A/N: Hi everyone, it's me again, on uber-sketchy hotel internet :P This is the last chance I'll have at a computer until Friday (which is when I get my SHINY NEW COMPUTER! #glee#) so I just thought I'd drop this off while I had the chance :)
A couple things: First of all, huge thank yous go out to everyone who reviewed chapter 9--I didn't respond to any of you because, well... I had no time :P Also huge thank yous to everyone who reviewed chapter 10! I plan on responding to you once I've posted this chapter. I'm really glad you all liked it so much, since I've devoted pretty much all my time over the past five days to writing and editing it. My goal was to make it really jarring, as a contrast to all the other chapters that just had snippets, and I'm pretty pleased with the way it turned out, so I'm glad it worked :D
As for this chapter... I didn't plan on writing it at all, to tell the truth. I was just going to jump straight to the chapter that's coming after this one. But then I fell asleep in the car and I had this wicked vivid dream, and when I woke up I had this chapter title floating in my head, and I knew what I had to write to go with it. Weird story, I know, but if I didn't write this I would probably go crazy. Crazier.
Anyway, this author's note is becoming quite long winded, so I think I'll cut it off here. See you in a couple days!
An excerpt from the private diary of Inspector G. Lestrade:
Mrs. Mary Watson.
I'm afraid I did not know her very well--I was at her wedding, but of course I had not worked on the case of the Sign of Four, and had not met her previously. I was there at Doctor Watson's invitation. I am not one to wax eloquent on the beauty of a marriage ceremony, but I must say, their wedding was truly lovely. Doctor Watson looked about as nervous as I've ever seen him on that day, and I've seen him face down London's most dangerous criminals without so much as batting an eye. But when the bride came down the aisle, he turned into the happiest man on Earth. I think it affected everyone--even Mr. Holmes, who was looking rather put out at attending a wedding at all, much less being practically threatened into the position of best man, seemed to soften at such obvious joy.
I met her again a couple times afterwards--Doctor Watson and I saw a good deal of each other over the years, through Mr. Holmes' cases, and I had the chance to make her acquaintance. A truly charming woman, was Mrs. Watson. I had little opportunity to do more than exchange pleasantries on most occasions, but even through that small interaction I got the sense that she was both kind and intelligent.
She was really very young. Too young.
I attended her funeral, again for Doctor Watson's sake, and because from what I knew of her, her life deserved recognition. It was a beautiful funeral as well. I do not have an eloquent turn of phrase to describe it--I have never had much use for decorative adjectives--but thinking back, I wish I could give a name to the tone of the service. It was clear, from the abundance of people who gathered on that day, that Mrs. Watson was well loved.
I wish I could say that I have never seen Doctor Watson as he looked on the day of her funeral--bereaved, distant, empty. But I have. He looked that way when he returned to London from Switzerland, nearly three years ago.
--
An excerpt from the private diary of Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
Mrs. Mary Watson.
It was indeed a fateful day, that she walked so unexpectedly into our lives. Mary Morstan she was then, and what a puzzling little problem she had in store for us. The Sign of Four, Watson titled it. It certainly was a case worthy of remembrance.
It was also the herald of a life change for all three of us. Watson was undoubtedly and irrevocably in love with her after only a day of her acquaintance, and I was not at all surprised to learn that he had asked for her hand in marriage by the conclusion of the mystery.
I confess, I was quite selfish when it came to my Watson. Upon discovering that I would soon be forced to share him, I was entirely disappointed that he would choose to give up those trifling little problems which we shared. But I changed my mind when I heard him talk about her, and when I saw how his eyes lit up when he saw her. I am not usually one to aknowledge the softer emotions, as Watson has commented many times before, but when I saw all this, how could I not support his choice?
Mary Watson, nee Morstan, was one of the most admirable women of my acquaintance. She had instinct and intuition, and a special intelligence that is rare indeed among the fairer sex, in my experience. And she made Watson the happiest man on earth. I told Watson at the beginning that I could not congratulate him, but when I saw how happy he was, I changed my mind. Mary Watson was truly perfect for my friend.
There is no one that I would rather have had looking after Watson over the past three years.
--
An excerpt from the private diary of Dr. John Watson:
Mrs. Mary Watson.
I have never truly understood the phenomenon of love at first sight until she walked into our Baker Street rooms that day, so long ago. I had heard of it, of course, read of it, but I must never have truly believed it. But as trite as it sounds--the moment I saw her, I was certain. By the end of the first day of our acquaintance, I was fully in love with her. And somehow, by some divine providence, she felt the same. And so she became Mrs. Mary Watson, and I became the luckiest man on earth.
How is it that she became my wife? What did I do to deserve such a blessing? For a blessing she truly was, an angel. She seemed to understand everything, everything about me that needed to be understood. She encouraged me to continue to accompany Holmes on his cases, though I had initially planned on giving them up entirely in favor of a practice and life as a married man. She seemed to know that they were an important part of my life.
In her last days, when she was becoming weaker by the hour, I came so very close to despair. It was her that kept me from sinking into that inky blackness of the mind. "I do not want you to blame yourself, John," she said, her voice crystal clear even in her weakened state. "I know you--there's no cause for you to feel guilty, but you will all the same. I do not want you to feel guilty, do you understand?" She smiled at me then, and her smile was just as beautiful as it has ever been. "I love you."
My dear, sweet Mary. You saved me once before, when my life was at its darkest. You have saved me again.
--
The last entry in the private diary of the late Mrs. Mary Watson:
Mrs. Mary Watson.
I remember, after John left me at Mrs. Forrester's after the mystery of the Agra treasure, thinking that phrase to myself, over and over again. Mrs. Mary Watson. I liked the way it sounded in my head, so I said it out loud. Mrs. Mary Watson. And it sounded even better out loud, so I said it again, and again, until I was practically shouting it, and Mrs. Forrester came in, no doubt wondering if I'd gone quite mad.
I was but a girl then--older than I should have been, having lost my family so early, but still so very young. That night was one of the happiest of my life. I had the whole world at my feet, and I'm sure that if I'd tried, I could have danced on air. Mrs. Mary Watson.
I never thought John and I would be parted so soon. But life--and death--work in mysterious ways. I am content with the knowledge that we will meet again, someday. I only wish that this were not so hard for him--he is still grieving over the death of his dearest friend, and now he must be faced with my own death as well.
John will insist upon feeling guilty, I am certain. Perhaps he will wish we had spent more time together while we had it. He will feel guilty about accompanying Mr. Holmes on his adventures, which he loved so much. My dear John... I know he would have given it all up for me, if I had asked. All at once, he would have, and never looked back. But I never would have asked that of him, because if I did, he wouldn't really have been John anymore. As much as he loves the simple pleasures of life, he needs adventure, as well.
I wish he could understand that I could not have asked for a more loving, kind, caring man as my husband. And I know that he loves me, just as much as I love him. And that is enough.
My strength is failing. I cannot stay with him for much longer. I hope he truly understands that he has nothing to blame himself for. And how much I do love him.
I have but one regret--when I am gone, John will have no one. My greatest wish now is that, when I am gone, there will be someone left who cares for John as much as I do, so that he will not be alone...
