VI. THE END.

In the morning she woke up first, because it was even lucky that Holmes hadn't passed out within the week, skipping as he was meals and days of sleep; she looked at him contentedly and even kissed his cheek, and not even that woke him up. 'Poor pretty Sherlock', she thought and got up, humming on her way to the shower that her pretty house did have; it was a novelty that would soon spread to other more middle class homes.

At nine, when she was all dressed up and Holmes a naked vision in her bed, as pleased as she was by it, she sensed he would get slightly mad at her if she didn't wake him up already; so she put a hand on his back and whispered loudly to his ear. – Darling… - He moved. – Wake up. He opened his eyes, it was odd to have a female voice wake him up with a "darling"; Holmes knew she called Robert Vain darling.

- What time is it?

- Nine.

- Oh no… He mumbled.

- What?

- Nothing. And then he was looking at her.

- I have a shower. She announced conceitedly, a wide grin on her face.

Holmes smiled at her with his mouth closed. – Always the vain and arrogant one, aren't you? If he had known how poor she was before he wouldn't have been that repelled by it.

She scowled but she wasn't as mad as she was playing. – Well I was offering it to you; you were already too dirty yesterday, imagine now… My sheets are smeared all over with the filth from your face.

- Yes which I had on me for you and your husband.

Her smile vanished; his wasn't there for a while already. – O my… she said as if discomforted – well the shower is ready anyway, she signaled a door – there. And she left the room. His clothes were already clean and folded for him.

When he went out of the guestroom, just as he had gone out from Baker Street the day before, she was in the sitting room reading the paper; it was odd to see a female read the paper; she closed it slightly to address him.

– I hope you don't think too wrongly of me, I do care for my husband, I do love him; I'm sure you've been witness to a situation like this one in the case of men, men who have lovers and yet the one they truly love is their wife, when they lose her for any reason they're shattered; well I'm just the same, I'm promiscuous but not heartless. I also want you to know that whatever it is you think or feel regarding me, I'm not thinking of you just as a "lover", you're the kind of man one truly falls head over heels in love with, but I'm sad too so I have a bundle of mixed feelings; it's not my fault that I had to meet you again while looking for my missing husband.

He looked uncomfortable; he combed with his fingers the hair at the sides of his head, the one free from the hat. – I have to go looking for him now.

She stood up hastily and walked in small quick steps ahead of him to open the door and let him exit. – I trust I'll have my daily update detective. And she closed the door behind him.

He and a bunch of young men - usually jobless - that he had hired were digging up the holes. Previously in a still grey morning Miller and Long had been waiting for him outside Kendall's rooms; he arrived until ten, mumbling apologies, and they arrested Kendall under suspicion of murder, while two of his irregulars spied on Irene. They brought Kendall to a cell where he would be comfortable, where under Holmes' orders he would be treated right, correctly fed; Kendall wasn't saying anything, Holmes only told him, ashamed because never before he had arrested anyone without exhaustive proof: - I will know what you have done and what you haven't. In truth it was an informal arrest, since Holmes had no official authority to make one, an informal arrest made just to keep him from fleeing while he concluded something.

Now he was digging with the jobless without rest; under normal circumstances they would have stopped, sat down to talk and have an unnecessary lunch, stopped several times just to rest, throw shovelfuls of dirt to the other if they knew each other; but with his employer among them all the time, digging as a machine, they were working at last and having the boredom of their lifetime.

A man from Romford passed by with a few sheep behind him; he spoke loudly as they did there in the country, asking one of them: - What are you doing over here?

Holmes heard it and stood straight, so his head outside the hole would see his worker shrug his shoulders and respond: - I don't know, I'm just hired, we're digging these holes but to tell you the truth I don't know what for.

- A lot of activity out here these days. The man continued in oblivion while Holmes was walking to them. – Just today at early morning I saw a tall man by this place, I thought him suspicious because nobody comes here so early and I saw the light of the candle and curious went near; he saw me and for a moment I was scared so turned back my way, even when he only told me good morning, he was your boss then?

- I'm the boss. Holmes said then, getting to them, he shook the man's hand casually. – You say you saw a man here at early morning, today?

- Yes, and I'd say it was much before daybreak, it was dark still. He was tall and had black hair, and black clothes.

- Tell me, you wouldn't have seen anyone here before?, other days or even last week?

- No sir.

- Or before, doing much what we're doing now.

- No sir that's all I've seen, only I thought it was curious.

The man continued his way and Holmes with his usual hard as stone face went back to digging; he would have contributed unknowingly to the rumor that there was a treasure by those places. When the work was over, only before nightfall, there was no explosion of rage from Holmes when no body was found.

He went back to Irene again covered in dirt, he told her they hadn't found the body, which meant that probably Kendall had been there and before being arrested removed the body, told her not to worry, that he would end up finding it anyway.

She smiled to him. – Don't worry, I know you will, what's important is that Kendall is behind bars and at least justice will be done, that's all that matters now. Thank you.

- Now I have to report to Watson and Mrs. Hudson where I've been all this time. He lifted his hat amusingly to say goodbye and strode to the street and stopped a hansom.

He went to the place where Bailey reported Irene was having a new very complicated dress tailored; it was still open because even though it was dark, in London night falls early. He went back to Romford and looked for the Shepard, then spent three hours in the village's pub.

He went back to Baker Street at one in the morning and slumped in his armchair, facing Watson who was sitting in his; Watson lifted his face from his manuscript, it had no expression in it. As always before Watson, instinct took over reason and to not feel destroyed Holmes took an unjustifiable defense stand.

- I'm confused doctor, you said you didn't want to live here with me anymore and yet you just continue your vapid doctor routine, I'm sure you haven't been looking for other rooms, you smell too much of disease to do that; when then are you planning to leave me? He tensed his jaws once he had finished his little speech, even grimaced slightly; what he was doing wasn't right.

Watson shook his head but spoke without emotion. – You've got some nerve.

Holmes' forehead wrinkled in distress when he inclined forward to shriek, because he was sure to lose Watson. – Isn't that what you wanted? !..

- What is the matter with you? !..

- You've thrown me into the arms of a snake!

That's when Watson reclined back on his chair, looked at Holmes gaping and wide eyed; he remembered as he had forgotten all these days that the last time Holmes had talked to him without fighting he had been in Irene Adler's case. – What do you mean? He asked breathless.

Holmes was still yelling. – Were you or weren't you breaking up with me? What the fuck is it that goes on in your scatterbrain?

At that point Watson thought Holmes was about to cry, so he forgot all previous statements and insults. – Of course I wasn't! He shouted back so he would be heard; though Holmes already knew that, he still put his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, as if it was until then that he was sure. – For Christ's sake! You've been awful mercurial and sentimental lately!

No one said anything for the space of two minutes, until Holmes clearly mumbled. – I've cheated on you Watson.

Watson felt his chest deflate, he talked to himself. – Oh God I knew it! I saw it coming from the beginning!

Holmes lifted his face from his hands, he was actually crying, Watson had never seen that; his eyes were red and his forehead had a deep scowl, tears came out of his eyes quietly.

Watson stood up and hissed dangerously: - You, are a rent boy! He went to his bedroom, slamming the door now for the fifth night in a row.

Next day he was as pale as before in Irene's doorway; he let her pour him a cup of brandy. He had three packages of documents in yellow envelopes, which he put over the table, and then he started.

- These documents Irene…

- Yes?

- I took them from your husband's office yesterday while you were sleeping.

- Really? Only her eyes had a passing glint of alarm. – Well thank you, I shall put them back.

- They're too many aren't they? Hundreds, I'd say even more than a thousand.

- Yes well, you know more about legal issues than I do, you know – she rolled her eyes to emphasize the immensity – the amount of papers that they handle, to register this and that other, I find it mind-blowingly boring.

- Now all the archives in his office, not even you or I have the capacity to analyze them all.

- No, it would be the boring job of years.

- All I noticed when I first saw them, was that they looked old and battered in accordance with their date, properly archived by case, and that, as you said, I that know about legal recognized that they are all properly structured and validated.

- Well why shouldn't they be? Her face was dark now. – Speak out plainly Sherlock.

- You follow my work don't you Irene? I'm sure you know that I know that no typewriting machine after some use is the same as any other.

- Yes I know.

- But how to crosscheck the typewriting machines of thousands of papers from a lot of tribunals over the years?, as if I could follow the history of the machines and its use in all of them? Irene had blanched; she was ready to flee, hand near her gun and everything, but was staying until she had heard all about how she had been caught. – And even if I could I must admit that even I am a bit lazy sometimes. But yesterday you made me cheat on my girlfriend, and even though I'm not exempt from fault, I am really very mad at you; I'm sure you know you were making a mistake, but you're so promiscuous and I'm so irresistible that you couldn't hold yourself back, am I not right?

Now she was blushing, embarrassed and enraged. – It was all part of the plan.

- Maybe for later, but you skipped a few steps my darling didn't you?

She grinned. – Whatever, even now you still want me.

- And you want me too but that is not the problem we're having now. Back to the papers; you should pity me because I was indeed obliged to undertake the boring task of looking for the papers that should have been redacted in his office with the typewriting machine that you have here; at least those more recent should have the particular imprints of the worn out letters of it, some did but some didn't and there is where I can prove at first that they are fake, that you at some moment had a lot of people working to take copies of his papers on different machines, and then you made them look as old as you wanted. I had to recollect all the papers that didn't adjust to have a good body of evidence, and those are the ones that we have here.

- Bravo Sherlock, let's see if you achieve putting me in jail with that.

- Oh but also, you knew I had a kid spying on you; you know you really aren't as smart as you pretend, why did you have to run away from him that first time that you noticed?, that made me know more surely than anything other that you were onto something.

- I was for a moment startled, I thought it was you and my game would be over too soon; by the time I wanted to return to his watch I didn't know where he was. Why were you spying on me from the beginning anyway?

- The scent that you sprayed on your fake husband's clothes wasn't convincing; how can a man wear all his clothes at once? You also only had old pictures of him; you kept none of the dresses that you wore in them.

- Ah I see, nothing escapes you does it?

- Well if you think that then why see your tailor accomplice to give orders? You could have better left them the notes at some agreed place, discreetly, my kid wouldn't have noticed.

- I'm clearly dumber than I thought. She answered irritated.

- There's no doubt. She glared at him. – And then that last move of yours to send that shepherd so that I would be convinced that Kendall had escaped Perry (that's his name) yet another time to remove the body; that was a very bad move, I merely had to go and interrogate him again, with an innocent threat about arresting him and I knew your other two colleagues, a little bit asking around the town and I knew there was another one, following your tailor friend sent us right away to all of them; confronted with all the facts and some believing you have betrayed them, by now they all must have signed their confessions.

- Wow, this means I'm doomed now.

- Yes, but on the other hand I must congratulate you about your actors, from the domestics to the fake clients, all will be arrested too.

- Careful now Sherlock, some of the clients were actually real.

- Yes of course, the ones that wouldn't know anything about him by now anyway. Who would have thought Mr. Nathaniel Reed lawyer had left for Germany three months ago, someone knew too that you had parted in bad terms, though this I could have suspected; I wonder what you used him for.

- I'm sorry, I'm afraid I won't tell.

- Which brings us to Kendall; he's not that innocent either, is he?; he fell in love with you and accepted belonging to your gang, doing this was his first task maybe?

- Indeed.

- Yes Irene, you've been very foolish this time, a little bit too ambitious; becoming the stoolpigeon for your gang, reporting about me?; even if I hadn't discovered the falsity of this case, I doubt you could have ever done that. Why not just kill me?, ah?, that would have been easier, and at that you could have possibly succeeded.

- Well, you'll probably won't believe this now detective, but I'm not like that, I'm not a murderer, I've never killed anyone in my life and I never will; we cannot say the same about you, right… And to tell you the truth I was looking forward to having my fun at least trying it, and meeting you again. No Sherlock I would never kill you, how could I?; even if that had been my plan after all we've been through I would be cancelling it.

- There's no point in saying things like that, I'm not letting you go.

- No I know you aren't, I can see inspector Lestrade hiding behind the boards of my fence. She turned to the window and wiggled her fingers, saying hi; Lestrade startled and ducked. Holmes couldn't help smirking. – No wonder waiting for your signal, I can see I'm surrounded. She stood up then. - Go on with it then, there's no point in delaying the inevitable.

By her doorway, delivering her handcuffed to the police, she winked at him. – If Watson is unforgiving, come visit me in jail won't you?

Watson was indeed unforgiving; although Holmes wasn't doing much to be forgiven, certain that he didn't deserve it; for two weeks Watson would just avoid and ignore him; Holmes would be observing him closely but doing nothing to remedy things.

The third week for the first time Watson sat down in the same room that Holmes, starting to read by the fire; forty minutes after he started Holmes heard his voice directed to him, for the first time after those two weeks and several days. – Are you just going to sit there staring at me forever? He had lifted his eyes from the book to the fire, but wasn't turning his head.

- Do you want me to leave?

- If you would, please.

And that was all, Holmes left to his room and the rest of the week Watson wouldn't speak to him again.

By the end of the month Holmes was tired of the situation, and most of all hopeless; so he addressed Watson in the afternoon, again by the fire. – I've been thinking it might be right if I just moved out, and let you be in peace; before I do I'll find some other who's willing to take the rooms, and so you'd have no problem with rent.

Watson wasn't happy with his suggestion, he hadn't been happy since their fight; when Holmes made no attempt to recover him he started wondering if he was still seeing Irene, now that he so easily suggested moving out he was aching to know if that was the truth. – What was of her? He asked, in a murmur.

- I arrested her.

He finally looked at him; he didn't remember the last time when he had had those blue eyes plainly on his face. – When?

- About a month ago. Watson wasn't saying anything else but clearly he was trying to make sense of the information; so of course Holmes would help him in anyway, at the moment by explaining. – She created a whole fake case about a missing husband to try and become the stoolpigeon on me for her gang; so the next day after you and I last argued I arrested her.

Watson looked at his own hands nervously twisting as one grabbed on the other; he didn't want to ask but couldn't help it: - So… how many times?

- The night before I told you.

- Just that one time?

- Yes.

Watson looked at him again, resentful. – Oh… and I guess you think that because of that it isn't that bad?

Holmes looked sad. – Not at all, if I haven't asked you to forgive me is just 'cause I don't think you're obliged to, if you should hate me forever you'd have every right. His eyes welled with tears again; Watson grimaced, openly complained: - Oh no! not again! I'm the one who should be crying!

Holmes improperly chuckled, realizing the ridicule he was making by bawling. – You're right, you're right, I'm sorry. He used his index and thumb to wipe the tears again, but they kept appearing. – I can't stop!

- Oh you're pathetic! Watson said scathingly, annoyed and wanting to humiliate him.

- I'm sorry John, I can't ask you to forgive me but I can say I'm sorry; and I am! very, deeply sorry… You don't know how much I regret it…

- If you don't stop crying I won't listen to you!

- I'm sorry. Holmes said covering his eyes with his right hand and went to his bedroom; he wouldn't stop crying and he knew it.

Watson looked at his door with a twistedly displeased grimace; he had one single mocking clack in his throat but it wouldn't come out.

The next three days Watson didn't avoid him but did successfully ignore him; Holmes felt ready, he had cried enough all those days and now he felt dry, and so he told Watson. – Here Watson; I'm put together now, so just answer one thing: Do you want me to move out?

Watson didn't know what to answer; he was just as sad as Holmes was, if he hadn't spent his days crying was because he was weird about that, he hadn't cried in his mother's funeral, but he had cried day and night during war just after the first loses, one couldn't know what Watson would cry about. - No, you answer one thing first… Why? Why did you do it?

He inhaled deeply, let his shoulders drop. – I'll be brutally honest...: Did you look at her?

It was then that Watson's eyes seemed to eject flames. – Is that all you've got to tell me? !

Holmes stretched one arm with the splayed hand, 'please wait, don't hit me' he seemed to say. – I was attracted to her!, when I started being more aware of it I felt guilty, I was stressed out because of the case, I was exhausted, she had my forces split on every front and I felt in a blur, I was absolutely dazed; so what do I do?, feeling guilty I try to blame you for it, I start believing you didn't want to make love to me, that Mrs. Hudson knowing deeply bothered me, for a moment I truly believed it; and then you told me you didn't love me, for a moment Watson, for a moment I also believed it, I believed that you wanted to leave; and after that besides everything I started not being able to sleep, my disorientation incremented; it was a little bit revenge, sadness, a little attraction and a lot sweeping bewilderment when I allowed it to happen. That is that, that is the truth.

- You've always been very good for knitting arguments, or plain excuses…

- I mean it Watson, I'm telling you the truth.

- Except this once; so that's it – he shrugged – you were mad at me for very justifiably and simply put, because of your fault, insulting you and saying things I didn't mean, see, you weren't even right at being angered with me; you were attracted to her, granted, that's understandable, but not something that would lead me to forgive you; and you weren't in your right judgment, something that in the case of another person would be like, let's say, being drunk… So that's all you're saying, you were mad at me, drunk and horny… - he shrugged again while Holmes gaped – What do you want me to do with that?

He didn't answer, he didn't know what he could answer; the silence lasted more than fifteen minutes this time. – Watson, I don't even want to begin saying things in my favor, but I don't want to lose you, so, reasons to stay with me would be that I am absolutely certain that I would never do anything like that ever again and that I love you beyond what I can express, I'm not good with words like that, I just I love you, I love you, I simply love you.

- Alright, alright, I get it. Watson wasn't in control of himself in arguments; he was hurtful, he was always the most hurtful with whoever it is he was arguing. He put his cheek on his fist and again silence reigned for twenty minutes. – I still can't forgive you, I don't know if I'll ever can; but don't move out, if anything I don't want to lose you as a friend, look at me now, – he lifted slightly the corner of the papers in his lap to show them – even with the state of things I'm here writing about you; I want to be in your cases, and I want to write about you, even if you are an incorrigible little prick; you should allow me that shouldn't you?, to continue making my living out of you while I make up my mind. This about making his living wasn't a joke; Holmes used to pay his part of the rent too often, and his short publications on the paper were well paid, a novel or two were also being sources of constant revenues.

- Unfortunately Watson - or fortunately I don't know - even if you decide to write down the contrary, between the two of us, it will always be as you wish.

Irene escaped from jail two months after that and Holmes washed his hands; he had told Lestrade to be careful. That day a photograph of her back, sitting in her bed, her head turning to the side, naked, slid beneath the doorway of Baker Street, with the following legend written behind it: - My dear Detective Consultant Holmes: Escaping prison was much more difficult than I had anticipated; but anyway I'm out and free again, and before I fly away I thought you deserved a much more personal gift and dedication this time. Sherlock my darling, I'll remain forever yours in every sense. Irene Adler. P.d. Who knows how we will meet again?

He showed it to Watson, who was yet, only his friend. – I guess you're asking for my permission to keep it… Holmes didn't answer. – Oh do as you wish!, you can keep it, I don't care. The next time you see that woman is when she will be dancing on your grave.