PLEASE READ: This is my second of two (so far) Sherlock Holmes stories that I have online. I have about twelve more to type up to post on fanfiction. And hey, for anyone who watches Fringe or the Mentalist, I've written a couple stories for each.
So, this story is about Watson dying and Holmes dealing with it. In this particular story, we get a closer look at the bond between them that made them like brothers. This story does not have them as a couple...though those stories are very interesting sometimes.
This story can be read as a play, really, because it lacks much description. It's actually based on a play. For any die-hard Holmes fan, such as myself, I recommend looking into he past of our great detective. You will find numerous plays, movies, television shows and novels based on Holmes. This story is based on the 1893 play by Charles Rogers entitled "Sherlock Holmes." (Real original, right? I thought so too.) The play has a killer who kidnaps Watson and Holmes is arrested for his supposed murder. After escaping from prison, Holmes searches to find Watson's kidnapper (and the real murderer, as we find) to avenge his friend and prove himself innocent.
So, please enjoy my story (play) and forgive me for the most of it being dialogue.
-Myelle White
"I'd be lost without my Boswell."Holmes said, pacing his rooms at 221b Baker Street.
He talked aloud to assure himself he was indeed still here...on Earth. Without Watson.
"My Boswell."
Watson's funeral was tomorrow. Naturally, Holmes hadn't moved from his rooms since he first heard the news.
"Oh, Lestrade come in! Watson will be here in a moment and then we're off on the case! The game is afoot, Inspector." Holmes said happily.
"Uh, Holmes, there's something I need to tell you. I don't quite know how to do it."
"The case? Oh, Lestrade, leave it all to me. You an have the credit, of course, but I want to solve it. For years I've been waiting on a puzzle as perfect as this one. Nothing could spoil my day, my dear fellow. Now, where the deuce is Watson at? He should have been here already. It's not very kind of him to keep us waiting."
"Holmes, please stop and listen."
"Anything you say."
"Watson isn't coming."
"Well why not? How could be so busy as to miss a case like this? I tell you, Inspector, I won't let him tell the public this little story if he doesn't bother to show up-"
Lestrade grew impatient and he blurted out the delicate news to get Holmes to stop talking.
"Watson is dead!" he yelled, "Holmes, I've put new men on the case and they'll handle it."
The detective's face fell immediately.
"This is a rather cruel joke. How could you say that? Of course Watson is not dead. If you didn't want me on the case-"
"For God's sake, Holmes, I swear to you that Watson is-"
"Don't you dare say it!"
"I'm sorry."
"So he- no! No, no, no." He said quickly. He felt like crying but he didn't dare. Lestrade seemed to notice this. The man picked the most inopportune time to become observant.
"You can cry, Holmes. I fully understand. The whole of Scotland Yard sends you their sympathies."
"I'm not going to cry, Lestrade. Now, since there is no case, I don't see what the point in your presence here is any longer. Please leave."
Lestrade gave an empathetic look at the man then walked away. Holmes heard him tell Mrs. Hudson the news and to keep and to eye on Holmes.
"It's not fair."
"Mr. Holmes, I've brought your tea." said Mrs Hudson as she walked into the room. Her eyes were still wet with tears and she held a tissue in her hand.
"Mrs. Hudson, surely you cannot still be crying?"
"Indeed I am. I guess everyone deals with grief in separate ways but I would have figured you'd cry too. He was like a brother to you whether you admit it or not."
"And a son to you, undoubtedly."
"Yes, since his d-"
"Please, don't say it."
She nodded and left his tea.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Watson watched. He figured Holmes couldn't hear him so he didn't try. It would be too painful to not be heard. So he watched as a spirit, a ghost or whatever he was.
He didn't care and he didn't want to find out.
Death took him from his best friend and placed him where he could watch...but from afar. A cruel twist of fate. Watson watched Holmes struggle with his daily life but he never did cry. Was it vain for Watson to think his friend would have cried? He, himself cried when Holmes had fallen over that despicable waterfall. Perhaps his emotionless facade wasn't a facade at all. Perhaps he really didn't care.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Tell me what you think and thank you for the reviews on my other story "the singular case of jack the ripper."
Please review and tell me what you think...also, if you have any suggestions, let me know and I'll weave it into my future chapters.
-Myelle
