Watson's musings, post marriage to Mary Morstan, between the events detailed in The Valley of Fear (January 1888) and the events occurring in "A Scandal in Bohemia," which takes place in late March 1888.
Symphony No. 2 in F minor
Why must I remain the captive audience
For your experiences, living like a vicar
With a promiscuous sister, delighting
Secretly in her escapades and wanting
So much to be more than just an observer
But scared to even breathe over her shoulder
As she engages in the sprightly dance
To which I am now such a stranger.
I feel so keenly the thrill of longing
To do more than listen to the final solution,
And as I hear you languidly tell
Of all the dangers and fates that befell
You, all in the course of a day,
How could I not wish to say
That I had been there following,
Breathing the sweet scent of a problem's fruition.
You mention these tales in passing,
Sometimes you elaborate, sometimes not,
Irrespective of my requests and pleadings.
I imagine the most adventure when you deny me
Any details whatsoever, and I sometimes fancy
Picking the lock of your strong-box, chancing
Your furiosity for the sake of having
Captured a vision of your secret experiences beyond.
Of course I'd never do such a thing,
But the critical fact is that I do yearn so,
And this perplexes me and burdens my heart
With sorrow; what a ridiculous choice to love and part
From your side for the sake of a woman!
Even if such a woman is my beloved Mary Morstan.
Is a comfortable, safe marriage worth the sorrow
That comes as you describe ousting latest criminal ring?
I want to be part of your next great adventure,
In the rain, in the sleet, in the sun, in the snow,
And somehow she seems to understand enough
That she does not begrudge me hours on your Baker Street couch.
But I can't up and leave without notice at your beckon-call,
For as a doctor with a practice, I have responsibilities, after all.
So strange that when in these times, I lay quiet and low,
My health is more frail than in the days of ever-present danger.
Why must I close my eyes and wish away
All of the things that my forefathers have said
Would bring me the closest thing to earthly happiness?
I suffer a secret death of home-centred interests!
And I long for the days when my veins were alight
With fear and staunch comradeship and the strength to fight;
My patients would be far more interesting if they were dead
By some foul killer, and us fervently pursuing his game...
