I made no response. "Nothing" could not be accurate. There were many things that I could have done differently. That I should have done differently.
"I mean it, Watson," he insisted, moving one hand to my shoulder.
But I should have—
"No."
I failed—
"You did not."
I left—
"I sent you."
I should not have—
"I wanted you to."
Why would—
"To keep you safe."
I still killed—
"No."
Betrayed—
"Not true."
You no longer trust—
"Also not true."
"Would you quit reading my mind?!"
He barked a quiet laugh. "No. I sent you away to protect you, Watson. To protect us. We both would have died that day if I had not. If you must blame someone, blame me. I should have found a way for you to collect Mary and Mrs. Hudson and meet me somewhere safe. You are blameless. You did not abandon me, betray me, or kill me. You are innocent, and you are not getting rid of me that easily. That promise goes both ways."
I stared at him, fighting to understand just as hard as I had fought to escape earlier. I knew to what he referred. He had never said it aloud any more than I had, but we both knew what I had promised so many years ago, when I had acknowledged he meant as much to me as my blood brother. How could he have sworn the same?
"Oh, Watson," he said quietly, apparently reading the surprise on my face. "Surely you knew? Brothers do not have to be by blood. Just look at the Irregulars."
They did not have to be by blood—I knew that—but they did need each other. How could he reciprocate that when he had no need of me?
"Watson?" he asked, seeing more than I wished but not enough to piece together my confusion. "What about that do you not understand?"
"How—Why—"
I could not find the words, and I paused, trying to decide what I wanted to ask and how. He had never truly needed me, but he had not even wanted me around in years—especially this last year. He never called in Kensington, and he had always been conveniently out when I tried to call at the flat. I would not chase a friend who avoided me, no matter how highly I thought of him, and I had all but decided to stop trying when he had appeared at my practice that evening.
"Watson." His grip tightened briefly, snapping me out of my debate. "You cannot think I have been avoiding you?"
How he did that, I would never understand, but I did not bother trying to ask.
"I started unraveling Moriarty's web almost two years ago, Watson, and the last year has been devoted entirely to tracing that man's reach. How many times did you call at the flat while I was out?"
I shrugged. I had lost count months ago.
"And Mrs. Hudson did not see you to say I was on a case?"
Of course not. I had my own key. I usually let myself in. Mrs. Hudson had frequently not even been home, and I had eventually decided Holmes begrudged me for getting married. I would have thought the same of Mrs. Hudson if not for her frequent calls and evident friendship with Mary. Besides, Holmes had never had a case that continued for that long. Most of his cases lasted a week, maybe two, and even the few longer ones had never last longer than a month or so.
"Moriarty's web stretched much further than I had time to tell you in your consulting room that evening," he continued. "I have been tracing him for two years, and I first noticed the pattern nearly three years ago, a few months after your wedding. I left you out of it first not to take you from Mary, then because it was growing considerably too dangerous. Even Mycroft kept away from me for a while, to avoid Moriarty tying us together."
"S-so you didn't—you weren't—you still—"
"No, Watson. I was not avoiding you. You know how I can be on a case. I barely noticed the days pass, too focused on tracing the next lead. Moriarty was the hidden mastermind behind hundreds, maybe thousands, of crimes here, the continent, and to a lesser degree the entire eastern hemisphere, and he was trying to extend his reach to the Americas. I have been busy locating all I could. You might have been at the flat more often than I was."
Some of my hesitance faded behind the earnestness in his words, but I could not release all of it, not when I had left him, abandoned him at the top of a four-hundred-foot cliff with only one exit. I might not have broken his trust before Switzerland, but that did not change that I had deserted him.
"What is another word for stubborn?" he asked after a moment. "I need something stronger, to describe a doctor who refuses to listen when I insist it was not his fault."
Tenacious, adamant, and obstinate came to mind, but I was none of those. Scarred would probably be more accurate. Damaged, even better. I never enjoyed rendering injury, even in battle, but the fact, the idea, the possibility that I had injured him, that I had killed him—
Suffice to say, the only reason I had left the falls that day was the bullheaded officer who had refused to leave me behind, and I had no idea why Holmes was insisting I was blameless when I was not. I should have seen through the note, should have recognized it for the hoax it was. I should have stood by him.
Better to die with him than to cause his death.
"Watson, stay here!"
He moved into my line of sight again, and I tried to scowl. Where did he think I would go? The bedroom? I could not leave my chair!
"I did not go anywhere."
He studied me for a moment, apparently making sure I was looking at him. "What about that day hurt you so badly?" he finally asked instead of answering my indirect question. "Why will you not listen to me?"
No. I had no idea how to answer that, and I refused to try. The pain was too overwhelming to attempt to put into words. I would either minimize it or lose myself in it. There was nothing in between.
"There are too many what ifs," Mrs. Hudson's voice said from the doorway. She carried a tray to a nearby table when we glanced up. "What if you had not sent him away? What if he had not gone? You made him leave you without understanding that you were going into battle alone, that you intended to go into battle alone. You let him find out later, when it was already too late. Impossible possibilities torment worse than a gravestone, and when you combine them with a gravestone…" She shrugged away the rest of the sentence. "Am I right, Doctor?"
I nodded slowly. She was close enough. His death had been one thing—horrible, but survivable—but when I added that I had abandoned him, that I should have stayed with him, the result was an agonizing murder charge in the court of my own mind. No matter that the police had ruled it an accident, no matter that he had supposedly sent me away, I had been the one to leave. I was the one too blind to see through a forged note. I had not seen the danger for which I had promised to look—for which he had asked me to look before we left London—therefore I was responsible for the results. I may not have pushed him over the edge, but that did not change that I had killed my dearest friend. The fact that he knelt before me now changed only the necessity of a coffin, not the fact that my actions would have sent him over that cliff.
Providence may have eliminated the need for a headstone, but He had not abolished my guilty verdict. The murder charge had simply changed to desertion, which was just as bad. All Holmes' cases carried an element of battle, and desertion equated murder in combat.
"No." I raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued, "Whatever you are thinking right now is not true."
"You cannot possibly know what I am thinking."
"Maybe not specifically," he replied, "but I can easily read when your thoughts return to the falls. You are still blaming yourself for something. What?"
I had left him, deserted him no matter that he had intentionally sent me away. Many times over the years, he had tried to go into danger alone, and I had almost always seen through the deflection and gone with him. The few times I had not, I had also not known the threat existed, and he usually returned to a lecture for leaving me behind again. I had told him years ago that I would not let him face danger alone, but for the first time in nearly ten years, I had left him alone when I knew he was in jeopardy. Of course it was my fault that he had not returned.
"Watson?" He studied me, obviously trying to read more of my thoughts, and a frown crossed his face when I made no reply. "What is bothering you?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it and shook my head. There was no reason to debate it now, and the hunger twisting my stomach was growing distracting. I reached a frustratingly shaking hand for a slice of the meat Mrs. Hudson had set nearby.
"Has it truly been two weeks?" I asked quietly.
"It has," he answered, claiming a piece for himself though his gaze never left me. He slowly levered himself off the floor and dragged the other armchair within reach, but Mary did not move from her place on the arm of my chair. I finished the meat then carefully took her hand in mine.
"You have been here, next to me." I could not bring my voice above low tones, but she heard anyway, nodding. "I knew you were there."
"I am glad," she told me. "Oh, John, I am so relieved you're back." She leaned against me in a half-hug, never loosening her hold on my hand. "I was so worried. I thought I was going to lose you, too."
She might have, eventually. I would only have come back for her, but I also would not have cared if I had never returned. I saw no reason to voice that, however, and I ignored Holmes' small twitch, keeping my attention on the lovely woman who was now rapidly losing the fearful lines on her face.
"I love you." I hesitated, trying to chase down a memory. "You know that."
The words came out almost halfway between question and statement, and she nodded against my shoulder.
"I know, John, and I love you, too."
I felt her reply more than heard it, and the memory finally broke free. I had told her as much the moment I got off the train, forcing the words through the increasingly painful grief. She would have known that even if I had not returned, and I doubted she would forget. Good. I ate another piece of meat.
"Watson? What are you planning?"
Absolutely nothing. I would plan nothing, taking each day at a time, but I would account for anything. Holmes would come to his senses soon enough, realizing my guilt, and I doubted he would stay when he did. I would need to be ready.
I did not need to announce as much, however, and I ignored his question in favor of my own.
"Where have you been?"
"Switzerland," he answered, immediately beginning to detail his travels. He never stopped watching me as he spoke, but he willingly started with the falls and led me through his days hiding in caves, escaping Moran, and braving snowstorms. He told me more than I had expected, and I found myself smiling faintly at his tale of arriving at an inn to be compared to a snowman. Pleasure sparked in his gaze.
"I was somewhere above Interlaken when Moran met his end," he finished, "but the news did not find me until I reached the city. Mycroft sent the death report to my alias, along with a note that I needed to hurry home. I thought at first that Moran had found you."
If only, I thought. Defeating Moran myself would have made up for leaving Holmes at the falls, and Holmes would have been free of me if Moran had emerged the victor.
Events happened as they would, however, and there was nothing I could do about that now. I debated my next question as I ate a piece of bread.
"Watson?" Holmes said before I could decide. "Talk to me. Please. What is still bothering you?" He paused, watching me for a moment. "I will not leave you again."
He could not promise that, not when the first time had been unplanned, but that was alright. He would not have fled if I had not left him first, and I could only be grateful that he had saved himself. His disappearance was not a problem, but it was something else that defined my guilt. If I had not deserted him that day, Moran's late arrival might not have mattered. I had been carrying my revolver, and if Holmes had forbidden me from taking part, as he would in a true duel, I would have stationed myself in a place I could watch everything with ease. I would have seen Moran arrive, and I could either have neutralized the threat or taken him out of the equation.
"Watson?"
Or I could have challenged him myself to keep his focus off Holmes. That would have worked just as well, but no matter which method I chose, I would not have abandoned him to face the danger alone and outnumbered. That was what was "bothering" me, as he put it. I had left him when I had known he was in danger because an unfamiliar boy had come claiming a terminal stranger wanted an English doctor. A child could have seen through that ruse, but I was too blind, too foolish to consider that it might have been a hoax. I was just as much an incompetent foil as I wrote myself in the Strand.
"You are not."
I refocused to find him frowning at me. "Not what?"
"Whatever it is you just called yourself."
I huffed what was supposed to be a laugh. I had known for years that I was nothing compared to or without Holmes, and this had simply proven it. He had no need of me, should not even want me, and it was only a matter of time before he understood what I already knew: I was a useless foil better suited to pandering to hypochondriacs than to guarding him. I was too foolish, too blind to see through an obvious hoax, and I was not strong enough to deal with the aftermath of my error. Better off without me around, he would leave soon enough. I deserved no less.
Nobody wanted the company of a man who would sacrifice the one he had sworn to protect to comfort a nameless stranger for whom he could do nothing anyway.
"John, don't."
That included Mary, too, I realized with a renewed ache. If I had abandoned Holmes when he needed me, who could say I would not do the same to her? She should not want me, either, could not want a husband who had proven himself unreliable, untrustworthy. She deserved someone better than I, someone who would care for her, who would support her, who would put her first.
She needed someone who would not desert her when she needed him most.
"Watson."
The word seemed to travel down the longest of tunnels to reach my ears only faintly, and I paid it no heed. She deserved better. They deserved better. They deserved a friend and husband who would not desert them, who would not abandon them to die at the top of a waterfall. I was a traitor. My word meant nothing, my promises meant nothing, and I was better off alone.
"Watson, no."
Alone, there was no one to fail.
"John, can you hear me?"
Alone, there was no one to betray.
"Watson, come back."
Alone, there was no one to abandon.
"John."
Alone, there was no one to murder.
"Watson, please."
Desperation flooded the faint entreaty, distracting me from my thoughts, and I considered the emotion. Something was wrong about that, but what?
"John." The word ended abruptly, but I could not think of what the sound reminded me. "John, no. Don't do this."
Do what?
"Watson, come back. Please come back. You are needed here. I need you here."
Come back from where? And why would he need me there? I was useless, untrustworthy. He did not need a detestable foil as a friend. He did not need any friends at all, as he had told me so long ago.
"You are not at fault, John. You didn't abandon him, and you will not do so to me."
She could not know that. I had abandoned him, and if I had done so once, who could say I would not do so again?
"You did not abandon me, Watson. Nothing that happened that day was your fault. I give you my word. Have I ever made a promise I could not keep?"
Something tried to lurch in my chest. He was wrong. I had left him, broken my vow, and now he had just tainted his word for me. I was dragging him down with me. I had become an anchor, a burden.
"Please don't leave me, John. You didn't break your promise, you still have your honor, and I still want you."
Why would she want me? She should despise me just as Holmes should. I was a failure, an unreliable traitor. I had abandoned my friend, my brother in arms. Who could say I would not do the same to her?
"You did not abandon me, nor did you betray me. Can you hear us, Watson? Do not leave. You need to stay here."
His pleas made no sense. I had not gone anywhere, but I probably should. I had dishonored myself. I would be doing them a favor to leave.
"Not true. I have told you that is not true. Why will you not believe me?"
Because he was wrong. I had abandoned him, betrayed my promise by leaving him to die at the top of a waterfall. A traitor dishonors himself and his company, and I would not dishonor them.
"You did not. Whatever you just told yourself is not true, Watson."
"Listen to him, John. Please…" Mary's sentence ended abruptly again, but I still could not think of what the sound reminded me. I did not have time to consider it.
"Oh, dearie." The endearment broke into their pleas, quieter but somehow just as audible. "Battle is ugly, but the battle inside yourself is uglier still. Do not give up the war because of one defeat. You did not lose the battle you are telling yourself you did, and the war is not as dire as it appears."
The war is not as dire as it appears. I had not heard that phrase in…I could not remember how long. Ages. A commander had first said it to me years ago, after I had lost the fight against an infection ravaging a sergeant in my company. After yet another loss in a long day of more dead patients than recovering, I had wondered aloud if I was cut out to be a successful Army doctor. He had replied that the battle was not a loss for that man. It was a win, and the war was not as dire as it appeared. I had thought him insane at the time, but he had been right, in a way. We had entered a winning stretch shortly thereafter, routing the enemy far more than we fled, and it had been weeks before I lost another patient. His voice drifted out of the past, reminding me of something else he had said at the time.
"Don't let failure defeat you, son. You are not a failure because of one setback. Defeat does not define you unless you let it. Your patient died. It's a sad thing, both for you and for his family, but losing a patient does not mean you are incompetent or unskilled. It means Providence decided it was his time, and when the Lord of Heaven wills the string of fate to be cut, there's not a blessed thing us mortals can do to stop it. Everyone has their time, my boy. Do not give up before yours comes."
"Watson, please. Are you listening to me? You need to come back. You did not leave me then. Please do not leave me now."
Do not leave me. The phrase echoed in my mind. Did not then…do not now. Do not leave me.
What did it mean? I had not gone anywhere. I was right here, and if I could hear them, they must be here, too. From where did they want me to come?
I could not be sure. All I knew was that I had broken my promise, deserted the one I had sworn to protect, and I would not burden them with my presence. I would get my affairs in order and leave them be. They deserved someone better.
"You are not a burden, Watson. I swear. Stop telling yourself that you are. Dear God, what a fool I am."
The last phrase came out barely a whisper, so faint I could almost believe I had imagined it, but Mary's voice spoke before I could think on it for long.
"I see that, John. Keep fighting. 'For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.' You did not break your promise, and I will not break mine. 'I take you to be my husband from this day forward.' You are mine, I am yours, and I am not ready to part yet."
Could she—?
Holmes' voice cut off the tentative hope. "To protect. To guard. To help. To be there. I swear to protect you from danger, to guard your sleep, to help you in trouble, be there when you weep. My neighbor, my brother, my family, my friend. Not by blood but by bond, may my oath never end. Please, Watson."
You're my brother, Johnny. Forever and always and no matter what. Remember that book I read you? Come on. Say it with me. 'I swear…'
"Yes, John. I can hardly believe you voiced that, Sherlock, and I have no idea where you got it, but he heard you. Come back, John. Come back to us."
I had not noticed the fog descend, but I felt it lift, and their voices continued, coaxing, pleading, pushing the haze away until I blearily focused on two familiar faces hovering in front of me.
Reviews are greatly appreciated! :D
Thanks to Guest, Corynutz, and MHC1987 for the reviews on the last chapter! Jean-Moddalle, Multidimensional Scribe, PrinceJai, and anyone else whose username I can't find right now, thanks for your recent reviews as well
Guest, there is one more chapter left :)
Corynutz, thank you! So glad you're enjoying
