From Book girl fan: Box


The roar of Reichenbach Falls echoed in my ears as I stared at the note:

My dear Watson, [it said] I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us.

Unbidden, the image of Holmes at my doorstep a few days ago rose to my mind, blood drying on his cheek but with the familiar glint in his eye, the gleam of a bird dog hot on a scent.

He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his abilities.

"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson," Holmes had exclaimed. "He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order." Far from worried, Holmes sounded delighted. "I tell you, Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life."

I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you.

He had no idea, I thought savagely, none at all.

I have already explained to you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow.

Driven by guilt and anger at my stupidity, I searched the waterfall and the surrounding river for nearly two weeks with the aid of the Swiss authorities. Despite all our efforts, we found nothing, and at last, even I was forced to admit defeat.

Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made every disposition of my property before leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft.

He had also planned his funeral, damn him. A cheap, drab affair, presided over by his brother Mycroft, who had reluctantly dragged himself away from Pall Mall for the event.

Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow,

A drowned corpse ground against the bottom of the river. An empty pine box being lowered into the ground.

Very sincerely yours,

Sherlock Holmes


A/N: I decided to try something new; I'll be curious to see if it came across as I intended. The words in bold are Holmes' farewell note from "The Final Problem."