CHAPTER 1
"Mrs Hudson, have you seen my cufflinks?"
She looked up from the brooch she had been attaching to her dress. "Cufflinks? You must have around a dozen pairs Mr Holmes. Not all of them are lost, surely?"
"No," I replied. "I wanted to wear a particular pair today. They were a gift..." I had just caught sight of the cane, leaning just inside the doorway. He must have forgotten it, when we left... "They were engraved?"
Mrs Hudson noticed the direction of my gaze and shook her head sadly. "No Mr Holmes, I haven't seen any."
"No, well... I shall fetch another set then, before we go." She nodded, her eyes back on the brooch.
I dashed upstairs and when I had returned with the cufflinks - not my pair of preference - she was still struggling to pin it on with trembling hands.
"Here," I said, "let me."
"Thank you."
It was odd, seeing her in black. It reminded me of when Watson and I had first taken up lodgings here, in Baker Street, and she had been in mourning for her husband.
Perhaps she too was thinking of her husband, for although I had finished pinning the brooch, the silence continued. Or perhaps she was thinking of my own "death". Either way I could stand it no longer - I cleared my throat.
"Shall we?"
She gave a sudden jerk, jolted from her thoughts. "Yes... yes, of course."
I opened the door for her, then followed her out. Just as I was closing it I saw again the cane leaning beside the coat stand and my mind was cast back to a similar occasion...
"A case, Watson!" I cried. "There is no time to waste, I have organised the luggage to be sent on separately."
He had barely stepped through the front door, but withdrew back onto the street all the same. I grabbed my coat and followed.
"Where are we going, Holmes?" he asked, hailing a cab.
"Portsmouth," I replied, stepping in to the hansom. "To the train station, cabbie!"
He smiled as the horses clattered away, no doubt sensing my excitement.
The game was afoot!
There were many people at the funeral. Even the Irregulars, Wiggins and the rest, dressed with whatever black scraps they had succeeded in getting their hands on.
I spotted several inspectors as well of course, among them Lestrade who nodded gravely at me.
It was he who had been in charge of the case...
We ran through the fog, portions of sea flashing between the wooden slats making up the boardwalk beneath us.
The end of the walkway reared up from out of the fog without warning, and I pulled up suddenly. I struggled to maintain my footing and, just as I was about to topple into the tumultuous waters before me, a hand grabbed the back of my coat and yanked me back onto solid wood.
"We must have missed him!" I yelled in frustration, turning to Watson.
"Then perhaps Lestrade has caught him?" Watson suggested. He too was shouting to be heard over the wind, which was threatening to whip into quite a storm.
"Perhaps..." I turned back, looking out over the sea and breathing heavily. The wood beneath me shook with every wave that splashed against it. "Still, I would rather not leave the capture down to Lestrade, not-"
But I was interrupted by a cry from behind. I swung around, just in time to hear a splash! and to see a shadowy figure standing where Watson had been a moment before.
The figure darted away, back into the fog, but I did not waste time in pursuit of the criminal. I flung myself down at the edge of the walkway, scanning the sea desperately for some sign, or trace, of a person...
A slab of stone. Simple, engraved with only a few words, and laid to rest beside his wife's grave.
I listened numbly as the vicar said the appropriate phrases, wondering vaguely whether Watson would have wanted me to prepare anything. A speech or a eulogy. Wondering what he said at my funeral. But then, he always had been better with words than I.
The vicar fell silent. It had been a short service and for a while we all stood, each with our own thoughts and memories.
I was on my feet as soon as Lestrade entered the room.
"Have you- have you found-?"
He shook his head and I sat down again, slowly, on one of the chairs in the Portsmouth police station. Lestrade came and sat beside me.
"We will keep looking, Mr Holmes," he said, "but I think it would be best that you return to London. I shall contact you if- if we find anything."
I knew what he was had been missing for two days. Two minutes was nearly enough time for a man to drown.
Still, I couldn't think of that yet. I had to maintain my composure, at least until I had informed Mrs Hudson. I stood up.
"Thank you, Inspector."
They did not find the body. It saddened me to think of Watson, drifting out there somewhere, never quite laid to rest.
People began to leave, some nodding to me grimly as they filtered past. Soon I was one of the last remaining. I felt a hand on my arm.
"Come along, Mr Holmes," Mrs Hudson said in an deceivingly matter-of-fact tone. I had no doubt that her eyes were red and watery beneath the shadow of her veil. I allowed myself to be led away to a cab and then back to 221B.
I ate with Mrs Hudson that night in the kitchen, neither of us wishing to be alone. Toward the end of the meal she raised her glass. "To Doctor Watson," she said, and I raised my own.
"To Watson."
A/N - THE END.
No sorry, I'm totally joking. Despite what it might currently seem this is NOT a death!fic. Second chapter soon to follow, so things can become a little clearer.