From the personal diary of Mrs. Mary Watson. Entry dated 13 July 1896.
The rain fell heavily on Baker Street when I awoke this morning, and brought with it a feeling of gloom. It has been three days since the disappearance of my husband, and there comes a point when the silence is truly too much to bear. One looks out upon the grey, spattered cobblestones outside the window and the melancholy dread weighs upon the heart and does little to lift the spirits of those praying within.
Words. Words. Words
Two days have passed without further news. Mr. Holmes and Inspector Lestrade had done their bit by revisiting the scene, but I must confess I felt their actions inadequate. I'm led to believe that they also received a mysterious package shortly afterwards that could shed some light on the problem; they refuse to tell me what it contained.
Something has happened… I do not know.
It kills me.
My mind works over and over again, mulling over everything that I know over and over. I confess that I cannot think clearly any longer: my mind repeats this singular fact. There is nothing else to occupy my thoughts.
I cannot be placated by empty comforts …
Words.
My husband has vanished. He could be dead. He must be found.
I must know.
I can't… words are useless.
Notice appeared in numerous newspapers, published on 13 July 1896.
Anyone wishing to have knowledge of the whereabouts of a Dr. John H. Watson or Mrs. Henry M. Hudson, please contact the late Mr. James R. Toulson, formerly of Baker Street. Details to follow.
And the road goes ever on and on. A massive thank you to anyone still reading! Reviews are always treasured.