Chapter Eight
If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Watson had finally broken down into tears. It was understandably painful to relate such a haunting tale. Holmes was thoroughly shocked to hear it. He had a million questions, but he didn't press Watson for them. Instead he gently brought his friend a cup of brandy from downstairs, pressed him to lie down, and sat calmly nearby.
Watson fell into a sleep of sorts, but it was fair from peaceful. When he'd start to whimper or fidget or moan, Holmes would gently rub his back or speak soothingly to him. It was like he was trying to prevent the nightmares from even coming. It was long work, something he didn't like to do, but now he wanted to.
It was about nine in the morning when Watson finally drifted into a peaceful sleep. With Mrs. Hudson awake, Holmes felt it would be all right to take his leave of 221B for just a short while. He didn't bother changing, since he didn't want to delay any. After being forced to have a small bite of breakfast Holmes dashed out and headed for the familiar building that housed Scotland Yards multitude of offices, officers, and other things he typically had no need for.
But today one of them had answers he needed. Needed desperately. Answers he dare not pull from his friend's tired and overwhelmed mind.
He headed down the row of offices without anyone really stopping him. Anyone of any import knew who he was and as such they knew he wouldn't be here unless he had business here. They had stopped trying to stop him mid-stride long ago. It just didn't turn out very pleasant for him or the workers or the inspectors.
He finally reached the office he had been looking for and to his surprise found Lestrade and Gregson both in the office seated side-by-side behind Lestrade's large desk. Gregson's eyes darkened at Holmes and immediately the amateur detective realized what had started as a partnership to save Watson had blossomed into a friendship. And Gregson was clearly up-to-date on the previous night's fight and didn't look happy to see Holmes.
"Is Watson all right?" Lestrade asked, getting to the only matter he would really care to see Holmes about.
"He's resting. He… he told me about being held hostage." Holmes said. For the first time, he was a little nervous about speaking to them. For once, they held the cards he desperately needed. And not for a case, for something far more dear to him. When it had become so much more important was unknown. Perhaps not having Watson by his side had made him realize he couldn't take the man for granted anymore.
"He did?" Gregson asked with some surprise in his deep voice.
Holmes only nodded glumly.
"Well, maybe now you understand the sorrow he's been through?" Lestrade asked.
"He didn't finish. He told about Mary getting shot but nothing after that." Holmes hinted.
"And you think you can just come in here and have every last detail out of us?" Gregson asked challengingly.
Holmes realized these men were not going to accept him back as easily as Watson did. In some ways, he was grateful to the, but he would not allow them to hide things from him that concerned Watson.
"I know you helped him, but I want to help him to and if he started the story he would finish it if I asked, but I'd rather avoid that. I just want to hear the outcome of things." His voice was stern as he spoke.
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged a glance.
"Well, it really isn't as simple as that Holmes." Lestrade said. "This isn't one of your cases. This isn't a neatly solved little puzzle brought to completion. You have that luxury in your line of work to accept what problems you like and ignore what you don't want to be bothered with. But Gregson and I… well, we didn't have a choice. Watson didn't either. And this case was by far the most terrible I've ever had the misfortune of closing."
"Me too." Gregson echoed.
Holmes frowned. "But what happened?" He asked.
They exchanged a look before Lestrade picked up the tale. "I of course arrested all three of them on the spot. They were guilty of murders and all sorts of other crimes, and I knew they would all be sentenced guilty. Gregson kindly saw to the body of the constable we lost. He left behind two children, a wife, and a mother. His funeral was the same day as Mary's."
Lestrade remembered that day so well. He had gone to both because of the time difference, but it was at Mary's that he was on duty. He had appointed himself Watson's official sentinel until the man came out of this.
Flashback.
I felt the first few raindrops hit my face as I exited the carriage first. I turned to assist Watson and helped him to the ground as we made our way over to the graveside. I adjusted his scarf a little, trying to keep him warm. He was barely responsive at all. I knew he was broken, but I kept willing him to survive. I pulled out my umbrella and kept it shielding him. I didn't care how drenched I got so long as he was dry.
We made our way over slowly, but the crowd that had formed parted to let him through so he was at the front. Gregson shielded him on one side with me mostly behind him on the other side. Safely tucked between us, Watson paused at the hole.
Watson stood, weeping openly in front of the coffin that was being lowered slowly into the ground. The thump it made as it settled into the hole echoed and brought on a fresh wave of tears.
The minister was saying something, I think it might have had to do with how God would bring us peace, but I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was firmly convinced Watson might never recover from this, and was fighting to keep some life in him.
Which is why my eyes were firmly fixed on him. Why I was able to note his collapse and catch him before anyone else had realized what was happening. I held him firmly in my arms as he sobbed long and hard. Gregson and I stayed behind with him long after everyone else had gone. When he was finally able to stand, we had to support him most of the way.
I wouldn't leave him alone for a long time after that. Through some arrangements and the kind donations of the elder Mr. Holmes I kept a doctor or friend by Watson through the next few days. I often went by as well, and it was to my great surprise that he eventually did start to come around.
It didn't really begin to change though until the day of the trial.
I had told him I'd be gone for most of the afternoon, but I hadn't told him why. One by one they subjects were told the charges and asked to plead. All but Roy, who had escaped despite my best efforts and the efforts of other officials notified across the continent. The best I knew, he was on to America.
When I was called to testify I related the murders: two previously, then the constable and Mrs. Watson. When I mentioned the fact she was pregnant with an unborn child – a girl as the mortician had discovered – I heard an audible gasp in the room.
Ira, on the stands, seemed at a loss. "She was gonna kill me…" He said, still confused by his uncle's twisted logic.
"She was unarmed and defenseless and you murdered her in cold blood." I retorted, looking at him.
"No." The voice brought my attention to the back of the room. I stared in dumbfounded amazement as Dr. Watson began to make his way down the aisle.
"Who are you sir?" The judge asked curtly in a nasal tone.
"My name is Doctor John Watson. I am the late husband of Mary Watson, whom this boy shot on February the first, eighteen ninety-two." Watson said, striding forward with slow, difficult steps.
There was a collective gasp in the room.
The judge sat back, seeming shocked. "I was not aware you were coming to give testimony for this case."
"I had not said so."
"Well what is it that you want to say? Come up, come up!"
Eager to get Watson on the stand I was hurried down. Perhaps he thought that Watson breaking down and crying might add a bit of sensation and excitement to the very dark case. Whatever his motives, it was clear Watson didn't meet his expectations.
"Sir, Ira did not murder my wife in cold blood. I deem him to be mentally unfit to be responsible for his own actions. As a doctor I declare him mentally insane and he should be removed to a facility to care for his needs." Watson said.
I gaped. Watson had just saved the boy's life. Ira would've very likely hanged for murdering Mary, but Watson had just thrown him away from the scaffold and offered him a decent life. Something Ira didn't know and certainly, in my opinion, didn't deserve."
The judge looked over at Ira. "What do you have to say?" He asked.
Ira just rolled his head and shook his head, confused.
"What about these other men Dr. Watson?" The judge asked him.
Dr. Watson looked hard at Bert and Eugene, and then just shook his head. "They are medically sound enough to make their own decisions and answer to the law as you decide." He replied.
I stared at him in complete shock, but went around to assist him as he was dismissed. I helped him to a seat that was quickly offered to him by some gentleman in the first row.
"Well, in light of this new evidence, I order that Ira Donaldson be taken to an institution at once. Eugene Donaldson and Bert Hill are both sentenced to death." The judge said, banging his gavel on the desk to dismiss us.
I turned to Watson. "Why?" I asked, having to have an answer. Gregson had also come over and was looking at Watson with the same amount of curiosity.
"Gentlemen I just lost my wife and daughter. I know though, somehow, that Mary would not have wanted him to die. She cared about him a good deal. It was the last thing I could do for her to see him safely away to someplace better for him."
End Flashback
Lestrade snapped out of it when Gregson put a hand on his shoulder. He sighed. "Watson saved the boy's life. Ira is now settled in a quiet place. Watson knows where it is, but to my knowledge he never visits. Eugene and Bert were executed about six months after their sentence was handed down. Roy…" Lestrade ground his teeth. "Has never been found, though the best of our intelligence points to him jumping a ship to America like he told Dr. Watson he would."
Holmes swallowed, his mind trying to work out the mystery of his friend. Watson had been hurt so badly by someone he had offered to help. Then to turn around and save him anyway was something Holmes couldn't easily wrap his head around. He heard of heroes, but to know that one so large was his friend meant a good deal to him.
"Thank you gentlemen." He rose and turned to leave. "I am sorry for the intrusion. Lestrade, I have indeed learned a valuable lesson. I will not take my friendship with him so lightly, and I will not neglect my duty to him as such." He promised.
