I suppose it was inevitable that John Watson would leave me. He was a young, handsome doctor—a man that any woman would be happy to have. I was foolish to have believed that Watson would remain here at Baker Street—at my side—forever. I had seen the look that he gave Miss Morstan when she had first arrived at our flat. I saw the way he wished to get away, being rather uncharacteristically shy. She asked him to stay, though, and happily, he complied. What would I have given to see that smile bestowed upon me?
And later, at Pondicherry Lodge, standing outside, I felt a more potent stab of jealousy as she took his hand and the two of them blushed. I pretended not to notice, however, continuing my inspection of the grounds. He escorted her home and when he returned, I was glad of her absence, even if the thought of her remained between us.
When we returned to Baker Street and I had slept enough to keep my body going, I watched him sleep in the chair across from me, not waking him until Mrs. Hudson came to say that breakfast was ready. He then began his mournful talk of Miss Morstan becoming an heiress, and no longer being able to court her. I played my violin for him so that he could fall asleep, but I found that the sadness that was pouring out of my instrument was no longer coming from the doctor, but from my own heart, which was slowly but steadily breaking.
He had fallen asleep with tears on his cheeks. Quietly, I set the violin down and walked over to him. He was deeply asleep, so I had no fear. With my thumb, I wiped away the teardrops and allowed myself to linger just a moment longer than necessary. I was vaguely aware of Mrs. Hudson stopping in the doorway to the room, but I had no fear that she would breathe a word. She always had seemed to know me almost better than I had known myself.
As I turned away from the slumbering doctor, I realized suddenly that I was never meant to have anyone. I would always be alone, always set apart. At that moment, I was the loneliest man in the world. I retreated to my room, alone with my violin, letting the music express my wounded heart as my voice could not.
~Russian verse again, I just watched the first half of The Sign Of Four and it actually quite depressed me. Hence this. Feedback is wonderful! Tell me how I'm doing!