"Doctor Watson," the judge spoke in a stern voice, "if you don't answer within a reasonable amount of time, then we will have to remove you from the stand." John started, wiping the mist from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Sorry. Um," he paused for a moment. "It was definitely a suicide. I watched him jump, and then I saw him hit the pavement." He steepled his hands in his lap and looked down for a moment. "He definitely killed himself."
"And how well did you know Sherlock Holmes?"
In that moment, Doctor John Hammish Watson lost his composure.
Images of the time that he and Sherlock had spent together swarmed into and through his consciousness, crippling him with their intensity. He and Sherlock seated at the table in Angelo's, the candle glowing warmly between the two as they ate and talked. He and Sherlock sitting in the flat, discussing their current case only when they weren't discussing each other. He and Sherlock rooming together at the inn by Baskerville, both of them pretending that they were asleep but neither wanting to.
Sherlock, shaking his hand. Sherlock, covered in blood. Sherlock, harpoon in hand. Sherlock, telling him that he has no friends. Sherlock, apologizing to him. Sherlock, kissing him. Sherlock, taking his hand and running from the police. Sherlock, standing atop the hospital.
Sherlock, dead on the sidewalk.
All of the memories swarthed through John's mind, refusing to allow him to do anything but cry. John desperately wanted to stop, to cry out to the judge and jury "yes! I knew him! I knew him better than his own brother did!" But all he could manage was to hold back the sobs that threatened to break through the tattered remains of his dignity.
One of the attorneys, he didn't see which one at the time, guided him off the stand gently. Once outside the courtroom, he led John to a nearby bench and sat him down. Seating himself next to John, the attorney pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and gave it to John.
Once John had pulled himself together, he held his hand out to the attorney meekly.
"Thanks. It's nice to meet you, mister...?"
The attorney shook John's hand briskly. "Moran. Sebastian Moran." He put his hand on John's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I know what it's like, you know. To lose somebody like that." He smiled wistfully. "Mine went on the same day that yours did." Moran stood up and faced John. "Anyway, I need to get back into the court. You can come back in, or you can stay out here. It doesn't matter either way."
John stood and smiled weakly. "I'll join you back in the courtroom."
From the back row of the balcony, Sherlock Holmes watched Sebastian lead Doctor Watson to his seat on the floor of the courtroom. He had a riding cap pulled down low over his face, and he would say that it was there to protect his identity. But he was secretly thankful that it was there to hide the lone tear that had fallen down over his cheekbone as John left the court sobbing.