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 got up for a moment, stretched, and threw a log on the fire, not really caring if the fire came to life or not. I was saddened at the knowledge that what Holmes had done, he had done for my sake, not just for the triumph of a great case. I almost shut the book and replaced it on Holmes's shelf, but I did want to know what really took place the day of Reichenbach. After a moment's hesitation I turned through the pages until I reached the entry dated May 4.
Even now, I still remember the events of that horrible day as if they had happened yesterday, and I could still feel as I read that same icy dread that had filled me the day I found the note at the Falls, telling me my dearest friend was gone, I thought forever. I briefly considered how reading this might change my view of that fateful day, and then I plunged into the story once more.
May 4, 1981
3:00 am.
I sit on my bed in this lovely little room, trying to get a hold on the turmoil that is in my mind right now. Moriarty is close – I feel it. Those two men I saw through my field-glasses yesterday – they have to be the Professor and his Colonel. I have a kind of sixth sense for danger, and even my exhausted senses tell me this day will be the climax of the whole affair.
Dear Watson, he is still asleep in the other bedroom, oblivious to the intense danger he has been in. I shall never forget the night I (to keep up the deception; I knew he would never abandon me) asked him to return to London. He refused, as I knew he would, assuring me that his place was by my side. Poor chap, it is because of that confounded loyalty of his that his is in so much danger now. How in ten years he has managed to break through my barriers and make his way into my affections I shall never know or understand – but evidently Professor Moriarty does understand, a fact I deeply regret.
My hand clenches convulsively around the pen I hold as I worry about what the day may hold for both of us. Moriarty and Moran are hot on our trail, and I know that they know I am aware of their presence. Moriarty's occupation in London is gone now, and he will use all of his formidable energy to revenging himself on me by harming Watson.
Herr Steiler recommended we visit the Reichenbach Falls for our daily excursion for today, and all my senses are screaming alarms against this proposition – the timing and location are just too perfect for the kind of convenient 'accidents' with which Moriarty is wont to dispose of his victims. Yes, Reichenbach is where he will attack, I can feel it.
Now, how can I get rid of the Professor without bringing danger to Watson?
4:00 am.
My dear Watson. He must have heard my continual pacing up and down the room. I was unaware of his presence until I heard his voice quietly speak behind me.
"Holmes, won't you try to sleep for a little while, at least? You'll wear yourself out at this rate," he said gently, trying not to yawn openly.
"I'm sorry, my dear fellow, I didn't mean to wake you."
"'S all right, Holmes," he said sleepily, "I just wish you wouldn't worry so. Leave the anxiety to the daylight hours, eh?"
I smiled. Some things never change, Watson's gentle concern being among them. "I promise, my dear chap, when this is all over, I shall sleep for a long, long time. Until then, you'll just have to let me worry."
He studied me for a long while. Then he stifled a yawn.
"Go back to bed, Watson. I shall be quiet, I promise."
He nodded and turned to leave. Then he turned, and fixed me with one of those peculiarly piercing looks that were reminiscent of my own brother's.
"Holmes. You know that I always have my revolver beside me when I sleep?"
"Yes, Watson?"
"And I am a very light sleeper – I hear everything?"
"Yes, my dear fellow?"
"So if something were to happen, I would hear it. There's no need for you to check on me every night," he said pointedly, "please try to stop worrying about Moriarty and get some sleep, won't you?"
I was glad he turned away before my face flushed uncomfortably. I had no idea he was aware of my midnight ramblings, in which I often stopped to check and see that all was well with him. Why was I embarrassed at being found out? There is no shame in being concerned for another, is there?
As I heard his bedroom door close, I turned back to the bed and sat still, trying to formulate a plan. I have sat here for close to an hour, idly doodling in the margins of these pages. At last I believe I have one. And this time, Moriarty will not escape.
Of course, if the plan goes as I intend, neither will I. But at least Watson will be safe. And that is all that matters.
And now I shall try to get a few hours sleep – it would not do for my alertness to be less than standard tomorrow, if I am to protect Watson from the two most dangerous men in Europe.
SH
I had completely forgotten about that interview the night before the Falls – now I remembered everything. How blind I had been! Why had I not seen the reason for his unusually solicitous behavior? Could I have prevented what happened that day at the Falls had I known? I now felt a serious burden of guilt at what had happened and my own incompetence in not using Holmes's own methods to make some elementary deductions as to why he was acting that way.
Trying unsuccessfully to shake off the chilling guilt that swept over me, I continued. The next entry was dated the next day, May 5, the day after the Reichenbach fiasco. With a sigh, I began to read.
How can I even begin this narrative? I am still amazed to be alive, at this point in time. Twelve hours ago I was facing my archenemy above the Reichenbach Falls, knowing that the next five minutes would be my last minutes in this lifetime. Now, I sit in this tiny bedroom in this tiny hostelry ten miles from the Falls, trying to make sense out of what I have done. Will Watson ever forgive me?
I acted on instinct and worry for his safety, but still I wonder. He thinks me dead, and for his own safety I cannot divulge the truth to him – but when the time comes, however long it may be, will he forgive me?
But I am following my dear friend's habit of telling my stories backwards. I suppose I should collect myself enough to put down on paper what exactly transpired yesterday – why, I do not know; I doubt anyone will ever read it. But for my own sake, in my own defense, I suppose I should write down why I acted as I did.
Where to start? After about two hours of restless slumber I awoke and started putting my plan into action. Taking a piece of Steiler's hotel notepaper, I disguised my handwriting and wrote a false note urgently requesting Watson's return to the Englischer Hof. I knew that the only thing that would tear him from my side would be a call to his duty as a doctor and loyalty to the Hippocratic Oath – even so, I knew I would have to practically order him to leave me. However, it had to be done if he was to remain safe.
After forging the letter and sealing it in the hotel envelope, I checked to see that Watson was still asleep and then went downstairs to the hotel lobby. I found Herr Steiler out front and asked him if he knew of a boy around who would be willing to spend the day in my employ. Steiler told me of one and told me where he lived in the village – but the image of the two men I had seen the day before was still in my mind.
I thought of Watson, still sleeping upstairs, and then of Mycroft's telegram, and decided to have Steiler find the boy and send him up to my room. This he agreed to do, and two hours later, by the time Watson was awake, I had all my plans in readiness.
To Be Continued...