This is a little oneshot that came to me in church this morning (they really need to stop putting blank pages in the bulletins). I don't know how good it is, but I thought maybe you might like it. It's also a double 221B!

…That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul. (Spafford 1871, 'It Is Well With My Soul')

I could hear my friend singing that tune as he came down the stairs, and I knew exactly what was coming when he opened the door to the sitting room.

"Holmes, I'm not leaving for another fifteen minutes; you still have time to get ready. Why don't you come with me?" he asked as he had asked every Sunday for the past two months.

"Why this sudden interest in religion, Watson? Before my death, you were more than content with going to church only two or three times a year, yet in the four months I have been back, you have only missed once, and that was because we were unavoidably detained by that counterfeiting case."

Watson smiled, but it didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "Before your disappearance, I believed in the existence of God, but I didn't give him much thought since I already had every thing I thought I wanted or needed. It was only after I lost both you and Mary that I realized how temporary everything I considered important was. I finally reached the point where I couldn't handle the grief alone. I almost ended it then, but…I found Mary's Bible and…something else that gave me the strength to go on. As I tried to live for others instead of focusing on my grief, I came to understand how much better it was when I let the Lord take control. Then he gave you back to me. Now I'm happier than I've been in a long time, and though I won't push you, I want you to know that happiness too."

I thought about what he said. Of course I believed in God; after some of the things I'd seen I'd be a fool not to, but that something else he mentioned was that really possible?

*********

I looked at the still form on the white, hospital bed. I had almost lost him tonight; if that knife had gone in just two inches higher, he wouldn't be here now. I thought of his last words before he lost consciousness, "Don't worry about me; I'm ready." I've always maintained that Watson is the stronger of the two of us, but how could anyone have that sort of peace? Then it struck me full force and I knew, it was that something else. "Lord, I want the same peace you've given him." Then, I remembered another thing Watson had told me in another of our conversations, "Sometimes you first must be broken."