"I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail."
~ Doctor John Watson, The Final Problem.
Panic rolled in, pulled me under, icy water all around me as I tried to swim to the surface. My lungs burned as I gaze up at the light from the lanterns. My heart stopped beating, like a broken watch that had lost the will to tick.
The ball at the base of my throat hardened and tears streamed down my face; I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with horror. Then I bounded over to the balcony. I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the water around him. It was the sight of his silhouette plunging further and further down the rabbit hole, where the sharp, jagged rocks were waiting to break his bones and slice his body which turned me cold and sick, and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.
Snow clung to my hands and my arms and the dress. The world was spinning, my legs were trembling and threatened to give out beneath me with every second that I tried to keep myself upright. "Sherlock! Come back!" I held onto the railing and leaned forward; I shouted again; but only the same cry of despair and the roar of the falls, shouted back at me. I kept shouting until they became more like screams and my throat started aching. The snow had intensified into a blizzard, the waves crashed below, and the wind was howling like the swirling storm inside. I couldn't keep it in.
This has to be a dream, it just has to be.
A split second later, as I heard the chaos coming from inside the castle, Watson looked over at me and my heart sank deeper, before I even said it, he knew.
The impact of the shock began to take effect to take effect and suddenly, I felt my knees give way beneath me and I collapsed, sinking to the cold, hard ground, hugging my knees and crying until my chest began to ache and the words I screamed became nonsense. hugging Watson for dear life, my head on his shoulder and sobbing until my chest hurt. I cursed life and the universe and God Himself.
Mycroft met us a moment later and he was devastated, he had lost a brother, though he tried as hard as he could to hide the pain he was feeling, the pain of loss was unrelenting, no one was completely susceptible to its wrath. He looked up at the sky. The stars seemed an arm's length away. Bright enough and close enough for us to just reach out and grab them. I wondered if what my grandmother told me was true, that our loved ones who have passed on, watched over us from Heaven, and each one of them were stars, that's why there were so many of them.
So many questions burned through me; What had happened when the two men were left alone together? Who was to tell us what had happened then? I remembered there was a guard standing at the door, but I did not recall seeing him anywhere. Did something happen to him, too, or did he flee from the scene knowing that something was about to happen? And why did the telegram not inspire any action to stop the professor? In fact, no one other than us, knew the storm that had threatened to come. Just because the security had been doubled, didn't make it any less dangerous.
One thing was for certain, however. I never wished for death or harm to come to anyone, not even my school bullies, but if this monster happened to survive the fall, I would murder him myself without any regrets or remorse whatsoever. He deserved to feel this seething pain that I felt at this very second. My entire world was crashing down around me.
"If only I had been here sooner, maybe I could have found a way to stop this," I said as Watson stood up and helped me to my feet and dusted the snow off of my dress.
"Charlotte, you can't blame yourself," said Jane who was standing near the door, "none of this is your fault. You know that."
"We should send everyone home," said Mycroft. "There's a chance that there are more of Moriarty's snipers here and the last thing we need is anymore casualties." He turned to Carruthers who nodded and followed him inside.
"I think it's time that we find some place to warm up," Watson said, putting his arm protectively around me.
When we got back inside the castle, Watson grabbed onto my hand and squeezed it in a reassuring way, clenching his teeth tightly, trying not to cry; voices could be heard this way and that; news of the professor's and the detective's death had spread fast and set the whole place in an uproar, and we were there just in time to watch a couple of guards drag Rene's unconscious body away.
"Is Moran still alive?" asked Simza, keeping her gaze straight ahead and I could sense the same fierceness in her voice that she used while interrogating Ravache.
Watson sighed. "I managed to apprehend him and he was arrested."
As soon as we got to the cabin, all I wanted to do, was to lie down in my bed and just think. In my head, I started to hear snippets of old conversations. I blinked, tears stinging my eyes once again as his voice faded from my mind. That was one of the things I already missed about him; I missed the feeling of closeness that I felt with his heart beating next to mine, or when I would time my breathing so that we would be completely in sync with one another. I missed his smile, and his witty sense of humor.
It was almost too dark for any of us to see anything, but luckily, the patio lights were turned on. Mycroft was the first to go inside, along with Carruthers, who had not said much since we left, then again he was a man of few words and neither of us were really in the mood for talking anyways. Stanley was there to greet us, but his face fell when he sensed the change in the mood and when he didn't see Sherlock, he frowned and put his arm around his friend, leading him further into the house and then he went into the kitchen to prepare a warm cup of tea.
Holding onto the railing, I went up the stairs and once I reached the top of the stairs, I stopped, feeling a new wave of grief come over me. I dried the tears as quickly as I could and tried to recover myself enough to make it to the bath. I didn't have much energy, but I felt like a frozen icicle and I needed a warm bath in order to bring my body temperature back up. I sprinkled water over my arms, legs, anywhere that felt cold before getting out again ten minutes later and dressing in my nightgown, I stepped out into the hallway. I paused at an open door and saw Watson sitting on the ground in front of his bed, his face was buried in his hands and his shoulders were shaking, I knew right then he was crying and he didn't want anyone to see it.
His eyes were bloodshot and his face was streaked with tears, as he broke down, his sob roaring impotent like a clap of thunder unaccompanied by lightning, the terrible ferocity that amateurs in the field of suffering might mistake for weakness, but even then, he was strong and courageous, being in the war, he saw a lot of things that no one should ever have to see. But this by far was the worst thing he ever had to endure.
I didn't hesitate to go into his room. Sherlock and Watson were the best of friends, and possibly they were something so much more. Brothers, perhaps? Whatever it was, the bond between them was so deep that losing each other would have been like losing a part of their heart. They had seen each other at their best and at their worst, and when they fell, they'd always be there to pick each other up again.
"He must have known what he was doing," he said, his voice calm, although his chest sounded full and his nose was red. "The way he looked at me, like he was trying to remember my face and my voice."
"He looked at me like that, too." I thought about telling him that we kissed outside of the castle, but at the same time, I didn't want to, that would be our memory, our secret and sacred memory. And it only made it hurt worse.
"He drove Mrs Hudson and I insane sometimes. All the marks on the tables; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning! Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there's food! And poor Gladstone, it's a miracle he's managed to live this long. And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!" He was breaking and I could see it. "I loved him, Charlotte, I cared about him so much, I thought we would have had more time together."
"I'm so sorry, John. I'm so so sorry," I sat down next to Watson and I let him lean his head on my shoulder. I couldn't say anything else. He was too smart for the kinds of solace I could offer.
"I'm sorry too," he whispered before composing himself. "He loved you so much; he wanted to marry you. The Sherlock Holmes that I knew never wanted to marry anyone before. To him, love and marriage..." he trailed off. "You were exceptional, beautiful, smart, funny. You were the reason he kept on fighting. And I know you loved him, too." I stared at the floor for a moment and then he surprised me by laughing, though it wasn't a pleasant laugh, it was sad. "Please, Jane, Simza, me, even Mycroft, we all knew it; the first moment you met that a spark had gone off between the two of you."
"It hurts," I said.
"I know," he answered.
After a while, I led him over to the bed and we sat there on the edge together as he told me some of the adventures that he and Sherlock had. He made the stories funny and sometimes, I broke out of my sadness to smile or laugh as he changed his voice to sound deeper; though it was a poor attempt, I knew that he was trying to make light out of the dark situation. He managed a smile and cleared his throat. "There's all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school."
"That'll be nice." I wanted so badly to distract him from his agony; tears fell from my face as put my arm around him. "The boys will love it."
"Sherlock, Sherlock," I whispered, keeping my eyes closed, and repeating the name over and over again, as if it were some sacred chant that would somehow revive him and bring him back to me. "I know you're out there, come back to me."
Simza came in half an hour later and stayed with me for most of the night. She sat beside me on the bed with her feet bare and tucked together in front of her. One hand propped up her head and she gazed into the distance, lost and alone. Her brother was dead, too; he was the only family she had left in the world, while I had Jane and my parents, Grandfather and my two aunts. As I gently guided her head to lay on my chest, I reached out to brush some hair away from her face, all of her makeup was gone, but it didn't make her look any older, in fact, it made her look younger, more naïve, but nothing, not even the smudges of tears, could take away her beauty. She was every bit as mystical and serene as the day I met her. And the grief that she was facing only made her stronger.
"There were things that I wanted to say, but I didn't get to say them," she said as I continued to play with her hair, it was sort of comforting.
"I'm so sorry," I replied softly. "Your brother was a good man, people make bad choices if they're scared. I'm sure he would have come to you if he could." I didn't know Rene, but the best thing I could do was try and comfort my friend by any means possible. She nodded, taking a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. I gently rubbed her arm until she had fallen asleep and I fell asleep, too.
A few days later, the train whistle sounded, telling us that we had made it back to London, and I could see Mother and Father waiting for us at the platform; Jane was the first one out, and she ran over to them; Mother embraced her and I sighed. It seemed like the letter got to them in time, and I was relieved about that, but they still had panic and a little anger etched on their faces.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay, Charlotte?" Watson asked as he walked alongside me. "In case I need to smooth things over."
"It'll be alright, Doctor, thank you. I'm sure they'll be angry with us at first, but they'll be fine eventually."
"If you need anything, you know where to find me," he said and he turned around to leave.
"Your father and I have been worried sick about you!" Mother exclaimed in a loud voice; she could be extremely loud sometimes and I was hoping that she wouldn't make a big fuss when we're out in public, or at least wait until we get home, you know; give us the silent treatment, or something. "And then when we do hear from you, it's through a letter, telling us that you're both romping around Europe catching a dangerous criminal."
"A criminal that you idolized," I said. "Do you still have those books? If you do, you should burn them tomorrow."
"Your mother's right," said Father, more angrier than I would have liked or than I was used to. He was rarely angry with anyone, especially the two of us, even if we had gotten into trouble, he was firm, yet gentle. "You could have all been killed, then what would we have done?"
"What made you decide to follow them in the first place?" Mother asked. "I thought that you were both smarter than that, to not get involved and put your lives in danger." She shook her head. "I thought that you were both responsible enough to travel on your own. But I guess I was wrong." She sighed, as if she had run out of words to say, or she couldn't be bothered and she and Father started to go out of the station, all the while Jane began explaining what had happened.
The air outside was cold, and it had begun to snow, little tiny flakes that you wouldn't be able to see if you didn't look hard enough. I brought my coat closer to me in order to keep warm and I was glad I had decided to put my gloves on, or else the bitter air would have bitten them right off. When we got into the carriage, I leaned my head against the back of my seat and tried not to cry, or scream, or even allow myself to grieve. I wouldn't do that until I was home again.
More harsh and hurtful things were said, though we both knew that they had every right to be angry and frustrated. I knew that they didn't mean anything they said, that it was their fear talking instead of themselves, so I sat there and took every verbal assault that they could possibly throw at me. I was glad that Watson wasn't here to have to deal with the wrath of my well-meaning parents, though it wasn't his fault that we were almost killed by a maniac.
"You were the one who didn't want me to be a homebody, I'll be back here chained to this place, letting you take care of me like I always used to and then you'll ship me off to marry some aristocrat because you just can't wait to see me married off like Jane. Well, I'm not like Jane and I'm not like you."
"Charlotte!" Father said, harshly. "Apologize to your mother."
I didn't say anything. I just sat there with my arms folded, not even looking at them. Never in my life had I begged for death, I knew that it was selfish of me to think like that, when I had a family who loved me and good friends who cared about me, that much was clear,
Halfway there, Jane told the carriage to stop, and that she would be staying at William's house, and no one advised against it. Then it was just the three of us; the rest of the drive was silent. No one else had anything to say, so I thought I should make myself heard.
"Do you have any idea what I'm going through?" I asked in what sounded like a calm voice, but I was really trying to control myself. "Sherlock Holmes is dead! I watched him go over those falls and it was like being stabbed in the heart; seeing that look in his eyes, like he knew he was going to die but it had to be done anyways, was enough to make me want to toss myself over the falls and save him. His parents are probably mourning him right now, that is if they're even still alive, and Mycroft, his brother, his flesh and blood, is beside himself with grief. Doctor Watson is devastated."
That finally shut them up. I could see the guilt in their eyes.
"I'm sorry I recklessly put myself in danger, we both are."
It took the entire drive to calm down about my parents; when I opened the front door, Grandfather was in the living room, as per usual, and only when he heard my footsteps, did he stand up. He put his arms around me and held me, it was just what I needed right now. "Everything's alright, you're home and you're safe, that's all that matters," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I know how much he meant to you."
"I'm angry." My voice shook, like the rest of my body.
"It's okay to be angry. There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way grief makes everyone feel."
"I'm going to lie down," I said and he gently and slowly let me go.
Once I reached my bedroom, I closed the door so that I could have a few moments to myself and then shut the curtains so that the sun wouldn't glare at me, too. Sitting on the bed, I reached out to grab the medicine off the bedside table, the kind I took when I had a hard time sleeping, and the effects were instantaneous and as I drifted off to sleep, I thought I saw him lying next to me, with his eyes half open.
Hours later, I woke up screaming, the image still drilled into my mind. Sweat was dripping down my forehead, and the sheets were completely off my bed, I must have been fighting while I was unconscious. I guess the medication didn't protect me as well as I hoped. A candle had been brought into my room and placed on the bedside table. I didn't hear anyone coming in, so I must have been in a pretty deep sleep. It was nighttime, even with the curtains shut, I could tell that much. The bedroom door opened. It was Mother and Father; I couldn't say anything to them, instead, I started to cry and they knelt down beside me. It was unbearable. The whole thing. Every second worse than the last. I couldn't catch my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire.
When it was all over, I stood at the left-hand window with my back to the living room and played a sad lament on my violin. On days when I needed to drown out all the horrors of the world, I would compose; I closed my eyes and felt the music flow through my veins like a memory. I thought about all the good times we shared together; the laughter, the smiles, the joking around, all the things that made our relationship special.
My parents stayed in my room forever until it was morning and finally Father said, "Do you want to be alone?" and I nodded and Mom said, "We'll be right outside the door," me thinking, I don't doubt it.