did him. We wouldn't have it any other way. He was at peace with his fate as long as I was there to share it with him.
This was our last case, our last adventure. We would complete it together, to the very end.
The first few stars were beginning to appear in the twilight sky, and the shadows of the room were beginning to lengthen.
I felt my own eyes moisten, and a single tear slid down my cheek. I didn't even bother to wipe it away.
We were some of the last fixed points in a dying age. I knew everything was going to change from now on. And yet I knew that Sherlock Holmes would be remembered forever. Even as the world changed, he would not. He would remain the same as he always had.
This thought comforted me.
I returned his smile, and took his frail hand in mine.
His eyes focused sharply on me, and his last words threatened to break my heart. They were words spoken with his old strength.
"Thank you, dear Watson."
And then he closed his eyes, and his body relaxed.
He took his last breath as the sun fully set, disappearing over the horizon.
Sherlock Holmes was gone.
I was numb; I simply stared at the body of my dear friend. He was so peaceful...
A strong wind suddenly blew into the room, fluttering the curtains and rattling the blinds.
That's when the tears fell.
"There is an east wind coming, Watson."
"I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."
"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared."
A/N:
...
...
I...
Am...
So...
Depressing...
...
...
This was an idea that came to me while trying to think of a plot for a title my friend so helpfully provided. No...this wasn't the title...but still...
Anyways, I know that there are a lot of people out there who wonder how Holmes actually died. Well, this is what I think happened.
I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or...Sussex...Yeah.
The last italics piece in there was directly copied from the book, in the story "His Last Bow." I do not own the story, or that piece...blah blah blah blah...
Well, constructive feedback always appreciated. Please inform me of any spelling errors or whatnots.
Have a nice day. Go read something happy now.
Please don't kill me...