Watson's Woes

Disclaimer - If I owned them, I'd be dead!

See bottom of last chapter for authors notes explaining the 'thinking' behind this fic…

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Poole was very quiet for the next few days. He applied himself to his studies with me one hundred percent, and even went to the extreme of offering to cancel his Sunday afternoon visits to the mater familias. I wouldn't hear of it, and insisted that the young chap go on his usual trip. It was not altogether an altruistic notion on my part, as I didn't like to miss my own regular Sunday visit. It was with some relief that I packed the reluctant young man off to his mother, and headed for my own appointment.

The days were getting cooler and so I took a blanket with me, and walked peacefully to the graveyard. Mary's grave was as immaculate as ever, though as I was visiting weekly that was no surprise. The small angel statue stood at the foot of the headstone, and the ivy I had planted only a few months ago had begun to entwine itself around it. I made a note to ensure it didn't completely overrun the statue, and settled the blanket on the nearby stone bench. I settled myself comfortably and began to talk to my wife about the events of the week, including my uncomfortable interview with Holmes and Poole.

I had moved on from the events of my household, and was telling Mary of the latest news from the Forresters when a foot scuffed the ground behind me and I turned to see Holmes standing a short distance from the bench, his head bare in the cold afternoon air. He looked deucedly uncomfortable standing there, the 'great brain' as I had once dubbed him struggling to remain above the sentiment of this time and place. That he was here at all meant more to me than any possible platitude or apology that he could offer, and something within my chest eased a relief that was almost visceral.

"Sit down Holmes, you're giving me a neck ache," I said after a moment and turned back around. The consulting detective did so, perching in awkward silence on the bench beside me. I collected several nervous glances and two false starts before I decided to offer him the lifeline he so desperately needed. I had always known that it would be for me to make the first move, and I did so now with a sense of peace. I had missed my friend, and was ready, finally, to admit him once more to my life.

"There is one thing that puzzles me in all of this, old chap," I had to contain a snort of amusement when he jumped in surprise at my words, keeping my eyes on Mary's little statue. She had been my strength and comfort in life, and her silent presence would buoy me now in this conversation.

"I deduced that you were working for Mycroft in the three years you spent abroad – who better than a dead man to engage in espionage, after all – and that it was your information that sent Mycroft from London to prevent an attempt on the Queen's life at the same time as … my loss of dear Mary…" my voice stumbled for a moment, it seemed that pain would always be sharp and fresh, "And I assume that Lestrade arresting Moran for the Adair murder removed the barrier that was keeping you from London. What I cannot fathom is why I was attacked in my garden in such a manner."

"You knew of the connection between Moran and Moriarty?" Holmes sounded surprised, and I nodded, giving him a wry smile. I was not the detective of our partnership, but even I could research and recall facts. Moran had been very virulent with his threats from the dock towards the end, something that had surprised me. At the time I had not known that Holmes had decieved me for so long, and the threats had not made sense. I had not taken precautions against those threats, which had led to my capture all those months ago, sparking Holmes' final return to London.

"I was the police surgeon assigned to the Adair murder. I was at the inquest, and gave evidence at the trial. When I realised that Adair had been killed by an air gun it stirred my memory. I went to Baker Street and consulted your commonplace books. The connection was there for anyone to see," I confirmed, and Holmes sighed. His hand clamped lightly onto my wrist, squeezing warmly.

"Moran was sentenced to be hung," he reminded me, "And he knew that I was alive. He too was at the Falls that day, and it was his presence that prevented me from going to you. He had a rifle, and I believe that he'd have killed you had I tried to call your name. He pursued me for three days across those mountains, until I finally lost him. Mycroft had use for me, and…"

I covered his hand with my own and he stumbled to a stop, something that was a rarity indeed. Holmes was never at a loss for words or explanations. Moran would have returned to England and watched for Holmes here. By the time he returned my own days had assumed some sort of routine, and for Holmes to contact me, or me to contact him would have been far too risky. Despite the pain that my grief had cost me, I would not have wanted relief at the cost of endangering Holmes.

"So the confirmation of his death sentence…" I led the conversation back to a much more recent past. Holmes nodded, squeezing my wrist once more.

"… made the Colonel determined that he would have his revenge upon us both. You were abducted, and if I had not reached you then Moran would have seen that as proof that I had died on foreign soil. You would have been killed when he was," his voice carried the faintest tinge of pain, and I chuckled.

"Well, that explains things. I do detest leaving a puzzle unsolved," I offered my friend a smile, and his eyes lit up, no doubt reading more into my statement than the words alone implied, as I had intended him to.

"It does make you the ideal partner in our Agency," there was still a slight hesitancy to the statement, one that I eradicated with my next words.

"I look forward to resuming the partnership."

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