Final Problem – AU
Watson – Grief
I had always known that working with Sherlock Holmes was a dangerous business. It was a risk that I had accepted blithely as a single man, a risk that I accepted with some reservation as a married one. However, Holmes had always done his best to protect me and mine and Mary herself had encouraged me to remain in my old post of companion, comrade and physician to London's only consulting detective. Between the two of us, Holmes and I worked hard to ensure her safety and I was well aware that the eccentric detective chose to work alone on some of his more dangerous cases to protect not only my wife, but myself as well.
I cannot deny that my wife's death was a terrible blow. It completely unmanned me for most of our flight across Europe; something that I am sure led Holmes to the foolish choices he made at the last. To send me away and face the Professor alone was nothing short of suicide and I resolved as I scaled the paths above the Falls, aiming towards the man I had seen crouched above the two adversaries, that he and I would be having words over the matter when this was finally resolved. A hoarse scream froze my blood for all of ten seconds: when I could bear to look it was to discover that Holmes was scaling the side of the Falls. In that instant I realised that he had survived the Professors attack, that he had weighed his options and now had no intention of returning to England – that he would allow whoever came across his cigarette case to assume that he had died with the Professor.
Moran moved into firing position and I cursed my dearest friend with all my heart and soul, even as I scrambled to collect enough loose rocks to sour Moran's aim. To fire my revolver would alert Holmes to my presence and that would not do – the man had an uncanny ear for sound had distinguished the sound of my revolver from other gunshot in the past. Also, Moran had a reputation for being able to retrace the path of a shot – I was hoping that by throwing rocks and shifting positions I would be able to confound that talent enough to give Holmes time to escape.
Escape he did. Once I was sure that Moran was in pursuit, yet distant enough from Holmes that my friend was safe for a time, I climbed down to the rock where Holmes cigarette case rested and stood for a time over the small object. My own bleak future seemed to be reflected up at me from that familiar object – one that was wholly unpalatable. There was nothing for me in London any more: I was sure that Mary would understand my absence from our home. Holmes would not return to London with Moran on the loose, and I had no wish to return and be his stalking horse for the Professors second-in-command. I had not doubt that Moran would attempt to assume his masters old place, which meant that there were others in the gang that we had not detected, probably because they were here in Europe. I would have to return to a city that held no one of consequence amidst a teeming population, all the while acting to convince others that Holmes was dead. I would have to play the part of grieving biographer…
Or I could disappear. I could leave here and travel over the mountains. Moran had not been concerned about leaving tracks up above, which spoke to his mental state. The Professors death had unnerved Moran, which meant that eventually he would give up on his pursuit and return to his familiar hunting grounds, whence to flush Holmes out at his leisure. I could shadow the man for a time to ensure he didn't catch up with Holmes – once I knew my friend was safe I could turn my hand to other things… after all, I had not always been a doctor and my time as a soldier had taught me skills that were of use the world over. There was nothing to tie me to England any longer and a man with a sense of adventure and the ability to adapt could recreate himself in Europe…
With an air of finality, as if I was bidding goodbye to a significant part of myself, I unhooked my watch and chain, threaded my wedding ring onto the chain and secured it, dropped them beside Holmes' cigarette case and then followed the tracks to the fatal struggle. It was a moment's work to leap up to the footholds that Holmes had used though my old wounds protested bitterly at the unusual exercise – a moment of scrutiny of the scene below showed that the logical conclusion would be that I had followed my friend into the abyss…
I set my heart and started to climb.
My shoulder and leg were quite troublesome initially as I slept rough and pushed hard to catch up with the two men in front of me, until I learned the trick of managing them as I tracked Moran across the mountains. He had come prepared for the hunt, carrying with him a small knapsack and the infernal air gun that I had once heard, from the depths of my grief, Holmes describe in some detail as he kindly tried to distract me. On the morning of the third day I managed to separate Moran from both the gun and his knapsack, falling on the bread and cheese contained within voraciously. Moran may have been a feared and famed hunter of tigers – as a hunter of men he was apparently somewhat less of a threat. The dichotomy amused me.
I watched in a detached fashion as he cast about for trace of the person who had stolen his worldly goods, failing to discover me as I covered him with his own weapon. Though I was tempted to simply shoot the man and have done with it, I found I had not left enough of myself behind on that rock to do so in cold blood. Though I was numb to the world, I was not yet descended to the baser levels of the depraved criminals that Holmes and I had sought to apprehend in London. Looking back on that time I can only say that I was almost out of my mind with grief and shock; I am forever grateful that something stayed my hand then. To have his blood on my conscience would be unbearable now.
I confess that I heartily regretted that decision when he viciously butchered the shepherd and his wife. I had been too far behind him to stop the atrocities, though not so far that I couldn't catch up with the thin and terrified child that crawled from the kennel behind the house where he apparently slept and ran into the night.
From the marks on the malnourished body his father was something of a brute; from the few words I could understand as I carried the sobbing boy away in the dawn light he had finally discovered a monster worse than his father. Moran had lost track of the sleuth he was hunting, so it was with a clear conscience that I abandoned my own hunt in order to see to the child.
It was a decision that saved me in so many different ways that even now I look back upon it with wonder.
0o0o0o0
That's the last we'll hear from Watson… in a manner of speaking…