Title: Not in This Life - Part Two
Verse: Bookverse, first person Watson-POV
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: Post-The Final Problem, alternate timeline. Holmes picks up the pen and sends that letter to Watson.

0o0o

It was with a soldier's dogged determination that I packed for my trip abroad. Only essentials filled my old rucksack - a single pair of trousers, undergarments, extra socks and two shirts, one for wearing while the other dried. Along with what I'd wear for the trip, it would be quite sufficient.

I folded everything quickly and precisely before putting it away. I was, by all accounts, heading into a war zone and needed to call into play all of my old training if I were to succeed. I caught a glance of my reflection in the mirror and wondered if I should try to disguise myself as well.

Doubtlessly Moran had his parcel of agents and spies, keeping an eye possibly on my own person, but most definitely on Mycroft Holmes. Perhaps there were some in the Diogenes Club itself and my lips pursed in annoyance at my rash actions. I did not fool myself into thinking that I could, like Holmes often did, disappear with the subtlety of a mist into a landscape, but I did learn a few things from the master of disguise himself during our years of association.

Disguise, as Holmes often told me, was about reduction. Turning the butterfly back into the caterpillar, making oneself as least conspicuous as possible, taking away everything unique about ourselves and blending into the background of life. If at all possible, it was better to take away than add to the person; a haircut was better than a wig, shirtsleeves better than a new coat.

I thought about this for a moment, glancing down at the razor I had waiting to be packed. With some trepidation I examined my mustache in the glass, smoothing it down with my fingers. I'd had it since my army days; it had been the style of all the officers and even now, almost all the serious men in London boasted one.

But this wasn't the time for vanity. Taking the mustache off would remove a defining feature of my appearance with only minor hardship. I'll grow it back when Holmes and I return, I vowed, taking up my small scissors to trim down what I could before shaving. The deed took only a few minutes and once done, I was surprised at how much younger I looked.

A little pomade slicking back the sides of my hair along with a flop cap turned me into an ordinary working class fellow, clean-shaven and freshly packed, traveling the continent for adventure and perhaps a solid bit of money to bring home to the folks.

I silently wondered if Holmes would be proud of me and then remembered with a fierce stab of joy that I'd be able to ask him myself once I reached my destination. As far as money went, Mary's little estate had just been dissolved leaving me with a much larger amount of cash than usual that I'd fortunately neglected to deposit in the bank up to this point.

I thought about Mary then, about how happy she would have been to send me on this journey. I closed my eyes and imagined her words of encouragement, telling me to bring Holmes back and not to worry, all would be well. Something inside my chest loosened, allowing to breathe more deeply, dispelling so many of the black clouds that had been hanging over me since the Falls.

With newfound courage, I gathered the money and my pack and my revolver, making sure to distribute the cash over my person in different places to reduce any loss from pickpockets. Not that I looked like a man who was carrying nearly a thousand pounds in bills, a veritable fortune, every penny of which I'd gladly spend if it meant Holmes could return. I hurriedly scribbled notes for my housekeeper and for Doctor Anstruther, begging his indulgence without explanation as I'd done so many times before.

Once that was done, I steeled myself and headed out the back of the house, just in case the front door was being watched. My disappearance would no doubt cause Moran's underground to go on alert but by that time I hoped to be far away. I walked to the train station - a workman in a cab would destroy the illusion I'd just worked to create. I'd brought along some chewing tobacco and tucked a bit between my cheek and gum, further distorting my appearance as well as soothe my nerves without the added burden of cigarettes. I'd picked the most crowded car to place myself in, reminded yet again of my army days, lost in a crush of disinterested humanity.

As I'd hoped, no one paid the slightest bit of attention to me and when we were settled and headed East, I was able to pull out my little notebook and start writing what I hoped would be one of my most satisfying adventures yet.

0o0o0o

Bohemia, the country where Holmes was currently hiding was a thousand kilometers away from London, over some of the lushest lands of Europe. Prague was its heart and soul and one of the most beautiful cities in all the world, filled with art and a rich culture, spanning back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. I couldn't be unhappy about my destination, only about the circumstances. If I weren't in disguise, no doubt I'd be greeted royally, remembering that the King of Bohemia still owed myself and Holmes a favor or ten for taking care of his little scandal all those years ago.

The train ride was cramped, but quiet and I divided my time between writing and looking out the window over the fields and towns rolling by. I had packed a canteen and sandwiches which kept me going through the two days journey well enough. I studied the faces of my fellow passengers, wondering if there were a smattering of Moriarty's evil agents among them, but I saw nothing but the placid, bored faces of riders headed each in their own directions for their own reasons.

Every station was celebrated in my heart as it brought me that much closer to my destination and to Holmes. I couldn't help but grin at the surprise that was sure to flash through his eyes at my unexpected appearance, perhaps he'd even throw a compliment or two my way for my underhanded disguise in that cool, detached way of his. I pictured him, still strong and able in the face of overwhelming danger and how wonderful it would be to help extract him from that peril, taking care of the cruel hydra that was Moriarty's organization properly, once and for all.

I dared not look the address Mycroft gave me more than once or twice, just in case inconvenient eyes were fixed on me at the wrong moment. He wasn't in Prague proper according to the map I'd purchased during one of our rest stops, but he was in a direct path to the center of the city, in case of a hurried escape or gathering of necessities. Clever as always, I thought, becoming more restless the closer to my destination I came.

I had no idea what awaited me once I'd arrived. Suddenly, all my well-thought out plans didn't seem quite as well thought-out as they did at the start of my trip and when the conductor finally called out Praha matka mest! Praga mater urbium! I was trembling with doubt. What if Holmes had moved on already? Or Moran had hit his mark just as I arrived? What if ...

What if I was too late?

The thought made bile rise in my throat. Suddenly the train seemed overcrowded and I shoved my way though as if that would get me to Holmes all that much faster. I strode through the crowd, making my way off the platform, realizing a bit too late that I didn't speak the language and I'd have to forge my way ahead with whatever tools were at my meager disposal.

Again, I was painfully reminded that I wasn't Sherlock Holmes, who could travel easily through any country on his wits alone. Still, I had my map and a huge pile of sterling which spoke in the universal language of greed. Keeping my head down, I procured myself a man with a horse and cart, pointed to the spot on the map I wished to go and stuffed a five pound note in his hand with a desperate look.

His smile was knowing and I threw my sack onto the back of the hay cart, lounging back as loutishly as I could manage while he clicked his tongue, sending the horse into a lazy trot. I pretended to sleep, kept the cap pulled over my eyes and watched from beneath the brim as we went unnoticed through the heart of the city. My journey was slow and steady and the rocking of the cart relaxed me as we headed to a less densely populated area. Some of the signposts matched my markings on the map and I breathed a sigh of relief when we were surrounded by nothing but graceful houses with small tracts of land around them, a sure sign that we were headed to Prague's outskirts.

Finally the driver stopped and nodded to me, pointing to what looked like a village, albiet one that was dank and shoddy in comparison to some of the rich neighborhoods we'd passed through. The houses here were crumbling and uncared for, men loitered on the streets as dirty children would run past, most of them barefoot.

I saw very few women, save for a knot or two of older ones, washing away at clothing in the public fountain. Most likely the streets were too dangerous for the younger ladies even at daytime which told me much about this hideaway. Sometimes, Holmes would say, a nest of vipers is the safest place for a good man especially if he's hiding from a much more dangerous foe.

I'd memorized the address by this time and set about finding it, alone, as any hint I had money on me would no doubt be greeted by bodily assault. I moved through the streets as casually as I could, looking no one in the eye, even as I myself was examined suspiciously. Finally I pulled one of the little urchins aside and with the offer of a bit of candy, I asked which house was the one I was looking for in broken German.

He smiled at me through the grime on his face and pointed to a run-down shack all the way at the very end of the street. He and the candy disappeared and I stood there for a long moment, staring at the peeling wood of the haunt's door, wondering what, if anything, would I find within. I steeled myself, or at least tried to, as my heart was tripping inside my chest in a most alarming manner.

I raised my hand to knock, when a voice within called out. "Come in."

My heart skipped a beat. I pushed lightly on the door and it swung wide, revealing a gloomy interior. Immediately I smelled pipe tobacco, not English shag, but something just as strong, the way Holmes liked it. I squinted through the darkness, wondering why no candles were lit. "Holmes?" I whispered, my entire body shaking.

I heard the striking of a match and light flooded the tiny shack, revealing the pale, sickly face of my dear, lost friend. "You're earlier than I thought you'd be, my dear Watson," he replied softly, and the world spun around me in wonderful, joyous relief.

Relief that wasn't to last very long.

0o0o

to be continued ...