Two can play at Moriarty's game, and I am every whit the Professor's equal in intellect.

Watson shall be safe, or I shall die in the attempt. Please God, before the sun sets this time tomorrow, Watson will be out of danger, at least for the present.

SH

I got up to light the gas, since darkness had begun to fall and the fire reduced to mere glowing coals while I was engrossed in the drama unfolding before me. I absently noted that Mrs. Hudson had laid a cold supper and distractedly wondered if she had seen the mess that lay unfinished in Holmes's bedroom. As soon as I had enough light to see by I went back to my chair and began to read once more.

April 29, 1891

1:00 am.

The clock in Watson's consulting room has a distinctly unearthly quality about its chiming, I must say. As I sit here in his front room, remaining alert to any possible intruder, I wonder what he would say if he knew I were actually in his house, keeping watch for danger, when I told him I would not stay the night because of said danger.

Dear chap, he of course said he would rather face the danger with me than to let me face it alone. If only he knew. As I sit here, I still wonder why I could not bring myself to tell him the truth. It is not that he would not have believed me; if I told him I was from another planetary system I dare say he would believe me out of his sheer loyalty. It is not that I fear his nerve in the face of danger – far from it, rather. Why then did I fabricate half of what I told him tonight?

Why have I not been able to tell him the truth? After the kind of serious soul-searching I have done in these last sleepless three days, I can only say that I suppose the reason is that such a confession would certainly reveal more emotion than I have ever been wont to show. I simply cannot bare my soul in that free and open manner, not even to Watson.

There I had it. The answer to probably seventy-five percent of my unanswered questions. He did not tell me the truth because he was Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock Holmes simply does not open his heart and soul to anyone, not even myself. It was not a matter of trust; it was just simply not a part of his proud nature. I had come to that realization long ago, and his words merely confirmed what I already knew.

Considering what is at stake here, I am being very selfish and I know it. I was on the verge of telling him the truth as he calmly got up from his chair and loaded his old Army revolver, stating to me that he wished I would spend the night so that he could keep an eye on me. The disappointment in his face when I refused nearly pushed me over the edge to telling him all.

I am undoubtedly the worst possible friend that has ever lived. What I ever did to deserve such a faithful, staunch comrade is beyond me. I swear by all that's holy, I will see Watson safe if I have to be with him every second and end up killing Moriarty with my own hands. If that is what it takes, I shall do it.

My plans are in readiness, and with my brother's help on the morrow, we should be able to make an escape safely. I pray that Watson will follow my instructions to the letter in the morning – I told him our lives depend on it, but in reality it is his that does.

Until then, I shall keep this lonely vigil in his consulting rooms. I find an odd pleasure in knowing that I can do this for my friend, albeit he is completely unaware of my actions. And if, as I foresee, Moriarty succeeds in catching up with us on our flight, then I will be glad to have the knowledge that my last night in England was spent in a nobler cause than my petty little deductive problems over which I make so much ado.

The Professor or one of his men will undoubtedly follow us. And I know that one of us will in all probability not return from the Continent. And I swear that one will not be Watson.

SH

I then realized why Holmes had been so intense in his telling me of what I must do that next morning. The Lowther Arcade, the cloaked coachman, not taking the first or second cab that conveniently presented itself – all that had been an elaborate ploy to keep me out of danger.

I marveled at my friend's brilliant planning, and I was deeply moved by the fact that he had stayed in my consulting room, keeping guard over my wife and me while we slept – that was why he had not been in Baker Street when it was set on fire that night. I continued reading.

April 30, 1891

I snatch a few moments now to write of the events of the day. The movement of the train has put Watson to sleep – I shall be glad when we get to the Continent so that I may do the same. Until then, I know we are not out of danger and I will not rest until I feel we are somewhat safe.

I am very proud of my dear Watson – he followed my instructions exactly. I left his house when I heard the servants stirring, entrusting his care to Wiggins, whom I had set to watch the front door. A bunch of his little band were employed in watching the other entrances to Watson's house as well as keeping an eye on all passers-by.

I thought I had taken every precaution, but I still felt a horrible fear like a dead weight at my heart as the time drew near for his arrival. I had timed everything to the second almost, and as the time got closer I grew more and more anxious. Words cannot describe my intense relief when I saw the cab driven by Mycroft stop at the curb and the figure of my best friend emerge, perfectly safe.

I watched as he headed for my railway carriage and finally settled back into my seat with a relieved sigh. He opened the door, and I almost laughed out loud at his reaction to the Italian priest he found invading his compartment; but the conductor made him enter and shut the door unceremoniously in his face.

My amusement faded as I saw the genuine fear and worry on his face when he realized the train was departing and he had not seen me yet. I hadn't the heart to keep him in suspense any longer.

"My dear Watson, you have not even condescended to say 'good morning,' " I said, allowing my amusement to be heard through the words.

The look on his face as he whirled around to face me and gasped out my name would have been comical had the situation not been so grave.

I looked past him out the window and caught my breath. An icy wave of fear rushed through me as I saw a familiar figure running through the crowd.

"No," I whispered.

"Holmes? Are you all right?"

I heard Watson's concerned voice behind me, but all I could see was that sinister figure dashing madly through the station, screaming in rage for the train to stop. Moriarty himself. With all my careful planning! With a shudder I thanked God that he had not caught up with Watson before he reached the safety of the station.

"Holmes?"

I settled back limply in my seat and tried to manage a smile for Watson's benefit. I do not believe he was fooled, but he tactfully remained his normal self, probably chalking my distress as nerves. Which was true, to an extent.

"You see, with all our planning, we cut it rather fine," I commented, using the removal of my disguise as an opportunity to pull my emotions back under a tight rein.

"That was Moriarty?"

"The same."

After removing my priest's garb, I had calmed myself down enough to be thinking lucidly again, and I explained the gravity of the situation to Watson, with the omission of the vital fact that it was he who was in danger and not I.

We got out at the Canterbury station and barely had time to walk away from the tracks before I saw the smoke and heard the whistle of Moriarty's special train. Thanking God I had made the correct deduction about my opponent's actions, I pulled Watson behind a pile of luggage and we watched the train pass. I let out my breath with a slow hiss, feeling some semblance of relief course through my tired body. Perhaps we would make it after all.

Perhaps. But if I know Moriarty, I cannot relax my guard even for an instant. I shall not let Watson out of my sight until Moriarty is put behind bars, however long that takes.

SH

So that was why he had been so distraught on the train. I felt that chill run over me again as I realized the danger I had been in – Moriarty had been following me, not Holmes, that day, and if Holmes had not had such a plan in place, then I might very well have never made it to the station.

I read on through the next few pages, but there was little there that I did not already know; he was simply detailing our journey through the Continent. Under the entry for that fateful Monday, when the arrests were to be made, I found an interesting bit.

Curse the man! After all this, I still had a faint hope that Patterson would get Moriarty! I should have known that the Professor would never allow that to happen!

I received the telegram from Patterson at dinner this evening, telling me he had arrested all the members of the gang except the Professor himself. And, I suspected, that lieutenant of his that was so safeguarded even I had trouble getting concrete evidence against him. That man was an old Indian tiger hunter, and the thought that he and his master might be tracking our movements with that air-gun is enough to make even my iron nerve uneasy.

Along with Patterson's message was a wire from my brother. PATTERSON ARRESTED ENTIRE GANG SAVE MORIARTY AND MORAN STOP WATSON IN GRAVE DANGER STOP DO NOT LET OUT OF YOUR SIGHT SHERLOCK IF YOU VALUE HIS LIFE STOP. Watson thought I threw the messages into the fire out of anger; little did he know I did it so he would not read the real truth. I continue to be wary, but if Moriarty and Moran are following us, I have not seen any sign of them.

That, of course, is in itself suspicious.

I had not counted on the odds being two against two. No, two against one, for I will never let Watson get caught in the middle of this. We move on to Switzerland in the morning, and I can only hope and pray that all will be well.

Just the same, I believe I will sleep tonight with a revolver under my pillow and my bedroom door ajar.

SH

I shuddered as I remembered Sebastian Moran and VonHerder's air-gun. I was almost glad Holmes had not told me that both Moran and Moriarty were following us; or more specifically, me. The strain on Holmes's nerves at that point must have been horrific – but it was mute testimony to his admirable composure that, up until reading this account, I had no inkling of the pressure he was feeling.

To Be Continued...