Four Eulogies for Sherlock Holmes
By: Devyn Snyder
Sudden Cardiac Death. Serial killers, criminal masterminds, psychopaths, and the thing that finally beat Sherlock Holmes was his own body. He didn't see it coming, no one had. The consulting detective who bounded half across London before stopping to catch his breath suddenly couldn't, and not a second later he was dead. For a man with a flair for the dramatics, his death was sadly simple. No one was there to see him go, just the emergency calls from passersby. The funeral was quickly arranged and sparsely attended, but people there had loved Sherlock Holmes, in their own way. No one spoke, yet everyone had something silent to say, something they wished they had told Sherlock Holmes when he was alive. These are their stories.
Lestrade
Lestrade stood awkwardly at the headstone of Sherlock Holmes. He stared for a long while feeling empty, and then gruffly rubbed his tired eyes.
So here we are. I knew this would happen, really I did. I knew one day you would run out on a case and not come back, but I never expected it to be like this. God Sherlock you have people who care about you, you know? I do, for one. Mrs. Hudson, John, they all care, Sherlock, and what makes me angry is that you never once thought your actions hurt them. That's one thing I wish I had told you. I always wondered if you even gave a damn.
I've known you longer than most people, and believe me; we've been through the ringer. I wonder why, as if by some great design, I was the one who offered that freak with the needle tracks a tag along with the Scotland Yard. I wondered what I was getting myself into. Well, I got myself into a lot, but nothing I had expected. I was losing my edge at work, and I turned to you as a last resort. Who knew that same freak could clean up his act and turn out to be the one person who could solve what I couldn't. Well, I guess you knew it all along but I sure as hell didn't.
Now I have to go back to the Yard and do things the proper way. If there's one thing you taught me, it's that the proper way doesn't really work like it should. Honestly Sherlock, I'm scared out of my mind to go back to the yard. The staff looks to me for what to do, and I always looked to you, no matter how much it stroked your ego and flattened mine. So, I guess this is goodbye, and if there was ever a right time for you to text me "wrong", it would be now.
Mrs. Hudson
Mrs. Hudson stood with her hand on the Sherlock Holmes' head stone. Tears dripped down upon the granite crest as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. She drew in a shaky breath and shifted her weight off her bad hip.
Sherlock dear, I just cant believe it. You know how I worry about you, but I never thought you would be in any danger just walking around London. I guess worrying isn't enough to bring you back.
I always said that I wasn't your housekeeper, but to be honest, I loved to baby you Sherlock. My children never seemed to come by Baker street once they grew up, and I always felt like you were the closest thing to a son I could ever have. Seeing your eyes light up when a triple homicide came along would always brighten my day, and I felt happy knowing you were out doing what you loved.
London can be a scary and lonely place, but I always felt safe and sound knowing you were just down the hallway. I never worried about what I saw on the news because I knew Sherlock Holmes was on the case.
My younger life was never a happy one. Three children that always seemed detached, and a husband that was even more distant. Not only was he distant, but, he was violent. When things went bad at work, he took it out on me, but you knew that from they day we met didn't you? The day you made my husband disappear was the first day of the rest of my life. You, Sherlock, gave me a second chance at life. A second chance to be the woman I always wanted to be. You taught me it was never too late to start over.
I think if there was one thing I should have told you when you were alive, it is that you are loved. People may find you odd, even I find you a bit on the eccentric side, but please know Sherlock that you are loved. I love you like a son, and there will always be an empty place in my heart and an empty flat in 221B now that you're gone.
Jim Moriarty
Moriarty trudged through the graveyard late that night. He was on his way to celebrate his final and greatest victory; he had beaten Sherlock Holmes. But he hadn't really beaten him, had he? Sherlock had died and he had nothing to do with it. As he reached the headstone marked with the familiar name, Moriarty waited to feel the swell of pride from outliving his greatest threat, but all he felt was an overwhelming emptiness. His greatest and most brilliant competitor, gone forever. There was nothing left to keep him from getting bored.
Brilliant. Just brilliant Sherlock! Me, I mean. If I knew it would be this easy to kill you I would have done it a long while ago. Who knew that the great Sherlock Holmes could be taken down by a little defect in his tiny little heart? Should have seen it coming, one of us at least. Anyhow, I will miss you my friend. What will I do now?
I have more money than I know what to do with. I practically have an army of followers. I have thousands of little cases that could mess with the lives of every patron in London. Sadly, there was only one you, Sherlock Holmes. The one person who ever really challenged me. What am I to do now that even you can't come out and play? What am I to do now that you aren't there along with me, solving my crimes and staying alive in the process?
Staying alive. So boring isn't it? Just STAYING alive. Nowhere to go but here. Humans are good at staying alive, but much better at being dead. If you had been just a little more ignorant, Sherlock, just a tiny bit more bleak, I could have given you the death you always imagined. You could have died a tragic hero. I would have made you infamous, Sherlock Holmes. Instead, you're ordinary, just like the rest of them.
A week later the body of Moriarty was pulled out of the Thames river. An autopsy concluded that he had drowned. What remained a mystery was why the famous consulting criminal had been in the Thames in the first place. Only his closest followers had know that ever since the death of Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty had been bored. He had beaten himself.
John Watson
John Watson came late that evening to the graveyard, just at the sun was beginning to set. Anyone could see his military past in the way he carried himself, and in the way he held his emotions behind a cold mask and forward stare. As he approached the newest headstone, the headstone of his best friend, that cold mask began to thaw and his emotions began to get the best of him.
Sherlock, all I can say is… why? Why did this happen, why did you have to leave? Well the doctor in me knows why, but I guess what I mean is why did this happen to you? Ordinary things just don't happen to extraordinary people.
I came to London in hopes of getting back to my normal life after the military. Instead I met you. After meeting you I never wanted a normal, boring life again. You opened my eyes to the crime of London, and the darkest sides of people. At the same time, you opened my eyes to kindness I never before knew existed. There is a war going on in the streets of London, and no one knew that better than you. Now I have to go back to the very streets we used to comb for criminals, and try to fit in as if I was ever normal.
The part that bothers me though, Sherlock, is that I don't want to go back to my life that I had before I met you. Medicine used to enthrall me. I used to sit for hours studying back at university and be genuinely satisfied with my life. I joined the army. Hell, I saved peoples lives, people thought I was a fucking hero. And now, well look at me. A sodding mess standing over you, and now even you left me for better things. I don't know what I am going to do, I just don't know.
There were things I wish I had told you, feelings I had. You were never one to weigh any importance on feelings, but they were always there for me. I just wish you could have known how I really felt about you Sherlock. But really, I'm not even sure I know how I feel. I love you, Sherlock. Not in the way most would think, but in the deepest, most meaningful way a person can care.
You basically saved my life. I was on an express train to a mundane life and you pulled me in your direction instead. I never quite knew how to thank you, and I'm not sure you ever really saw how grateful I was. I hoped to show you one day, how much you meant to me, but it's too late now I guess. As a doctor, I feel terrible. It's too late to save you. As a friend, I feel even worse, and in a way, selfish because you are now too late to save me.
John Watson walked away from Sherlock Holmes that day for the last time. He knew he was walking away from his best friend, but there was a deep, subconscious part of him that knew he was walking away from much more than that.