Without even thinking, without daring to think, Watson headed back into town, treading heavily along the path. The Swiss police were waiting for him--they asked him their questions and he answered as best he could, though his voice sounded hollow to even his ears. There was only one conclusion they could possibly come to, however, and they came to it, and bid him good day.
Watson ascended the stairs to his room at the inn without being aware of his own footsteps. Methodically, almost unconsciously, he undressed and lay down in his bed, facing the wall. And he suddenly found himself left alone with his thoughts, and he did not know what he could possibly begin to think about.
There was no information left. There was only blank unfeeling, his mind, his whole body still numb.
And then a gust of wind rushed into the room through the window, which had been left ajar, rattling a piece of paper on the nightstand. Involuntarily, Watson twisted his head and saw, set neatly on top of the paper, a set of cuff links.
They belonged to Holmes.
And with the realization that these familiar objects would never be used again, Watson found himself feeling again. He reached out and grabbed them, holding them tightly in his hand as he choked back tears for the first time since finding a farewell letter at the falls.