Second Chance

"Watson."

Within the room, I gave a dreadful start and found myself scanning the darkened room with pistol in hand before I thought. What was that voice, speaking my name? A terrible trick of the wind indeed, to hear the voice of one's friend on the evening of his death. Mere hours before I had fled back to the falls, desperate at the thought I was too late, and discovered the evidence of my own failure in deep impression on the soft ground. Two sets of footprints, one belonging to my friend, and one undoubtedly that of an enemy. A scuffle, a slip...

Shaking my head, I vowed not to imperil myself by becoming preoccupied due to such thoughts. The wind, the falls, either way my own overactive imagination was playing tricks on me. My friend had faked his death before, but even a man such as he could not survive a fall from that height.

"Watson!"

No, it was no trick of my wandering thoughts. That was a living voice, and I warily retreated back to the bedside. "Who is there?" I asked in a low voice.

"The night air is a trifle damp, my dear chap. I would rather have this conversation inside than out."

Abruptly realizing that the only way he could be out was to cling to my windowsill, I hurriedly flung open the shutters to find my allegedly deceased friend doing just that. "Of all the... Holmes, get in here!" I cried, helping him over the sill to stand on the solid ground at my side before hastily closing the window once more. "However did you manage it? We thought you had been killed!"

"Which was exactly my intention," that good man replied, unperturbed. "It was better that you thought me dead for the moment than that you knew me gone as an undebatable fact. It was a precaution well thought of, for on my way here I saw traces of a man who had lain in wait and evidently changed his mind about the matter."

"But the falls – I was there, I saw them! Two sets of tracks led to the edge and none returned."

"A trick of fate, my dear Watson. You saw the area, tell me, what would you say of the cliff's face?"

"Why, it was sheer, assuredly."

"Not thoroughly so. You see, I suspected the boy sent to fetch you was a ploy of Moriarty's to send you out of the way while we conducted our own business. Fearing more underhanded forms of persuasion, I urged you to leave, and as I suspected Moriarty arrived not long after. He spent no time on speech, trying instead to send me over the cliff's edge as you undoubtedly assumed had indeed been my fate."

"But what of Moriarty?"

"He himself did meet his end. We were locked together, he and I, at the very edge of the falls, and I have no doubt he would have gladly gone over himself if he could only take me with him. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I slipped through his grip, he could not get his balance, and over he went. I saw him fall to the base of the falls with my own eyes."

We both stood in pensive silence for a moment. "This is the end, then," I said aloud, an overwhelming feeling of relief sweeping through me.

"Not yet," my friend replied, "for there are yet others of his band at large. The boy who lured you away and the man who was to lay in wait were undoubtedly only a few of his employ. While his operations may have been based in London he had agents in other countries as well, their presence here is evidence of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I will not be returning with you to London."

"Surely you must!"

"I cannot, my friend. If I were to return, Moriarty's second would undoubtedly resume right where we began and little would be gained."

"Then let me come with you."

"And what of Mary? No, it is best that you return, bearing the grief of a bereaved friend to the arms of your wife, than that you make her a widow by chance."

"And yourself?"

"I will be on their trail. It should not take long. You can speak with my brother at Whitehall should you need to contact me – I will alert him to the newest developments as soon as I have left the country, as I will need money for my travels."

I looked worriedly upon his gleaming eyes, his jaw set in anticipation. I ventured uncertainly, "You will return?"

Holmes started, as if he had quite forgotten my presence, and responded heartily, "Of course, Watson!" He paused for a moment, then added soberly, "I shall take caution, my friend, I assure you."

There was nothing more to be said; we clasped hands for a moment, our pact sealed between us, and once more he disappeared through the window just as he had mere days ago in my home back in London. How long ago that seemed now! But the wheels of justice were at work, and I had as great a role to play as had been in any of our cases to date.

It would be three years before we at last lay our eyes on each other once again.

*Author's note: I have become aware that 'baritsu' is in fact likely a misspelling of 'Bartitsu', an actual martial art. For the purposes of this story, however, I felt that the spelling so immortalized by its placement in Conan Doyle's works would serve my purposes best. Historically, it would not make an official appearance until 1898 – seven years after Holmes's use of it in "The Final Problem"!

As for Holmes coming back to inform Watson of his fate, that is what I feel would have happened, if Moran hadn't been at the top of the cliff when Holmes escaped and consequently forced Holmes to flee. Holmes's not going into detail I blame on him – Holmes can be quite particular about what is and isn't important, and he was quite emphatic that the more dramaticized version of events was not to be shared in this account.