please read and review
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
I closed my mind to the words spoken by the vicar as I watched his coffin slowly carried into it's final resting place.
As per custom, as the pall bearers ushered him inside the darkened tomb a handful of earth was scattered upon the coffin, I too held in my hand some dirt but could not bring myself to cast it upon his casket.
The only other non official members of this funeral cortege were two maids, their tears fell freely and it is no shame to admit that I too wept silently.
This could not be the truth...it had to be some ruse.
As they vanished into the half-light of the mausoleum, what little strength I had, the remaining fight that I had in me died and was interred forever with my closest ally and my only friend
"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself."
The ever present shadows thickened around me, it was uncommonly kind of them to let me attend his funeral...but I did pay for it after all out of the new funds they hadn't stolen. Now no doubt they expected me to try to escape...I would never sully this everlasting memorial to his memory in such a way
But I feel I should explain a little more.
After the incident at Reichenbach I, with the help of an secret ally took to pastures new in order to heal and refocus my energies.
It was never my intention to be away quite so long.
My mind and my body suffered greatly due to the horrors brought down upon me at the hands of that torrent of water.
I was left, helpless, battered and scarred, the whole healing process took far longer than I had calculated...an error that has cost everything dear to me.
It is my understanding that after the fall, Sebastian spent countless hours searching for something, anything to confirm what he believed to be the truth. While clinging to a vain hope that I had somehow survived the fall and the waters.
But it was no surprise when nothing was found and so not long after two very different funerals were held one filled with many and varied mourners weeping and wailing at the demise of Sherlock Holmes...while at the other a single man, his spirit and heart broken watched on as my own funeral took place.
I will give Sebastian credit, he tried his best to emulate my methods but without me there to guide and provide instruction he soon fell into bad habits, the very same ones that had first brought us together.
My empire...no, OUR empire was no more and even the most desperate of criminals soon began to avoid contact with Sebastian as he slipped rather quickly into a spiral of self-destruction.
As if he sort to hasten his own demise in order to join me in death
I was made aware that he attended the opera more than ever and would sit in a box alone, just sat staring blankly ahead not reacting to anything...his grief plain for everyone to see.
I have been reliably informed that on several occasions, one of the maids entered our old chambers to find him sat beside the fire a loaded pistol in his once steady hand, tears streaming down his cheeks.
It was increasingly likely that Colonel Sebastian Moran..would succumb to this morose cloud he had fallen under..and put an end to his own life.
This would not do.
Upon hearing how badly he was affected by my apparent demise I had him watched constantly with express instructions that he was not to be allowed to harm himself.
The noble soldier who had stood beside me without question nor fear was gone...what was left was a broken man.
One that I could restore to former glory, no...I would rekindle the fires that first brought him to my attention, together we would be unstoppable.
His dark hair rapidly turned grey, his beard which was usually trimmed and neat became disheveled, but worst of all that fire in his eyes, died.
Now the world knows that Sherlock Holmes had faked his own death, two can and did play at that game but unlike him it was not my intention to play tricks with my stalwart companion.
I knew that funds were non existent and that Sebastian had once again taken to alternating between various clubs that he was a member of.
My friend was living hand to mouth, on other peoples money, a very dangerous game to play.
My tiger, had not only been tamed but my actions had crushed him..it was never my intention to do either. I needed his passion, his desire..the fire within him kept me alive.
I needed to have him by my side once more.
So that fateful night, I bundled myself up and dismissing the concerned of my ally ventured out see for myself how he fared and to maybe show Sebastian that I was still amongst the living.
If only I had known.
The name of the club escapes me, but it was one of the least desirable places I have ever had the misfortune of entering, I was appalled that Sebastian had stooped so low as to join such a place.
Thick smoke filled the air as did excessive colourful language greeted me as I entered.
I ignored the pleading of the steward, who insisted that I should sign in or at least remove my hat and coat.
I obliged him slightly by looking at him intently and giving him my best smile, my new and ever present metallic mask hid the portions of my face that had been crushed mercilessly but added to the drama of my presence.
The fool soon backed down and found something of immense interest amongst the dead leaves of the over watered aspidistra that stood forlornly in the corner by the door.
A quick glance into the main room informed me that Sebastian was not there, but my heart quickened when I heard his laugh carry over to me, from a side room that adjoined the main.
"Oh damn it Moran, not again!"
"You sir...appear to have been cursed by the devil"
"Maybe you should try your luck at patience old thing"
I stood hovering in the doorway, torn between just simply observing him and hoping that I would catch his eye...I did just that but not in the way I wanted
"No gentleman, it is skill, your pure skills...and I am a little rusty" he laughed as he watched the winnings from the last hand being gathered together by a red-faced and very drunk Welsh Guardsman.
Moran motioned for one of the numerous stewards.
"Another glass of that fine brandy...I have the feeling my luck is about to change"
"Well, old boy it cannot get much worst..eh" someone chuckled.
Ah, yes...I knew this particular game well and Sebastian was the master of it.
The steward returned and Moran made short work of the contents of the offered glass, belching loudly...playing the game to perfection.
I took in his slightly unkempt appearance, his clothes while still fine were showing the signs of a man down on his luck, his hair had indeed lost it's colour, his beard was in dire need of a trim... his face was sallow, his lips drawn and tinged blue..and those deep penetrating eyes were now, dulled and almost empty but gleamed slightly due to the brandy he was imbibing.
All in all his appearance made him seem 10 or 20 years older than the men sat around the table with him who were obviously senior in years to him.
Sebastian played each and everyone of them masterfully and I felt so proud to see him at work again. Just maybe the rumours of his becoming unhinged were just that..rumour
I watched on as he cast out his line and slowly reeled them all in, they had fallen into his trap...hook, line and sinker.
As he started to pull his new takings towards himself, while those around him muttered a mix of congratulations or swore vile oaths, he happened to glance at the door to this side room and thus he saw me, stood watching him.
The colour drained from his face and I swear that what little hue remained in his hair went a ghostly white...he stood suddenly, sending the table, the cards, the money and anything else that laid upon it everywhere.
He managed a step and a half towards me, through the commotion that came from his card playing partners I heard him whisper but one word.
"Professor"
A blind panic seized me and I backed away suddenly.
Sebastian Moran, the most fearless man I ever had the pleasure of knowing did the one thing I never expected to see, he fainted.
As he collapsed to the floor, he extended one hand as if he was reaching out for me.
I faltered and to my shame fled the building..but I will never forget the words that echoed in my ears as I took to my heels.
"Someone get a doctor!"
"Dear God...is he dead?"
"I always thought..it would be a tiger that would be the end of him, not a game of ruddy cards"
"Does this mean we divvy up the winnings then?"
Like a craven coward I abandoned him and hurried back to my new hiding place. By the time I reached it I too was in a bad state. So much so, that for the next week or so I was plagued by brain-fever and recurring nightmares that featured Sebastian.
It was on the eight day of my incapacitation that I was informed that Colonel Sebastian Moran was dead.
Rumours circulated that he had been stuck down by a seizure or he had probably suffered a heart attack due to suddenly winning a rather large amount of money at cards. The more incredulous rumours where that he had simply succumbed to the madness that he had fallen under since returning from the continent for he was heard to utter the word "Professor" before reaching out to someone who wasn't there.
I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder and heard those damnable tones of Mr Sherlock Holmes.
"Come Professor..it is time we were going"
I nodded, paused then asked
"Could I have a moment alone with him?"
The Scotland-Yarders were not keen on the idea but both Holmes and his Boswell assured them that there was nowhere for me to go.
And so I entered the final resting place of Colonel Sebastian Moran, it was cold..and yet I found its chill welcoming. Sebastian would have scoffed at the lengths I had gone to, I had emptied my coffers and built him a lasting monument that I felt was suitable.
Carefully I removed the lid to the casket and smiled, the undertaker had fulfilled my instructions to perfection.
The wooden casket which I hastily removed, was but an outer protective shell for Moran laid inside a glass coffin. His hair had been returned to its former colour, his beard trimmed as he always preferred and they had dressed him in his favourite brown "hunting" clothes. In his pockets were a pack of cards, a full hip flask, and that odious hand tobacco that he so loved to smoke.
At his left, there was a simple bound leather volume, a parting gift from myself, my memoirs are forever entrusted to the only man I deem worthy.
To his right, his preferred weapon of choice, a hunting rifle rested against him...it's specially made scope, range extender and silencer lay at his feet, his body laid upon one of the many tiger pelts that he had bagged for himself back in the day.
"I know you will hate me for doing all this Sebastian..but what else could I do"
I laid a hand on the glass above his heart and closed my eyes, what I wouldn't give to hear him curse and then glare at me at finding himself entombed like some fairytale princess
But no sound came forth apart from that of a sobbing, it took me a few seconds to realise that those pitiful sobs came from myself.
I reached inside my ulster and produced a single red rose and placed it upon the glass.
If only, I had had the courage to tell him.
My legs felt like lead as I climbed the few steps and into the hands of the waiting police, I was grateful when Dr Watson shooed them away and fell into step beside me.
If only it was my own bishop at my side, and not the one of my nemesis.
A nod to the gravediggers and they pushed the marble door shut and began to seal it.
Somewhere in London, hidden away is a sealed vault that rests beneath the carved figure of a ever watchful crouching tiger.
Yes Sebastian, this is rather grand, even dramatic but I find it all rather fitting.
As I left him there to sleep eternal and went to face my own final destiny, I bid farewell to the greatest marksman the British Army had ever known, my staunchest ally, my confident but above all my only one true friend.
I only wish, I had told him just how dear to me he was.