1
Of all the aspirations I had in life, travelling has never been one of them. I enjoyed my work, lived for it and in general not having anything to do never became me too well. I never did mind going wherever was necessary for my line of work, but still I preferred an at least fairly peaceful existence, not too far from the comfort of my own home, and so in this respect I was perhaps more like my brother than I generally would admit to anyone, least of all to him.
But not all decisions in life are one's own, and so in the desperation of the moment, I had failed to call out to my closest friend and left him instead with the burden of my death upon his shoulders. I still shudder at the thought of that dreadful abyss, the thundering water beneath me and the cold and merciless rocks I clung to, wet, slippery and steep. How I managed to get off the fearsome cliff and return to solid ground I still fail to understand, but I did, with every muscle in my body aching, including the one pounding in my chest.
Since then I had often wondered, if, perhaps, I might have had another option. Could I have made myself heard? Show I was still alive and well? Would Watson have heard me above the thundering water of the Reichenbach-Falls?
If only I knew the answer…
'If' is mostly a bitter word, but as much as I tried to keep this bitter reminder of what might and might not have been out of my mind, it often would not work. Often I pondered over what I could have done instead of deceiving my best friend into believing I lay at the bottom of the fall. I was lonely, even homesick and remorse I often felt, particularly in the weeks following the incident. When would I be able to return? Would I ever be able to do so?
The first few days went by like shadows and all I could think of, was to leave Switzerland as fast and as inconspicuous as possible for an English man with torn clothing and limited language skills. With the not quite unreasonable fear of being followed still I dragged my aching body up and down the mountains, avoiding the larger settlements and sticking to the chalets instead. Just once, short of the Italian border, I ventured into a small town to sort out my ragged clothing, spending half the money I had left on a fairly decent attire.
So with the feeling of guilt slowly arising, I crossed the border to Italy, taking the train from Milan to Florence, where I planned to stay for a few weeks, so I could sort out all the particulars regarding my near future. By the time I reached the Tuscan metropolis I needed to contact my brother urgently since I was running out money fast and a dead man can hardly cable his bank to accommodate him.
To say that his response was emotional would be an overstatement, but considering that he was the most stoic man ever to walk the earth, the news of my survival clearly moved him. Never had I received a warmer letter from him nor a sterner one. He had of course been already contacted by Watson and what I was now putting upon his shoulders was a heavy burden indeed. Still, it was one of the moments I really appreciated having Mycroft as a brother. He might not have been pleased by my actions and what they entailed for him, but he saw the reason behind them and never reproached me once. Instead he did, whatever was in his power to help me in my situation and so, over the course of three weeks I took on a new name, nationality and appearance, moving through the various hotels the city has to offer during this time and so, gradually I became Hendrik Sigerson, a Norwegian born diplomat travelling for the British government.