Chapter 5
The rain had stopped by the time John arrived in front of 221B. The weather could always change so fast in London, and the sun was already piercing through the clouds.
He decided to let Mrs Hudson rest and went directly upstairs, climbing the seventeen steps.
His suitcase was still there, unpacked. The state of the place was worse than ever. They had left in such a hurry…
^/^
John went to the kitchen to make some tea. He would have the clear up those experiments at some point. But not now.
There was an awful silence in the flat.
The tea was ready, he served himself a cup.
He went to Sherlock's room. He had been there only a couple of times, generally to search for some papers requested by the detective. It was small and messy of course. And dark. John opened the shutters that Sherlock had insisted must be kept closed at all times. He was afraid of snipers.
The doctor had been seriously worried about his friend's mental health lately. Despite his usual oddities, he was also displaying paranoid tendencies. The hunt for Moriarty had become a complete obsession. He was close to dismantling the whole network. But the danger was growing. Sherlock had escaped several attempts on his life. Running away was the only solution left in order to play for time.
They took the Eurostar to Paris under false identities. Then, they travelled for one week from Strasburg to Brussels and finally to the Swiss Alps. It seemed they had somehow managed to lose Moriarty's agents. They settled at a hotel in the small village of Meiringen.
Sherlock was doing better. The long walks in that peaceful environment had a soothing effect on his nerves. Or so it seemed.
Then came that dreadful day. It was the fourth of May, a date John would never forget.
The weather was beautiful and they had planned a hike in the hills. They had been advised to make a stop to see the famous falls of Reichenbach. But as they were about to take the path leading to the fall, they were interrupted by a messenger sent by the hotel. One of the guests had just had a stroke and needed a doctor urgently.
John agreed to follow him, but was reluctant to leave Sherlock behind. His friend insisted; he wanted to stay a little longer, and they would meet later. Whilst leaving, John turned back and saw Sherlock staring at the torrent, looking strangely calm.
It was the last time he saw him alive.
When he arrived at the hotel, John discovered that there was no sick woman and never had been. The message had been written by a British gentleman who came just after their departure. It was a trap. He ran back to the falls, but Sherlock was nowhere to be found. There were traces of a fight on the ground and two lines of footsteps leading directly to the abyss. There were none returning.
He searched desperately for signs of his friend, tried to use Sherlock's methods to find some clues. He called for him again and again, hoping that maybe he was only injured somewhere. And then he saw it. The piece of paper, left under a rock. It was a letter, from Sherlock, and he was saying goodbye.
He stayed there for a moment, seated on the ground, and cried.
Finally, as the sun was going down, he walked back to Meiringen. Later that night, he made the dreaded phone call to Mycroft. He could swear that for once, he had heard a flinch in the man's voice.
On the 6th of May, John Watson was waiting for a flight in the departure lounge of Geneva's airport, alone.