What happened the night Sherlock Holmes returned from the dead has been written by a better pen than mine, its inaccuracies notwithstanding. This account, I do not even know why I write it, except perhaps to expiate my own conflicted feelings in the matter. Regardless, I shall burn this after I have finished it. I will not risk so many years of silence merely to clear my own conscience through confession.
Colonel Sebastian Moran's arrest, trial, and subsequent execution are a matter of public record. The appalling moral accusations he made in the dock were regarded as the ravings of a bitterly defeated criminal with a distinct wish to harm Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. They were ignored and later struck from the record as being of no substance or material interest.
What I saw, I cannot erase from my mind. It was shock more than horror, really. After years to reflect upon it, I cannot claim moral indignation for love is a matter of justice not law. Upon securing Moran in the growler I returned up the stairs opposite Holmes's old Baker Street residence to ask a question but the pair were so deep in conversation they did not hear my approach.
"I will explain everything once we are out of here, Watson, I swear, but you must believe that I did the only thing I could in this matter." Holmes was clearly pleading with his friend and I assumed, rightly, that it regarded his disappearance and presumed death. It had nearly destroyed the good doctor, and his wife's death somewhat later only beat him down further. He had been little more than a walking shade of himself for a long time. The work I had offered him as a Police Surgeon was the barest palliative for his immense and devastating losses.
There was fury and hurt on Watson's face until Holmes reached out and took him by the elbow. The anger crumbled and Holmes pulled the man gently into his arms, holding him close as silent tears slipped down Watson's cheek, glimmering in the dim light through the window.
"You never trusted me." Watson's voice was a raw rasp, wet with the tears he was shedding.
Holmes shook his head and pulled back from Watson a few inches until their noses nearly touched. "I loved you," he whispered fiercely, the words loud as a shout in the dusty, dark quiet of the room. And then, hesitantly, he kissed the doctor upon the lips. There was a silent moment of astonishment before they fell into the kiss with a passion I have never before witnessed between lovers. I must have made some sound in my shock because they started apart and looked at me. Holmes paled and Watson, eyes wide, gave me a look of abject terror.
"Lestrade." I could hear the tremor and the fear in Holmes's voice. There was a sharp edge of threat and danger in it but I could do nothing. I was utterly numb. It was two or three breaths before I could collect myself even enough to close my mouth, which was gaping open like that of a beached fish. Watson covered his face with both hands.
I swallowed and blinked, trying to think. It could not possibly be happening. Watson had been a married man, respectable in every way. Holmes himself was little more than an automaton when it came to any emotion that did not further his pursuit of his cases. The shock was entirely too much. I leaned back against the wall behind me. Light in the head, I needed to sit immediately, yet there was no chair at hand. I slid slowly down the wall and covered my eyes with a palm. "This cannot be happening." I barely recognized my own voice.
I felt them kneel next to me before I opened my eyes. Watson, God bless him, lay a hand on my shoulder. "Will you be all right?" Ever the physician.
As I looked up at them, Holmes fixed my eyes with his. "What do you plan to do, Lestrade?"
I sighed and closed my eyes, letting my head fall back against the tattered wallpaper with a quiet thump. "I don't know. God help me, I don't know."
"Then we had best discuss this in the comfort of Baker Street's sitting room," Holmes murmured, taking me by the arm and hefting me to my feet with Watson's aid. "I should not like anyone else to happen upon this little tableu."
Once again steady on my own pins, I shook my head. "No. I suppose not." My mind was still spinning as we walked across the street. I waved the remaining constables off, telling them I'd be back to the Yard when I'd had a few more details filled in.
Mrs. Hudson greeted us all within the doors of Holmes's flat. She presented him with the bullet that had split the forehead of his likeness. The bust was a disturbing sight and Watson kept his eyes averted from it as much as possible. I did not blame him. Holmes poured all of us a stiff brandy and we sat down, the two of them in their accustomed chairs by the fire and myself on the settee. I took a deep draught of the brandy, uncertain where else to start.
"I owe you more apologies than I am able to utter, Watson," Holmes said. "Yet had I returned to London after Reichenbach I would surely have been murdered, and you – " He took a drink himself. "You would have cheerfully been an idiot and put your own body between myself and any stray bullet in the vicinity without regard to your own health or any consideration for your wife's inevitable grief."
"Holmes, that is entirely unfair!" Watson ejaculated.
"Yet accurate. But the true reason I could not tell you what had happened is this; you were being watched. Your post and communications were being monitored. Had I contacted you, Moran would surely have abducted you and tortured you in a misguided attempt to find me." Holmes's eyes were hard as he spoke. "I know better than to believe such a thing could break you. But believe me when I tell you he would not stop at harming you. Were he unable to persuade you he would have undoubtedly taken your wife, as well."
Watson sank back in his chair, the shock in his face growing deeper. "Surely not Mary?" The idea was a chilling one but even criminals of the noble classes are not above harming women, as I well knew.
Holmes's eyes narrowed. "What better way to secure your cooperation? It would have forced you to betray one or the other of us regardless of your actions. If you spoke, you would betray me. If you remained silent, you would betray your wife, whom I know you loved. It would have broken you entirely had it not killed you outright. No, I could not allow it to happen. Mycroft, at least, was safe from Moran and the remains of Moriarty's organization due to his position. He could not be got at. You, on the other hand, remained entirely vulnerable." Watson said nothing, staring into his glass before drinking it all down in a single go. I was chilled to the bone by Holmes's words and could only imagine how Watson must have felt at this news.
"And you, Lestrade," Holmes said, turning to me. "Our fate is in your hands this night. What will you do with us?" I hesitated. These men were my friends, yet I was an officer of the law. Anything I did would be wrong by someone's lights, and my heart was breaking, knowing it. "As I see it, you have three choices. You can turn us in, of course. It would be your word against ours regarding something seen in a dark room, yet you are our friend and would never have reason to falsely accuse us of such immorality."
"Holmes! Surely you would not perjure yourself before the court!" Watson objected. "I should not lie, regardless of the consequences."
"Lie! My entire life has been a lie, living here and never once touching you," Holmes roared, bolting to his feet. "What do I care for one more lie in a string of them if it would save you from Reading Gaol, John? Do you think either of us would live out the week were we imprisoned? I've spent the last three years living a lie to save your life already, for Moran would never have let you live when your usefulness to him was done. A witness would have been a liability."
He glared back at me. "Your second option is to report us but allow us the inestimable grace of an hour to pack a bag and leave the country. We could be away from England forever with the first ship on tonight's tide if you allow it. You would be following the law and remaining yourself above reproach, but saving our lives as you did so."
My breath caught. How could I harm them? Yet not saying anything was as much a crime as what they had done. "Or," I said softly, taking up what I knew was my only true option, "I could forget this ever happened."
The look in Holmes's eyes lightened, some of the tension in his face and shoulders melting away. "If you did that, you would be an accessory, Lestrade. Silence in this matter would make all of us potentially vulnerable to blackmail. It is no light thing you propose. If you were found out you would surely suffer for it."
I looked over at Watson. He gazed back at me, nervous but hopeful. "Watson has suffered more than enough these past few years. You're both my friends and as you say, you've more than enough enemies in the prisons that neither of your lives would be worth a bent penny were you to be convicted. You'd die as surely as any man you've sent to the gallows. I will not be responsible for that. It is too high a price." With a shake of my head I continued. "It may be against the law that you have done this but I cannot see punishing either of you as anything other than injustice. You've been of more service to the Yard and to the world at large than any other men I know. This is a crime that hurts no one but yourselves."
"Do you really mean to make yourself a criminal on our behalf?" Watson asked slowly. Holmes was right; Watson was entirely too noble for his own good.
I finished the rest of my brandy. "It would not be the first time I have overlooked something in the interests of justice," I said. "Nor do I suspect it will be the last. I wish I had never seen what I did. I wish I'd never heard the words Mr. Holmes spoke. But I cannot un-hear them and therefore I must throw in my lot with you. Do not ever make me regret it, gentlemen."
Holmes nodded. "We shall not, I assure you." Watson stood as I did, taking my glass from my hand.
"You do not have to do this, Lestrade," Watson said quietly. The truly heartbreaking thing was that I knew he sincerely meant it. He would rather risk prison and death than allow my dishonor. Setting the glasses down on the mantel, he grasped my shoulder for a moment. "You could just let us leave. It would not reflect badly on you."
"No. I can't do that. It wouldn't be right and I would be doing you more harm than Moran already has. If it damns me then it damns me. You've been too good a friend over the years for me to want to see you come to harm." I thought of my own wife and what I'd sacrifice to keep her safe, to shield her from pain, and I knew that my friends had a hard road to walk stretching out before them. I would not make myself an obstacle for them to stumble upon.
"You are a good man, Lestrade," Holmes said. He offered me his hand and I took it.
"I shall see you on the morrow to get your statements, gentlemen," I replied. Stepping out their sitting room door, I sealed my fate with theirs.