Beacon's Guiding Light

I outlived them. It seems strange to say that now, even though it is true. To outlive the suicides of both Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell has been no small accomplishment. Dealing with their deaths is a far greater task.

When the trunk was delivered to me that day so many years ago I thought it merely an odd present from Mary, never would I have expected it to contain the few odd assorted things she kept after Holmes' death.

And there at the bottom was the letter.

It looked like any other letter save that the ink was red and the hand was that of the dearest companion a man ever knew, Sherlock Holmes.

I opened the envelope and scanned its contents before throwing it back into the trunk, allowing neither trunk nor letter to be opened again.

Not until now.

The years grow short and I find myself faced with the fact that I will see Holmes and Mary again. It is because of this fact that I found myself, trembling, in front of Mary's trunk earlier this morning. I opened it and looked in. There was no ghost there to grab my throat, no immediate horrors deemed to kill me. There was no haunting here, save the wanderings of two souls in the agony of wondering (deducing, perhaps?) what had happened to the other.

With as much force as I could pull out of the air I pummeled myself backward into history and opened Holmes' letter once more…

My Dear Russell,

As I sit and write this I wonder which will reach you first, this letter or the front page of the newspaper. The news will travel swiftly and soon the world will be rid of the great fool, Sherlock Holmes.

If I may, I would like to relate to you the events of these past couple of weeks as I have seen them.

It began that Thursday, the 13th of January, when Veronica Beaconsfield was so ruthlessly murdered. You told me yourself later that you should have seen and prevented this act. I then told you, as I told you several years before that the murder was your fault in part. You then, to my surprise, stormed out of my cottage without even a good bye to Mrs. Hudson. I tracked you down while playing beggar in London and learned that you had fled to one of my own bolt-holes! Why you went there to escape me I will never know. I then proceeded to do the stupidest thing I have ever done.

I let you go.

You drove me away after that, turning away whenever I would come near you, taking long vacations, never responding to my pleas to set things right between us again. I tried, Russell, truly I did but you flew away from me like a dove: beautiful and hopeless to catch.

I doubt you can imagine or even guess what type of agony I went through during this period. My soul is cut off from its counterpart, my heart (here the writing is crossed out several times) is ripped in two. My longing, my (the same word is crossed out at least three times) love for you can now never be fulfilled.

I wish you the very best in the years to come and, please, remember me to be

Very Sincerely Yours,

[signed] Sherlock Holmes

On some instinct I flipped the page over only to find in thin writing that trailed down the page:

I can, Holmes. I can…