A/N: At last, the confrontation—and the reasoning behind it—from Holmes's point of view. Warning, it's not a good reason, but I only cite madness as the cause. Just remember how he'd worked himself into a stew in the last chapter. :D
Public Domain!
Chapter 9-The Ending of a Life
At the present rate of interruptions I shall never finish this confession. First it was that buffoon Gregson and now brother Mycroft! Mrs. Hudson interrupted my last entry with a telegram from him demanding dinner with me at Baker Street this evening. I can practically hear him commanding me to be present. As this will be the final time that I shall see him alive, I find that I can humor him even if my first response was to pull a vanishing act just for his benefit.
I have decided as judge, jury, executioner and guilty party in my case, that I shall hang myself. I have already located an appropriate rope and chosen a sturdy beam from which to hang it. I shall make certain that Mrs. Hudson is not present in the house, for I would not have the woman who has endured so much because of me to find my body. I will dispatch a telegram to Lestrade, detailing a time in which I would like a meeting. He will arrive to find me quite dead. No note, no explanation. It will be the baffling and inglorious end to one Mr. Sherlock Holmes. As for this journal, I will deliver it into the hands of my brother this evening and secure a promise that he will not read it till the day after tomorrow. By a glance at the clock, I will have just enough time to bring this to a satisfying conclusion without disregarding any details before my brother descends from his orbit.
There is no adequate way in which to describe my reaction to the scene before me except that I became engulfed in madness—sheer, utter, damning madness. My blood rushed throughout me, my heart too loud within my own ears, and a wave of dizziness crashed over me, leaving me to clutch the doorframe for balance. It was as though someone had outlined my vision in black and it was all I could do not to drop to floor.
As I look back now with a wiser eye, I am aware that I overreacted. There was absolutely nothing unseemly about their behavior, but to my feverish eyes I might as well have caught them in flagrante delicto. My client, a young blonde woman who worked as a governess to three children (ages six, eight and ten) in a large household, liked to play the piano and was an avid horsewoman, was seated upon the settee which had been drawn closer to the fire. Watson had moved his own armchair close enough so that he might hold her hand as she tearfully related her tale to him. None of this sparked my descent into madness, no.
It was Watson's expression.
That earnest look of true concern that he was bestowing upon this strange woman made me want to scream at the top of my lungs before I seized her and bodily ejected her from my domain. What right did she have to be looked upon in such a fashion when all I had earned were those horrid blank stares and stifling silences? Who was she? What was she to you? Why? Why, Watson?! Why now when I had finally gathered enough courage to present my case to you and hope for amnesty? Why should you be concerned with her but not me?
All of this inner turmoil I kept from my face as the two turned in my direction.
"I do hope that I am not interrupting anything." Calm, even, cold. No indication of how I wished to drag my doctor from the woman, whom I could now see bore a passing resemblance to Miss Mary, snarling and hissing and generally confirming the fact that he was mine!
Both rose at my entrance but I waved them back to their previous seats. As I packed my pipe, Watson explained that Miss Violet (why do so many of my female clients possess that name?) Greenway's sister was missing but the police as of yet did not consider it a case. During this bit of introduction, I was gratified briefly to see him return his chair to its previous position but the urge to scream rose once more when he seated himself beside the woman and grasped her hand again as she quite tearfully continued her account.
Her case was a simple one and hardly worth noting except for the distress it caused my client and my reaction to Watson offering her comfort. Even while I listened as she laid her problem before me, my mind raced to devise ways in which to keep her from Watson. At the end of her tale, I promised I would join her on the train. Watson rose to join us.
"I should like to come along, Holmes."
My hat was already atop my head and I retrieved my walking stick before turning my cool gaze upon him.
"I do not need you, my dear fellow." Seeing his face fall, I continued on. "Enjoy Mrs. Hudson's no doubt excellent dinner without me, Watson. I will be back early tomorrow."
The train ride, thankfully, passed in silence, leaving me to contemplate what my next move would be. In truth there had never been any need for me to travel to Norbury, but neither could I remain trapped within my own home. Logic raged war with emotions, but the emotions were fast taking over until I had to excuse myself from our compartment and scramble to another. I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach even as I bent so far my forehead touched the floor. I swallowed convulsively to keep all that I had eaten that day in its proper place even as my stomach bucked and rolled. For a time, all that could be heard was the sound of gagging and of the few shallow breathes I managed to take. Once my stomach was under control, I managed to drag myself up onto the seat, only to have my eyes rebel next. I sucked in a deep breath and held it, jamming my fists into my eyes to stem the flow. No, no more tears. No true man shed tears, it was a useless and weak display of emotion befitting only a woman, had I not had that beat into me enough as a child? If there is ever a lesson from my father that I took to heart, it is that emotions are unnecessary and should be considered a weakness.
It was my error of allowing Watson closer than even my brother Mycroft that has led to this moment. My downfall. My hands left my eyes and pressed to my chest as though they might contain the remains of my broken heart. I was a fool. I had had Watson's answer all along, but I was too blind to see it. My emotions had veiled my deductive powers and obscured the lines of logic that I should have followed, so all that remained was that ridiculous notion of hope.
Now that had been shattered.
Watson had not forgiven me as he had said for leaving him in the dark about my continued existence during the last three years. The truth lay in his blank eyes, silent stare and cautious manner the likes of which I had not seen even at the beginning of our acquaintance. The astonishment of my rising from the dead was a false reaction. Oh, I am sure the astonishment was real enough, but the joy that followed was a mask. Has he been tormenting me this entire time? Toying with my emotions, leading me on in my hope that we could return to what we once were, or even to rise above it? To find completion within the other?
Now I knew the truth. Watson had demonstrated more concern and care toward a strange woman than I had received since my return. A woman! A woman who resembled Mary! Had he discovered my most closely guarded secret? Had I inadvertently revealed my true regard for him? Was this how he chose to tell me that he would never be mine, nor I his? The traitorous tears once more rose but I beat them back, drawing in deep gulps of air to once more contain my rampaging emotions. Despite the war within me (fear, hurt, anger jealousy, despair), I felt a cool veil descending down over my senses, locking the rampant beasts within their cages and allowing logic to once more take control. (Though I now know it to be madness in disguise.) Since Watson was tormenting me with his presence, I would gain peace by removing him. It would not be a simple task, but require all of my wits and cleverness to accomplish.
I returned to my client who was completely unaware of any life altering decisions on my part.
Upon my return to Baker Street, I continued to observe Watson. Although he visited often and was as always his congenial self, there was a marked distance between us that I had noted before, but not understood. From the other side of that stone wall he continued to watch. I felt those blank eyes dog my every step and it was all I could do not to explode and ruin my plan. I spent the days that followed my decision with my attention divided between constructing my plan and continuing my observation of Watson. Oh how quickly those thoughts of love can turn to hate! With his very presence he mocked me, with his feigned ignorance he laughed at me! Despite my growing disdain for the man I nearly faltered, I nearly forgave him three days in before I was forced to see him laughing with Lestrade. Lestrade! Why should he share his laughter with that man and not me? That blow was nearly as cruel as allowing me to see his concern over Miss Greenway. I hardened my heart against him; I was determined that he would not win. He would not! I would not be treated in such a fashion! He had no right—no right!—to break my heart in such a manner! All that he need have done was to refuse me openly like a gentleman should, like a friend should! No, instead he has chosen to seek revenge! He discovered my true feelings for him and mocked me for them—mocked me with that woman and Lestrade. No! I would not allow it to continue.
My black mood only deepened further as my brain, upon which I had relied so much in the past, examined each encounter with Watson (before and after Reichenbach) and showed his betrayal, his deceit, his vileness of character. For six days I plotted, wanting to be absolutely certain that my strike against him would not only drive him away but utterly destroy him. By then he had joined the ranks of Roylott, Smith and Moriarty in my mind and nothing, absolutely nothing could have persuaded me otherwise.
Then came the day.
It was a particularly awful Saturday. I engaged a set of ruffian with a specific set of instructions on how I wished to appear. No doubt they found it strange that someone should wish to pay to be roughed up, but this was a crucial part of my plan. It was imperative so that I might lure Watson close. They performed their role admirably and I returned to Baker Street with an impressive black eye forming and an equally impressive bruise along my cheek. What was the piece de resistance was the cut along my throat (placed so that it would appear that I had been nearly garroted). I waved away Mrs. Hudson's concern and ascended to the sitting room to await my prey though I had not long, for I had timed this confrontation down to the very second. His warm greeting only further incensed me and I pressed my lips together to contain my response. Just a bit longer…
"Good heavens, Holmes, what the devil happened to you?" Yes! My prey was hooked! Now he need only draw closer so that I might have him! I sensed, rather than saw, him kneel at my feet, at first making no other move as he visually inspected the damage, but it was the rattling of the medical bag that told me the time had come. As he raised his hand to my face, I knocked it aside, sending him to the floor as I scrambled away. He would not touch me! He would not!
"Cease your molly coddling, Doctor, for I will have none of it!" The look of abject astonishment that crossed his face only fueled my rage. Did he not believe that I would not discover his plan? Did he believe that I should take such treatment from him?
"Holmes?" It was such a tentative question, one that I should have listened to, but I was beyond all reason.
"How anyone with such a cold, unfeeling, and clumsy touch ever found success as a doctor is beyond even my power to deduce. You are better suited as a butcher than a surgeon." You have made a mockery of me, Watson, and now I of you! Never again will you laugh at the emotional invalid who is too afraid to admit his own feelings.
"God as my witness, if you should ever attempt to lay a hand on even my shirt cuff ever again, I shall knock you flat, of that you can be certain, Doctor." You will not touch me, you will not hurt me! I have suffered enough because of your insensitive nature and now so shall you. Blood was singing through my veins as I closed in upon him for the kill, the final strike that would forever remove this blot from my existence. But first, another wound to add to those I had already lain upon him.
"And do not think for one instant that it has escaped me as to what you are doing." I began to stalk towards him, a predator to his prey.
"You are farming out your patients to others in the hopes of closing your practice and moving back in with me." Pure fiction of course for he had not asked if I would allow it and I would not, not now! My rage had reached its peak and my foot rose of its own accord and knocked the doctor completely to the floor. Power flowed through me and I dug my heel into his wounded shoulder, laughing in triumph at his gasp of pain. Yes, feel it! This is what you have done to me! You have brought this upon yourself!
I ended my laughter abruptly and leaned over so that my final message would be quite clear. "I say again, Doctor, I will have none of it! Three years I have managed to escape the oppressiveness of your nature and yet it has returned ten-fold! So you may do with your practice and your lodgings as you wish but do not think you will find a place here with me! I can take it no more!" My breast heaved with spent emotion, adrenaline and triumph coursing in concert through me as I gazed down upon my victim. At first I was uncertain if Watson would be able to move or if I would be forced to remove him myself. Just as I was coiling my muscles for another strike, the doctor flinched and then shuddered. He rolled to his knees and crawled to the door, using it to climb to his feet. I watched his departure with demented glee, hearing Mrs. Hudson's worried exclamation upon seeing him and Watson's mumbled reply.
It was not until my gaze fell upon his medical bag that reality returned with a thundering crash. My knees gave way and I found myself kneeling beside it. My fingers shook as they swept over the Latin inscription sewn into the leather: "For a friend I never had reason to doubt. May your unquestionable heart always guide you. SH" It was the bag I had gifted him with the Christmas before Reichenbach. It was the closest I had ever come to a declaration of my feelings. He had kept it? All this time, he had used it? He had wanted it? The leather was worn, but well cared for and I, trapped in a fog, caressed it, the madness of the past week slowly seeping from my mind.
What had I done? Oh God! What had I done?! I had heard the door slam closed some time ago, yet I scrambled across the floor towards the window, my heart once more beating wildly. But as I searched the street below there was no sign of Watson. No. Now my mind deciphered the words mumbled to Mrs. Hudson—good-bye. Watson had once promised our dear landlady that he would not utter those words unless he never meant to return. Never…return…the final veil lifted and I could see now in my mind the tears that shone in Watson's eyes. Tears. I had done that. I…I had destroyed him. It was what I had wanted. What I believed was right. My deductions, my brain, my memories, all had failed me—betrayed me! Not Watson, never Watson. My heart, which I had thought broken before, now shattered, for it was the organ I had failed to listen to during this catastrophe. I had…what had I said? What had I done?
I would have risen to follow, to apologize, to throw myself at his mercy, but I could not. My body was utterly spent at the horror of the thing and slowly wilted until I lay in an insensible heap under the window with his medical bag clutched to my chest. It was there that my landlady found me; I flinched away as she laid a hand upon my cheek, thumb gently wiping away the tears that wetted it. No, not more tears, I had promised myself no more. But the more I tried to suppress them, the more they overwhelmed me. Even though the watery filter, I could see Mrs. Hudson's face marred with worry and something inside me snapped.
"Leave me."
Her mouth thinned to a grim line. "I will do no such thing! You need…"
Even in my less than stellar state I had the strength to shove her away. "Leave me! I don't want or need your help, woman! Go!" I immediately curled against the wall, away from my well-meaning landlady. It was several moments before I heard her rise from the floor and several more before the door closed behind her.
And so I have reached the end of my confession. Had I been in cold blood I would never have touched or spoken to Mrs. Hudson in such a fashion. She did not deserve it, any more than my beloved Watson. I charge you, Mycroft, with two tasks. Please give my sincerest apologies to Mrs. Hudson. I am too much of a coward to do so myself. Yes, a coward. And a fool. No greater fool than I has ever walked this Earth before and none shall ever again. The second task, brother mine, is Watson. Please find him, please explain. Do not tell him the truth and never allow him to see this journal. Instead, tell him that it was a mental sickness. It is close enough to the truth. Is that not what love is? It has been so for me for more than a decade. Tell him that I cared for him more than I can ever express and that if I could take back every harsh word that passed my lips and painful touch directed toward him, I would. Help him find peace, for I shall have none. Good-bye, Mycroft. I have an appointment in Hell that must be kept.
End Ch. 9
A/N: Ooookay…yeah…madness. I did try to tell you he did not have a very good reason, but then, as I also said, does anyone?
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