There was only one man who had known my full plans, only one who could have exposed me so thoroughly to Moriarty's machinations. My mind rebelled against the possibility at first, but as I sat wrapped in a plaid blanket, smoking the wretched cigars that were all the shepherd who had pulled me from the river could provide, I called to mind every encounter I had had with my brother in the past several years, and realized that his fascination with Watson was deeper than I had supposed. That explained everything.
He never could stand me having my own toys.