"What happened then?" Holmes asked. He itched to ask more, but wanted Alphie to tell his own story in his own way.

Alphie frowned darkly and clenched his fists. "They took him away from me. These two sailors picked him up and carried him away. I tried to follow after him, but the men said I wasn't hurt and so don't. I lied, sir, and said he was my father. They almost let me follow, but mum came and called to me and so they told me to wait with her."

"Mum, Rachel, and I were taken into some room crowded with other people. They gave us water and blankets and I slept cuddled up with Rachel and Mum and this other lady on a cot. When I woke up, it was late in the day. They fed us, and I tried to find Mr. Watson. I couldn't for a long time. Everything was crowded, and people hadn't seen him even if they did know him. I checked all the cabins I could, but didn't find him until I found where they were keeping the sick people."

Holmes felt his chest tighten oddly. But he had said he had found Watson among the sick, not the dead. Maybe there was hope.

"He was still asleep when I found him, sir, and they told me he never had woken up. I asked to stay with him, and they finally said yes. And so I did. I told mum, and then I stayed until we reached port today."

"They took him away from me again, said he was going to go to the hospital. Mum, Rachel, and I got off the ship and met my uncle. We'd been coming to America to be with him. My father died last year, sir, and there's been nothing for us in Scotland. So, uncle finally convinced mum to bring us to live with him. That's why we boarded the Titanic. And it nearly killed us."

"Well, uncle is anxious to get us home, but mum knew I had to come find you. And it was just like you said: I ran to the closest bookshop and used the doctor's wallet to buy a copy of the hound story. You were right; it was always my favorite, that's how I found it straightaway and why I chose it over the other's near it. I did use the picture to know what you looked like, but it was easy to find you. I saw you in profile, sitting and smoking that pipe, and I just knew it had to be you. And now, Mr. Holmes, you know my entire story."

Holmes smiled at him. "My friend was right," he said, "You are a remarkable boy. Tell me, did he die? Or was he alive when they took him to the hospital?"

Alphie glanced away sadly. "Alive. I think, sir. But he hasn't so much as twitched from the time he last spoke to me." Alphie once again wiped tears away from the corners of his eyes. "He can't hardly breathe, sir. It was right awful bein' by him and not knowin' if he was gonna be able to keep alive. I'm afraid he's going to die, Mr. Holmes."

"He may," replied Holmes, still smiling softly. It was clear that Watson had made a steadfast friend. "But if he lives, it is thanks to you, Alphie. And so I thank you. Thank you for saving my friend. Thank you for telling me your story."

Alphie smiled shyly, his face flushing red from the praise of the man he'd admired for years.

"Is that your family?" Holmes asked, waving his walking stick at a man and a woman who were clearly siblings. The woman had been on the TItanic, he deduced, and was holding a young girl who was asleep in her arms. The man was a New Yorker and was gazing at Alphie with proud affection. Holmes had noticed them standing and talking animatedly for some time, but now their conversation had ended and yet they stood watching himself and Alphie.

"Yes," Alphie said with an enthusiastic nod. "Would you like to see them?" He stood and waved them over.

Holmes was introduced to Mrs. McEntyre, her brother Mr. Gordon, and Alphie's sister Rachel, who woke and blinked at him sleepily, grinning and giggling when he politely went to tip his hat to her and realized he had given his hat to Alphie.

He accepted Mrs. McEntyre's praise of Watson with a proud smile, but hardly paid any attention to them, his mind still reeling with the revelation that Watson was alive. As of this morning, at least, and maybe for longer. Alive, thank God, alive. Holmes had been so certain he was dead that he knew he must be feeling, however less intensely, what Watson had been when he himself had come back 'from the dead.'

He didn't stay with the little family long, knowing they should be getting home out of the cold and he needed to discover if Watson yet lived. Before they parted ways, Mr. Gordon graciously offered Holmes his spare room to stay in for the remainder of his stay in New York if he should need it. Holmes wrote down his address and shook his hand and promised to come.

Alphie hugged Holmes hard before leaving with his family. "Promise me you'll take care of Mr. Watson?" he sniffed.

"Yes of course I will," Holmes assured him, "Now go home. Get some rest, and stay with your mother. I will come to you."

Alphie accepted that, and let him go. Holmes strolled towards the hospital, finally feeling the cold and shivering slightly.

He found Watson in the hospital just as Alphie had described: still as death and as ghostly. He ran his thumb over Watson's watch inside his own pocket and bent over Watson's still body, putting his ear very close to Watson's lips to hear his short, gasping breaths, as if he was sucking air through space no larger than a pinprick.

He smiled, thinking of his dear Mrs. Hudson, who used to threaten to prick him with her hat pins or beat him with her serving spoons whenever he made a ruckus in the wee hours of the morning. He had gotten both punishments more than once, usually when he surprised her. It was due to her tormenting him that he learned to climb through his bedroom window by shimmying up the drainpipe which had later served him so well when he was being pursued by criminals of all sorts. He used to complain endlessly about her abuse towards his person, but she knew he never really meant it, and she also knew he was sorry for all the times he'd frightened her. On the whole, it was a good memory, but he moved his mind from memory to the present which was not so pleasant.

He laid his free hand on Watson's chest, felt it very slightly rise and fall. Holmes would have been able to guess pneumonia even if the doctors hadn't told him that was what they feared. If Watson lived, he was going to have a long, painful recovery ahead of him. His poor friend, Holmes mused. Watson's health had been ruined when he was just a young man after being shot in Afghanistan and lay ill for months afterwards. He'd been close to death then, and ever since he'd always detested any kind of bedrest. Thankfully, like most doctors, he didn't fall ill often, but when he did he fell doubly hard.

Holmes shifted himself so one hand was still on Watson's chest, the other was still in his pocket grasping the watch, but his lips were nearly touching Watson's ear and his nose slightly brushed Watson's hair.

"My dear man," he whispered, "what honor on Earth could I possibly confer upon you greater than that which you have given me? It has been, I assure you, my honor all these years to have been called your friend and to have worked beside you to right some of those injustices which we could." He paused, feeling the slight rise and fall of Watson's chest.

"You are the best and wisest man I have ever known. If I have ever been either, Watson, it is certainly because of you. Surely you have always known I am very sincerely at your every service, and yet you would never even think to put yourself above me. You follow my orders willingly regardless of any personal suffering they may cause you. For that kind of unwavering loyalty, Watson I have always tried to be worthy. I have always tried to be the man you think I am. And now, dear friend, I summon all the bravery I've ever had to give you one last order. "

Holmes' legs betrayed him and he fell to his knees beside Watson's hospital bed. "Die, John," he whispered. "You have my permission to die." His voice, he realized, was shaking. "Something in you hears me, John," he went on. "Something in you knows if you're ready to go. If you are, then go. There is pain here for you in the land of the living, and your soul deserves to rest."

Hot tears ran down his face, a sensation foreign to him, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to his friend's temple, but a second later someone's hands were on him, gripping him painfully hard and yanking him away. The world titled oddly, and Holmes' senses seemed delayed as if he was struggling underwater. He was vaguely aware that somewhere someone was shouting, someone was running, someone was shoving him. And then, he was outside of Watson's hospital room on the floor, and the world was still and silent.

Author's note:

My dear guest reviewer, your wish is my command. I'm not sure this cliffhanger is better, though...

Stay tuned for the finale.

Historical Clarifications:

Please be aware that I am not a historian. The facts as I present them are true to the best of my knowledge, but even to this day many myths about the Titanic abound. If you are interested in knowing more, I suggest starting on YouTube where you can find fascinating survivor stories. Be aware, however, that after the sinking, survivors gained an almost celebrity status. They would gather, sign autographs, and trade stories. Some were children when it happened. Not everything they say may be 100% accurate. Even memories of something terrible can become muddled with time, especially when everything from newspapers to movies tell you how you should be remembering it.

Over 1,500 people died when the Titanic sank. Almost half of all of the 107 children onboard died. I cannot find a statistic for what the cut-off age for being considered a child was in 1912. I do know that a thirteen year old was turned away from entering a lifeboat, but there are also some fourteen year old's on lists of children that survived. Alphie looks older than his is, which is why he was turned away when other women were trying to board. Watson would have done better to try his chances of getting Alphie on a different lifeboat with a kinder officer in charge of it, but he did the best he could. And, in the end, he did save Alphie, so we shall forgive him.

As mentioned previously, the Carpathia was over capacity. Her passengers gave up their rooms and volunteered helping the survivors however they could. Alphie certainly would have felt crowded.

Alphie and his family are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real Titanic survivors or victims is completely coincidental.