A/N: I know I'm kind of stretching the realistic timeline here, because Freud did not publish the first paper on his studies of cocaine until about 1883.
Did I hear someone begging for answers? I belive the answers to questions that first came to light in Part II will also be answered here. Enjoy!
Chapter Eight
Holmes huddled more deeply into his coat as the train continued northward. It had been less than a day since he'd done as Watson requested and retrieved the will from among the other papers. There was at least one letter there addressed to Holmes directly, but he had no doubts what it was likely to contain and refused to touch it. Most of the will had been as he expected. Watson had left him such money as was needed to cover his share of their rent at Baker Street for six months. All his case journals and personal effects were left to Holmes unless another stepped forward to claim rights to them. All other assets were to be liquidated and the remaining amount left to someone by the name of William Docherty.
William Docherty, son of Rhona and Alan Docherty had been born in Edinburgh, Scotland on the 20th of April in the year 1875. At the age of fifteen he had been disowned by his father when it came to light that the boy had been involved in some questionably legal activities. From what little Holmes had gleaned via telegram, the boy had been badly treated growing up by an abusive drunk of a father. The mother, also under the thumb of her tyrannical husband, had essentially been helpless to prevent it. The marriage had been arranged, but had been swiftly finalized in the eyes of the law. The birth of a son some seven months later left everyone questioning the boy's legitimacy. The fact that Rhona Docherty never conceived again only served to further encourage these rumors.
Holmes had done all he could from a distance. He did not wish to leave London at such a time, but there seemed little choice. He knew he could not confront Watson directly, as he would refuse to answer. But he also knew this had been Watson's way of giving him some of the answers to his questions.
For all he had come to know of his dear friend, he could not even begin to imagine what he would find next.
~o~o~o~
Twenty years ago a young man by the name of John Watson had been studying medicine in the hopes of gaining his degree and license before taking up a career as a military surgeon. Before the horrors of war that would leave their marks on him forever, he was a very different man. He and his brother had been on amiable speaking terms, then. Though they'd never been close as John was always considered to be the "spare" and Henry junior the "heir". Henry had been marked to carry on the family name and business, while John was expected to take on the family tradition of military service as it was the more likely to end in early death.
While home during the summer holiday between sessions in 1874, Henry had brought John the case of a friend addicted to morphine and other opiates. Rory Millar had sunk to a low that even had his friends in despair. John had done all he could to help the poor man to break the addiction using a weakened solution of cocaine to counter the effects of the opiates. In the end, it was a cocaine overdose that killed him. It was deemed a suicide, though all involved knew the overdose had been stolen from John's own supply.
During the course of these events, John had met Rory's little sister, Rhona. Fearing the wrath of both their parents, they had kept their relationship secret. It was obvious Rhona's father had other plans for his daughter's future. As the summer months were coming to an end and John was preparing to return to his studies in London, they decided to marry in secret. This marriage was witnessed by John's elder brother. John returned to London already planning for his career and his new life as a married man.
A month later the marriage was annulled. John was devastated to learn that he had been betrayed by his elder brother. Henry had apparently taken a fancy to Rhona, and thought to have her for himself. By betraying their marriage to his father, he hoped to have it annulled and then he would marry her himself. Instead, the marriage was annulled and Rhona swiftly married off to an older, wealthier man by the name of Alan Docherty.
The child that was born the following April bore none of the marks of either his biological or legal father, but could have been a twin for the mother. The only distinguishing factor between them were the color of his eyes. While hers had been blue, his had been green. Thus did the whispers of legitimacy begin to taint their names.
Docherty was a drunk with little more to do than beat his wife and household staff into submission. The boy he legally claimed as his own heir he treated the harshest of all. The mother was not allowed to interfere in his brutal upbringing. Within days of the first reports of the Battle of Maiwand, Rhona Docherty took her own life. Despite her husband's brutal nature, she had managed to secret from him a box of papers that were to be given to her son upon his maturity.
At the age of five William Docherty was left to the nonexistent mercies of his legal father. The elder Docherty had only grown more vicious as the years passed. By the age of ten, William had all but left home, only being dragged back when they could catch him. Whatever life he had made for himself on the streets of Edinburgh had left several of the city's law enforcement officials eyeing him suspiciously. By the age of fifteen, William had been disowned and his father was on the verge of disinheriting him completely. Though all of this was public knowledge by this point, no legal actions had yet been finalized when Alan Docherty died in an accident involving an overturned carriage. Though foul play was suspected, none could be proven and William Docherty inherited the family's remaining possessions. Shortly after selling off all of these said possessions, he had disappeared almost completely. The money from the sales of property and possessions changed hands intact numerous times until it was lost somewhere in the system, untraceable.
For all intents and purposes, William Docherty ceased to exist. Again rumors of murder surfaced periodically in conjunction with the Docherty name. It had been twisted through the years until many believed the boy had even murdered his own mother. It was as though the brutality of the father was expected in light of such bad blood. Or, in some cases, it had never happened and the child had simply been a bad seed. Whatever the motivation behind the rumors, they were vicious and unforgiving in their judgement.
The carefully guarded box of his mother's possessions had been all but forgotten in those intervening years. However, in the autumn of 1894 William Docherty made one last appearance to claim all he had left of the woman who had abandoned him before fading once more into the shadows. It was obvious the boy had spent time on the Continent and probably many other places according to the solicitor who had cared for the box. Had he himself not forgotten the box in the dusty confines of its basement resting place, he likely would have long ago thrown it out convinced the boy would never come to claim it after so long a time. But, claim it he did; and the contents of the box disappeared into the shadows with him. Its secrets remained with the dead.
~o~o~o~
A week after his arrival in Edinburgh, Holmes found himself enduring yet another seemingly endless train ride back to London. His thoughts revolved around the boy he now knew to be Watson's son. From what he could piece together, Watson had at some point given his word that he would not come forward to claim the boy. Though William must have found something in the box his mother had bequeathed naming his true father. Holmes could not fathom why it was still kept such a closely guarded secret by his dear friend unless William himself had asked Watson to maintain that vow.
And now William was the only one who possessed the information to save his father's life.
Holmes' weary heart ached for his friend. He could only imagine Watson's joy at having his son returned to him. Knowing his Watson as he did, there was no doubt in his mind he had done all in his power to keep track of the boy and his mother. Rhona Docherty's suicide had occurred during Watson's suffering enteric fever. By the time he returned to London, it was already too late for her. Though Holmes could recall in the earlier days of their companionship his friend had received the occasional correspondence, he had never dared violate that privacy.
So many things Holmes had wanted to know and never dared to ask. Now he had the answers, he almost wished he hadn't.
How can I tell him that the flatmate he met so many years ago was himself a killer?
The ghost of Watson's journal burned only a few months ago now stirred restlessly in Holmes' thoughts. Now he understood. He had thought Watson's dislike of his use of drugs was more from a medical standpoint than any personal experience. Holmes cursed himself upon learning of his friend's experiences. He should have known, should have seen, that there was more to it. The recollection of stealing Watson's supply out of his friend's medical bag and the subsequent reaction to Holmes' statement now made sense. Holmes did not doubt the man obviously blamed himself to this very day.
Holmes found it difficult to contemplate his kind-hearted friend's dismay at the disappearance of his son. He could not even begin to imagine what it had done to him to learn of the rumors that surrounded his son's final disappearance. He was amazed to realize that Watson had never once given any indication that something was amiss. And now he understood why the loss of his brother had barely been noted.
So very many things tumbled around in his head now that it was difficult to put all of this together with the Watson he had known for some fourteen years. In many ways his friend had changed much. But the iron spirit that refused to be broken had instead been tempered and re-forged through these experiences to become only stronger. Even after such losses as that of his wife and children, he did not doubt that his friend had welcomed his son with open arms. The struggle to maintain his silence on the subject as Holmes had voiced at least some of his concern must have been a great one.
As to what had taken place more recently, Holmes could only guess. There had to be some reason why the boy insisted on Watson's silence. Yet William's testimony was the only thing that could save his father now. Watson must have been with him that night leading up to the attack. The boy was involved in all of this in some way, and that whisper of suspicion only made it all the worse. But there was something in his friend's demeanor of late, that told him Watson already knew. Holmes knew in his heart Watson would take his secret to the grave and make Holmes do the same. Too many pieces were yet missing for Holmes to find a way to avoid his friend's fate.
He could only pray that somehow he would find the boy before it was too late.
