Final Problem – AU

Holmes – Resolution

We bought books on the way to the train station – as many as we could carry, knowing that Neils would need to be entertained at the very least. We were fortunate enough to have the compartment to ourselves, something that was mainly due to Neil's exuberant questions and energy frightening away any traveller that looked at our compartment. Evidently they did not know the difference between a child properly educated to active inquiry and deduction and one that was simply an uncontrolled hellion. We had a sheaf of the London papers, I had a pouch of my favourite tobacco and Watson a twist of humbugs – which I had dropped into his pocket in a fit of whimsy and he had not discovered until we were on the train itself.

Neils occupied one of the window seats, alternating between kneeling on the seat with his hands and face plastered to the glass and combing voraciously through his new books. We had not been able to carry very many texts with us over the last five years – they were heavy and space was at a premium at times – but the boy had developed Watson's love for books despite that. He was also the proud possessor of a new journal in which he frequently paused to scribble his thoughts and impressions. Watson had insisted long before I came across him in that tea plantation that the child learn to write, and write well. Occupied by all of these things, the boy had no attention to spare us and so Watson judged that the time was ripe for a long over due conversation.

"I never believed that note was real," he murmured, apropos of nothing, though I knew at once which note he referred to, "I had not seen any English woman arrive and you know I had not been sleeping deeply or well in those last few days."

"No," my heart twisted at the thought. He had known from the start that I had deceived him, though I stood by my decision to try and spare him at the last. He had suffered so much, poor boy; I could not bear to risk his life at the very end. It would have been a betrayal worse than the one I had chosen to commit.

"I was a four hour round journey from this 'patient' – there were other doctors nearer by and if she was that badly off she'd have had one of them to treat her. Besides, no woman who could afford to make such a long and expensive trip for her health would travel without her personal physician in tow. Thus I had no trouble with my conscience in choosing to disregard the summons," he continued in a quiet voice. In reaction I twined my arm through his, an action he permitted. The tension in my arm as it gripped him must have communicated how much I dreaded hearing his reaction to my betrayal, but he continued to speak gently. We needed to have and complete this ghastly conversation, even if I would rather have been shot in all four limbs and left in the desert.

"I let the boy run ahead and when we reached the switchback that led to the top of the falls I followed it instead. You had mentioned that Moran had gotten away with Moriarty – do you remember speaking to me of it? You were trying to distract me from my grief at the time – although it may not have seemed that I heard you I always did, and I thank you for that old chap. I knew that Moran was with his master, and that the man was a sniper, so my best course was to try and find his position above you on the Falls – I never for a moment doubted he would be there. I was nearly to the top when I heard the scream. I thought for a terrible moment that you had fallen too… but then I saw you climbing up the side of the cliff there, like a ruddy great spider."

There was an echo of the grateful relief he'd felt in his tone and his arm squeezed mine as he remembered. I shifted closer in return, needing the contact, irrationally, to prove that he was with me now as he revisited the worst stretch of our friendship in a gentle voice. That climb had been hellish, and not because of the difficulty in scaling the cliffs.

"I knew that Moran was expert at tracing gunshots back to their source – something he had developed into a science as a sniper and continued to refine as a hunter. So I had been gathering what rocks I could find of sufficient size and weight to throw. I reached a vantage point with good and varied cover just as he fired his first shots at you. Using my own ammunition I managed to put his aim off and then keep him busy long enough to give you a head start…"

"Even then you protected me?" I murmured my eyes and nose burning, "Oh dear friend…"

"Even then," he sighed, "When Moran went in pursuit of you I returned to the ledge where you had battled the Professor. I saw the note and case, left my watch and ring with it and then retraced your steps, climbing much as you had."

"But why?" the question had been burning in my brain for years, something that McLeod would not have answered, even if he'd acknowledged it. Why would the man that I had betrayed, had left behind to think that I was dead, just as his beloved wife was, continue to protect me? Why had he not just washed his hands of me?

"I had nothing left in England. Mary was gone, the practice burnt… my Will was on record at the bank, so I knew that she would be seen to a decent resting place and my debts repaid. You had left me… I knew why of course, but it was a parting of the ways none-the-less and one that I had no say over, one that you had not seen fit to consult me in…"

The gentle grief in his voice was a welcome change from the terrible black abyss he'd fallen into when the blow was freshest, yet it tore at me to hear it still.

"I'm not sure that I know why I left you in such a way any more… my reasons were noble and self sacrificing at the time, but now… looking back… my dear Watson, how did you ever find the grace to forgive me such a hideous betrayal?" my voice was choked, unrecognisable as mine, though the words were heartfelt. I needed to know!

"I have always been – in some form – the representative of those causes you fight for," Watson said it simply, "Right or wrong, you held me up as an ideal, a muse of sorts. Mary knew it; she encouraged me to spend as much time with you as possible because of it… God love her."

"Angels keep her," I added my own sentiment to that; we sat in silence for a moment, each paying our own tribute to the extraordinary woman that I had learned grudgingly to share Watson with. We had not finished our conversation though, and Watson knew full well that I would not be able to settle with things half told… and so he stirred himself from his gentle grief to see to my needs once more. I loved him all the more dearly for it.

"Once at the top I followed Moran's trail. He was not being particularly careful at first, perhaps because he knew that he too would have a head start over whoever had interfered on your behalf. I was never certain if he guessed it was me or thought it to be a hired man that you had engaged, but it's of no import now," Watson shrugged endearingly, and I nodded my agreement. It was a trifling detail, one that I would for once be happy to leave unremarked. I would, however once I had better control over my wretched words, find a way to ensure he knew that no hired man would ever be able to compete with the trust we shared between us. That was a task for another time, though, one that I would take the utmost care with.

"We spent two and a half days in convoy – him hunting you, me hunting him," Watson sighed, "But on the very early morning of the third day I once more came in range of him. One cricket ball sized rock and a corker of a throw later; I had him laid out before me. I will admit that I was sorely tempted to just shoot him as he lay there, but I've never been a cold blooded killer and I wasn't about to start then and there either. I took the wretched airgun and his knapsack and hid myself away very carefully. By the time he woke I was out of his reach."

"He gave up on the third day," I murmured in chilled recollection, glancing at my dear friend and wondering if I should mention the atrocities that Moran had committed in his fury at being bested. He would sense that I was keeping something back from him; the longer I delayed the worse the shock would be. I had not thought of that night for some time, simply because it had wracked me with nightmares for many days afterwards.

"I wish I had shot him like the mad dog he was," Watson said bitterly, "He came across a shepherd hut belonging to a small family… in his fury, he slaughtered them, though the only child escaped his atrocities…"

"I saw…" my mind whirled and I turned my gaze to the young man currently plastered over the carriage window opposite. Neils was oblivious to our conversation still, being occupied with calculating the speed of the train if the calculations on the page of his new journal were anything to go by.

"I found him among the rocks, hiding from the man who was a worse monster than his own father. He'd suffered some degree of physical abuse from his father for most of his life, was horribly malnourished… I had a choice, to leave the boy and hunt Moran down or take him to safety and leave you to your own devices. I chose the boy."

There was no apology in his voice or face and I would never reproach him for that either. He had ensured that I was as safe as he could make me when he'd turned his attention to someone whose need was greater. Besides, if he had not acted as he had our lives would have suffered a distinct lack in the past few years…

"What made you decide to keep the child with you?" I smiled fondly at the top of his bowed head, knowing he would hear the approval and gratitude and hundreds of other things that I could never find adequate words for. It was one of his dearest qualities, his ability to hear what I didn't say, to read what I could not express. I was his book in some ways, he had studied me well.

"I reached the nearest village; no more than two or three families lived there and they were not… enthused at the situation I brought to their doorsteps. There was something of a language barrier at the time, I took it that they knew of the family and wanted nothing to do with the father. They promised to go and see to the remains… but I was to take the child to the nearest large town, which had officials that would decide on the boys disposition. They gave us food, clothes for the boy and directions. By the time we reached the next village though…"

"You couldn't bear to part with him? Oh Watson, thank god you did not…" I startled him with my fervent tone but he looked up and smiled, quiet joy and gratitude radiating from him in such a wave that I felt quite warm. Neils had been a distraction I had not wanted to deal with at the beginning of our odd travels, but once I had come to know the boy – for Watson's sake at first, then my own – I had come to value him on his own merits. He was also quite useful in our work, which did not hurt his case. I had sent to Mycroft for papers to prove the boy ours to raise – he had Watson's last name now.

"The villagers did go to the hut, you know," I murmured, "They burnt it to the ground – probably in a fit of superstitious terror. He… I think he was truly insane to have committed the atrocities he did. But you were speaking of your dilemma – to retain custody of Neils or turn him over to the authorities' dubious care…"

"So I didn't," he finished the tale simply, "I was no longer John Watson; a curiously liberating condition…"

"Yes," I agreed simply, though I had missed being myself more than I would ever admit, even to the man beside me.

"I managed to catch up with our luggage before it got too far on its journey back to London and stole the emergency funds that we had hidden there… also a set of our clothes… it was mad I suppose, but I never doubted that I would find you one day, or you would find me. I wanted to know that one day I would see my friend as he was before me… it was a comfort to know that I had the means to do so with me," he sighed softly and I pulled his arm closer to my side, struggling to find the right words to respond to this: to tell him that I was so very glad that he had.

We sat in silence for some minutes, then in a display of that pawky humour that had lurked beneath the surface of my friend all of our long and fantastic association, he pulled the little twist of humbugs from his pocket and offered me one, startling me into a burst of laughter that attracted the attention of my nephew.

"Are you finished telling secrets now?" Neils demanded, shutting his journal on the page he had just finished – from the brief glimpse I had gotten he had written in his usual mish mash of languages, which would frustrate his school masters no end – and bounced over to our side of the carriage, "I want to explore an English train!"

"Come on then, young man," Watson laughed. His hand squeezed my wrist for a moment and I reluctantly allowed him to disentangle from my arm, "Let us see if there is a dining car. Holmes, do you want a sandwich?"

"No, but I suppose you'll bring me one anyway?" I asked, merely for the joy of seeing his smile and the oh-so-patient and familiar roll of the eyes that our old argument earned. Neils giggled and tugged his fathers hand impatiently, guiding them both into the corridor outside, his young voice echoing back to me as the door slid shut. I settled back against the thin cushions on the bench, glad for the solitude… I needed time to assimilate my incredibly undeserved good fortune and formulate a plan to preserve it in private.

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