We are finally at the last chapter! Thank you all readers who had faithfully read up to this episode! I was slow in updating and I am really grateful for your patience!

There will be a related, though not directly continuing, story coming up entitled "Secrets of the Smoky Room." Please do take time R&R the next story too! All your support, time and words were highly appreciated!

Thanks you once again for enjoying this story and I pray you would able to fully enjoy the last chapter of "the Unheard Melancholic Cry"

Chapter 14: Finale, the Smog Covered City

The whole London was dark and quiet, be it day or night. It was one of those periods were the brown, stuffy smog covered every inch of breathing air. Nobody in their right mind went out of their dwelling, unless they had important business to attend to. Even then, they would always hail themselves a cab to avoid the musty atmosphere. It has been two weeks since the case had brought us to Winsor. For now, we were both back in our humble compartment of the great city. Holmes was fairly busy hearing the court case and presenting as an eye witness of the murder of Young Jeremiah Clifton, murdered by the late James Clifton. The true story was never published nor reviled. As far as the whole England was concerned, James Clifton was simply the victim's uncle who was over raged with Jealousy and hate. It was partly true, and we decided to keep it that way. Their tragic love story was to be kept a secret along with our other collections of never ending misfortune by no means to be told to the public. It was their privacy, and he had respected as he had always done.

After the hearing was over, and James Clifton pronounced guilty without question, we went back to quietly spending our days. The smog kept us home by the fireplace, and even the daily newspaper went silence. Luckily Holmes was still fresh from the latest account, and had not yet overdosed himself on his collection of cocaine and morphine. But he would always keep me on the lookout for his latest burst of emotion and drug dependency.

Naturally, he never mentioned of the night when he bedded me. And my pride as a man would never allow me to bring the topic up. With this I believed my little affair with my closest friend were to end here, to be lost in Winsor. I would be able safely and silently wed my fiancé. All I had to do was to suppress my feelings as I had always done.

The clock had just hit four in the afternoon, but it seemed like it was middle of the night. Dark and quiet, we both pretended to be concentrated on the bold lettered books on our hands. But as the time ticked I could not bear the silence of the room, scared that we would be sucked into nothingness, robbing me of my home, stealing my joy and worst taking Holmes away from me. Then it had hit me for the first time that the marriage will do the exact same thing. It would take my bachelorhood along with everything else I cherished now.

"Holmes?" I muttered a small whisper in desperation, horrified of the lost I would have from this privilege.

"Hmm?" Holmes replied freely, before glancing up and seeing the terror in my eyes. I hid it well, but Holmes was sharper than I wished him to be. "What is it, my dear Watson?"

"Just would like to inform you that I would be moving out three days before my marriage. I would be fixing up a small practice, and would like to get things ready and neat before we would move in." I cringed a bit at the "we". It had surprised me how the "we" did not refer to Holmes and I but rather someone else.

Holmes stared at me with an unreadable expression, and he just gave a shrug. If I had not known him so well, I would dismiss it as his lack of care and happily move out as soon as possible. But that was not the case. He was annoyed and irritated of the fact that I am to wed and move out of our, soon to be his, compartment.

"Holmes?" I uttered again, confused and lost. I could not afford his irritation, for I was seeking comfort in him. "Holmes… Please don't do this. You are making it hard for both of us."

"Me, Watson?" his anger rose in his voice. He lost his typical sense of humor and confidence. "You think I'm making it hard for both of us?" he growled. "Doctor, it's you who is to move out, you who is to be wed, you who is to leave me!" I cringe at the last phrase. The abandonment he felt was evident and I was to blame.

Silence echoed the room, and Holmes angrily went back to his book leaving me stunt.

"I'm sorry." I muttered. "I promise I'll visit. Don't be like this Holmes, it's not like I'm going away to die."

"You are extremely selfish, Watson. But no matter, I hope you will live a happy life."

"Please understand me. It's already decided. I never knew…"

"Never knew what?" he bolted up from his sit, and came charging at me. Fear and amusement entangled each other as I saw my usually gentle and calm friend fuming. "Never knew what, Watson? Never knew that I mattered? That I cared? That you are important to me? You should know it best! Stop playing ignorant. You know how I feel, better than I do."

He pressed me down, holding both of my wrists with his thin, cool fingers, covered with plaster here and there. His grey eyes glared back at mine, and his neat black curls were disarranged, slightly covering his left eye. He trembled slightly in anger, and after a few mumbled arguments to himself, shook his head in disgust. Out of the blue, our lips met, and panic crawled up to me.

He was too strong to push off, and I sat there helplessly, feeling the ecstasy and guilt of the kiss. His tongue was surprising warm, as it passionately entangled with mine. After a few gasp of air, he backed off, panting slightly, catching his breath. I stayed still, waiting for his next move, unable to read his expression.

His hands reached for my clothes, hurriedly unbuttoning my shirt, tearing some in his haste. Once my bared chest was exposed, he gently caressed my body, feeling my every muscle in existence.

"Don't go…" he softly whispered. His hands warped around my body, clinging like a child. I unknowingly stroke his hair, feeling the misery and desperation.

"I'll come see you. I promise." I whispered back to his ear, soothing down his emotions. I felt his tears trickle down and drop to my knee. I lift his face, for the first time seeing him cry, and kissed away his tears.

"I'll really come back to you…" and this time, I caressed him in my arms.

. . .

Two weeks later, I moved out of 221b Baker Street.

"The Unheard Melancholic Cry" ~End