The End?
Chapter 1 - The End?
Watson stared at his type writer, his mouth became dry and his coral blue eyes filled with tears. Was this really it? Had his adventures with the great Sherlock Holmes finally come to an end?
Paper was sprawled everywhere, across the floor and all over the hard, wooden desk. Stories, on paper of Watson's life. Watson's adventures. He had written down every word, every single detail of his cases with Sherlock. Now they were only just memories.
"John!" A voice called out for him from downstairs. It was Mary, Watson's wife. They had been married for only a month, and with Sherlock's death, Watson said he would move in with Mary in a vintage cottage just outside of London and move away from 221B Baker Street, the house that him and Sherlock had been staying in. The place where they gained and solved their cases and celebrated as true gentlemen should.
"Oh John, we really need to get a move on and there is still so much to pack" panicked Mary as she frantically picked up boxes and thrusted them under her arms. Watson stood up and slid his coat on him and placed his top hat on his head. He strolled downstairs and out the front door closing it slowly behind him. He sighed and looked up to the grey, gloomy sky hoping that there was still a ray of hope left for his friend, Sherlock Holmes.
The apartment was soon empty and Mary sat in the carriage waiting for her husband to join her. Watson turned around and went back inside, the floors were of a bare wood and the wall paper was slightly ripped, but it was home. A recent newspaper had been left on the floor, the headline read in bold, and black letters: "SHERLOCK HOLMES IS DEAD".
"You lying bastard" Watson said under his breath. His anger was overshadowed by the fear of his loss of his friend. He threw the paper across the room and slammed the door. He greeted Mary with a kiss on her crimson cheeks and they set off to their new house.
"The house is divine Mary, you've done a good job with finding a place like this" Watson stated as he ran his fingers along the window sill, picking up the fresh mildew that had come off the window above.
"Well, I do my best John" Mary replied "And now that... that Sherlock, is d- is no longer with us, well we can start building our lives together." Watson gave an uncertain smile to Mary and then picked up his cane and walked out the room, his coat gently brushed up against her. She sighed and then went to unpack the rest of her things.
"You know, I do miss him too" She called "In my own way." A heavy knock at the door widened Mary's eyes, she walked to the front door and opened it, uncertain with who was there. A tall figure wearing a long overcoat with a top hat that barely covered his large head. His moustache looked like a hairy caterpillar that was hibernating for the winter.
"Mam" He grumbled with his low croaky voice "Is there a Watson here? A Mr Watson? I heard he moved away from London and is relocating at, um this address?"
"Well you heard correct, Sir, but his proper terms of address is Doctor Watson."
"Right, Doctor Watson. Well is he there?"
"No. Is there something you wish to give me?"
"Tis' a letter mam, for Mr.. Doctor Watson." He handed the letter to Mary who snatched it off his fingertips and she then gentley closed the door infront of him. The gentlemen strolled off and was taken away by a horse and cart. Mary placed the letter on the coffee table which stood in the middle of the living room. The envelope read: WATSON in big bold letters and was written in a fine ink. Watson picked up the envelope and began tearing it open, inside was a letter of course. A creased letter and this is what it read:
To Dr. John Watson,
"I hope you do not find this inconvenient at all but a murder has occurred in London and it was at first believed to be suicide but all evidence points to murder. As you are a Doctor and are no longer alongside, the great Sherlock Holmes well we wish that you would come down and check out the crime scene along with our top detective, Donald Flack. He shall accompany you. We hope to see you at Scotland Yard this evening at 6pm sharp."
Yours sincerely and our best regards,
Sergeant W Mills.
Chapter 3 - The Unknown
London was so bleak at this time of year, it was better spending your Winter in the desert. Scotland Yard wasn't much better, the atmosphere was lonely and stone-cold. Watson cautiously walked through into the Sergeants office. There he was smoking a pipe with his feet upon the desk.
"Sergeant?" Watson said in a strong tone. There was no reply.
"Sergeant Mills!"
The Sergeant suddlenly dropped his pipe whiched burnt some of his precious paper work. He scrambled to his feet and looked up to see Watson standing at the door.
"Watson, you really should knock before you decide to stroll in an Sergeants office." He replied spitfully. "Here about my letter then?"
"Of course, why else would I be here?" Watson replied "I absolutley have nothing else to do but spend time with my wife in our new house or continue to write my stories about the only man who impacted on my life which my wife gets sick of!" Watson finally caught his breath and sighed heavily.
"Well then, lets jet off to the crime scene." The Sargent said with a smile on his face. Watson was uncertain about this but followed after him.
The crime scene was at a graveyard, the stones were old and mould had creeped up upon them. The written was corroding and the wind whistled.