Chapter Thirteen
The evening passed uneventfully. We ate and Martha retired to her bed but I could not sleep. Mycroft's wire had, I confess disturbed me, I did not know what to think of his sudden coldness and unexplainable obtuseness as to my situation. It seemed very suspicious and the only explanation I could give for his sudden behaviour was that Holmes was in fact alive. But no, such thoughts are madness, he cannot be, I was there, there was no trace of him. Or was there? Did I give up too easily? Oh God what if he was alive and was there somewhere? He was there watching me, waiting for me and I did nothing – I left him.
I had to stop, the tears were coming fast and I felt ashamed. I have slept for a while and feel more composed. No Holmes is dead. I would know if he were alive. I need to leave Scotland, there are no answers here. I have been over it a thousand times in my mind and I believe the key to all this lies with the man I saw in the rain. He knows something about Holmes, about me, maybe even about Mycroft. He is the key and I must find him. Lestrade will help me, he must help me. He will…
Martha thinks me mad, I do not blame her. I am leaving tomorrow, she has tried to stop me but I must go. She will remain here for the foreseeable future. Baker Street is shut up and visited on sporadic occasions only by Mycroft who pays any upkeep; therefore there is no immediate need for her return to London. I will miss her presence and I would like to think that she will miss me. I feel that old familiar pain in my stomach when I think of leaving her but it is for the best. I do not know what may become of me in London, I may be gone for a considerable time and when I return to any semblance of a normal life, I am not sure how much of me – the me I am now – will return with me.
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