It is important to note, if only for the sake of my own peace of mind, that I doubt if anyone should ever read this account, or any that shall follow in this new diary of mine. If anyone does ever come upon this and read it, I imagine that I shall most likely be dead. It is my intent to use this diary to divest myself of all the secrets that I have kept hidden from the public all these years, and to serve this purpose, this diary must be kept out of any and all hands but my own.

This diary was a gift from my dearest friend Sherlock Holmes on my most recent birthday, on account of the fact that, according to my friend, I become idle and morose when I do not write. He says that my idleness is contagious, and it must be remedied as we are in such close quarters of late.

It is on this note that I should like to expound. In my published works, it has been said that Holmes left me alone to retire in Sussex. This is in part a falsehood. It is true that Holmes did retire and move down to Sussex, but he did not abandon me in London. I accompanied him, and now we share our home in rest just as we shared our home in work. I can see him through the window at this very moment, tending to his bees.

This continued cohabitation, and the hiding thereof, were both quite necessary. Through our long years of companionship, I have tried to live without Sherlock Holmes. I tried when I married my dear Mary, and I was forced to try after the deeply unfortunate events that transpired at Reichenbach Falls. It is not a thing I can do with ease, living without Holmes. When I was married, I still found myself being pulled away from my poor wife to join Holmes on his adventures, and during the years in which I thought Holmes to be dead, I was a hollow, lifeless man. After much introspect, I have realized that Holmes is, and has been for a very long time, the most important thing in my life. When he told me of his intentions to retire, there was never a moment in which I did not intend to join him.

But the public is not overly sympathetic when it comes to matters such as these. Due to unfair laws and outlooks, people see two men who are closer than the average man and wife, and they begin to make suppositions. I do not intend to postulate that such suppositions are always incorrect; they are merely always unfortunate. And it is for that reason that, as far as the public is concerned, I remain living alone as a steady old widower in London.

It is worth the maddening secrecy, though. Holmes and I are aging. It is in the dusk of our lives that men need companionship most of all, and I personally cannot imagine trudging along the streets alone in the streets of London without my Holmes beside me. My bad leg has only worsened in my later years, and if it were not for my friend's company and natural vigor, I cannot envision myself getting out of bed most mornings.

I imagine it is much the same for Holmes. His body is still long and thin and quivering, but he seems to move more slowly of late with perhaps a small stoop to his shoulders. His long, nervous hands shake more than they did in the past as he reaches out for a book or a cup of tea, and his sleek black hair is not shot with grey at the temples. His grey eyes still twinkle as they always have, though, and I know that he is the same person I have shared the majority of my life with. Retirement has not taken his life-force or his great mind. I had worried early on that the inactivity of retirement would send him into a deep, drowning languor; but on the contrary, he seems to appreciate the ability to finally rest. Besides, he keeps active enough with his bees and with me. This comforts me. I also worried that without the excitement of his cases, he would grow tired of me as well. The fact that he has not is one of the greatest sources of joy in my life.

I have had much time for musing nowadays, as Holmes and I often sit silently in our cozy little sitting room. Lately I have been thinking of Mary again. I did love the woman, I honestly and truly did. She was kind and sweet and strong, all the desirable qualities in a woman. But—and mind that I do feel a little shame in admitting this—I regret choosing her over Holmes so many years ago. Six years in all I have lost from my life with Holmes—three when I was married and three when I was mourning. And, looking back, I would freely give up the adventure of the Sign of the Four and my subsequent meeting of my poor Mary if it would give me those years back.

I loved Mary, and I still find myself mourning her and missing her despite the many long years past. But I no longer wish that she was mine, no longer imagine how life would have been if she had been allowed to grow old with me. I am not glad she is dead by any means, and I would have saved her if I'd had the ability—I am simply glad that my life with Holmes has been allowed to continue, and that we shall not be separated again as we both shall live.

If only I had understood what he meant to me back then as well as I do now. I could have saved the two of us so much pain. I could have saved Mary, too. I believe she always knew that she was sharing my love with Sherlock Holmes. On her deathbed, she proved my suspicion correct, but she told me that she held nothing against me and only wished for my happiness. I only wish that she could see my happiness now and be comforted.

I am very happy now. I have been allowed to live and laugh and love, and now I am being allowed to rest with my dearest and most precious friend. I am very lucky.

But, ah! My Holmes is coming inside now. I must take leave of you now, diary. Until I take up the pen again—

JHW

(A/N)

I've found that oneshots are my forte. I'm beginning with the boys' shared retirement because I often find that I can't always appreciate the often-angsty middle of a story unless I know that it all ends well. Also, even though I haven't finished reading all of The Stories yet, I do know how Holmes and Watson end up in different places at the ends of their lives, and I don't like that. There are characters that are supposed to always be together, so I tweek facts to suit my needs.

Hope this read didn't make you want to gouge your eyes out with spoons! I don't know when the next time I'll update will be--it's harder to come up with ideas for 'Sherlock Holmes' than it is for 'Good Omens'.

Much love,
Miyazaki A2