May 5, 1891

If I revealed to the world that I had survived the duel with the Professor, Watson would again be in as much danger as before. I could not allow that to happen.

I would not allow that to happen.

I had to flee. But I knew I had precious little time before Watson returned to find myself a hiding place. Much as I did not wish to see and hear his reactions, I knew I had to secrete myself somewhere in the next few minutes until darkness fell and I could escape over the mountains.

I paused in my reading, deep in thought over what I just finished. So only part of what Holmes had told me about the Falls was the truth, as I had suspected. And he had, to use his own chess analogy, done the unspeakable – offering the queen as a sacrifice to save the pawn. Again I felt the guilt that, had I stayed with him, together we might have bested Moran and his master.

My guilt and shock soon turned to frustration with Holmes for not telling me the truth. Not because of his not telling me of the danger; I recognized that for what it was – his idea of protecting me. But I was disappointed that he had not told me so that I could be of help, so that I could share his intense stress of the moment and help him with that burden, instead of blissfully remaining unaware of the sinister drama being enacted around me. I frowned, continuing my perusal of this singular tale.

I had barely hidden myself on a ledge when Watson returned. I will say no more than that it was the absolute hardest thing I have ever had to witness. How I wanted to call out to him, to see his face at my melodramatic reappearance. How I wish I could have put his mind at rest. But I cannot. Not until I can put Moran where he will never have a chance to harm either of us again.

That shall be my objective for however long it takes to –

My reading was suddenly interrupted by Sherlock Holmes flinging the door open, scattering snow everywhere from off his overcoat. I gasped with shock and the shame of being caught snooping in his private journal and dropped the book with a resounding thump.

"Watson! We did it!" he shouted jubilantly, striding to the file cabinet in the corner and stuffing the Beddington file in a random drawer. "Mycroft said that was the last piece of evidence he needed. And just in time for Christmas! Dear me, you must have been busy, old fellow, I dare say I rushed off this afternoon leaving quite a mess behind me!"

His excitement shone, as it always did at the closing of a case, through his tone of voice, and he had not yet seen the hot flush of embarrassment that had flooded my features upon his unexpected return.

He pulled up on the window shade and looked out at the swirling snow. "It looks as if we shall certainly have snow for Christmas, Watson. It must be close to freezing out there!"

"Holmes," I began.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I winced, as his yells could most likely have woken our neighbors and it was nearly midnight. The long-suffering woman might not even be up still.

"Holmes?"

"I am chilled to the bone, Watson. Would you like some coffee?"

"Holmes –"

"Mrs. Hudson! Where the devil is that woman? Mrs. Hudson!"

"HOLMES!"

That got his attention, and he spun round to look at me. The sparkle in his eyes reflecting his recent success suddenly faded.

"Is something the matter, Watson?"

"Holmes, I – have to tell you something." I hesitated, not knowing how to inform him of my transgression.

"Well, out with it, man. Do you mind if I change out of these cold clothes while we talk?"

"Um, Holmes –"

But he had already disappeared into his bedroom.

"I see the arms of your tidying efforts did not quite reach the recesses of my bedroom, Watson," he called through the open door.

"That's what I have to tell you, Holmes!" I called back, walking over to stand in the doorway.

"That you didn't clean up my room? My dear fellow, I never expected you to, so don't trouble yourself about it." He flung his grey dressing-gown over his shoulders and turned to face me with a smile.

My resolve nearly melted. Perhaps I could just wait until he was out of his room and sneak the book back into the pile of litter that yet remained on the floor?

But no, I knew the only honorable course was to tell my friend that I had intruded on a part of his life he did not wish me to know. Not knowing how to begin, I simply blurted out the truth without giving myself time to think about it.

"Holmes, I was in the middle of cleaning up the books and such in here when one of them fell, open, on the floor. I picked it up, saw my name, and started reading it," I said, once again feeling my face flush with shame, "I – have no excuse for that intrusion on your privacy."

I believe I was fortunate he had just finished a case and was in a fairly pleasant mood.

"Well, Watson, I can hardly be angry with you for taking a break from cleaning up my things. It had to have been quite a job. Which case were you so curious about that you would chance evoking my wrath at having my files disturbed?" His tone was cautiously jesting, his manner light as he posed the question, walking past me to the mantelpiece and beginning to fill his pipe.

As he lit it I bent down and picked up the volume in question. "The Moriarty case," I whispered, shamefacedly handing him the journal.

His teasing manner evaporated as quickly as it had been assumed, and he unceremoniously snatched the book from my hands.

"I told you never to question me about that case, Watson," he said sternly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I'm sorry, Holmes, but -"

"But nothing, Watson! How dare you?"

I endeavored to find the words to excuse or at least explain my conduct, but I could not. Holmes fixed me with a long look of disappointment and anger, and then turned his back on me, vanishing into his bedroom. I saw and heard the door slam with undue violence behind him.

The realization that he had every right to behave in such a manner and that I deserved worse from him for invading his obviously very private life did nothing to assuage the black mood that fell upon me as his door shut so unceremoniously.

Knowing that I had just deflated all his joy at solving a difficult case and destroyed all chances of spending a pleasant Christmas Eve with my dearest friend, I slowly put out the fire and trudged up the stairs to my room.

To Be Concluded...