Slow steps carried me ever further away from that tree-shrouded cliff, and I very carefully focused solely on not tripping on the underbrush. I had lost my friend months ago. Dwelling on the pain now would only distract me on a mountainside path miles from help. I could deal with it later.
Not that the loss did not hurt. While this hardly served as the first or most painful rejection in my life—that honor had gone to a now unlamented uncle—I had dared to hope that Holmes' presence in my consulting room had signaled a change of heart. He had valued my presence at one time, had grieved its loss after my marriage and displayed evident relief when Mary proved I did not have to choose. That he had so abruptly—and so quickly—changed his mind hurt more than I would ever admit. I would forever wonder why he had cast aside the same friendship whose perceived loss three years ago had sent him into the worst cocaine binge I had ever seen.
I refused to let it matter, though. Experience had taught me never to chase someone who wanted to leave, and he had clearly wanted me away. Should I catch a train somewhere besides Meiringen?
No. Holmes had sent me to Meiringen, which meant that he would not go there. Neither of us needed the awkwardness of a chance encounter after such a farewell. I could go down the hill, Holmes could go up, and I would know better than to walk Baker Street when I returned to London.
Further planning—such as how much to tell Mrs. Hudson when she inevitably asked—could wait for the train. Picking my way through the trees gave Holmes ample time to get out of sight before I reached the trail, and when a quick glance saw no one nearby, I used my stick to clear the embankment and turned toward town. The relative ease of walking downhill would see me back to the motel in an hour or less.
"Watson!"
Unless Holmes decided to make this even more painful. The call carried from the canyon, then running footsteps fell into step beside me. I kept my gaze on the path. He did not need to see the hurt I would banish soon enough.
Something still sparked a confused frown. "What brought you back?"
"Never left," I answered shortly.
He let the silence stretch, as if expecting me to continue. I simply waited. Whatever he wanted to know, he could deduce it or ask. I would not volunteer anything.
"Why not?"
"Already told you that." My many injunctions to stay that last night in my consulting room would have revealed the oath sworn anew in the face of this latest danger, and he had told me in London that Moriarty hunted him. I had promised long ago to face every threat he encountered, to protect him from the rogues he so insisted on chasing. If he would not let me fulfill my oath at his side, I would do so from the top of the nearby cliff. I would not break that promise simply because he had decided to use a denouement to disappear.
"What about your patient?"
A shot of amusement became a half-hearted snort, though I decided not to voice the sarcastic remonstration that came to mind. That flicker of embarrassment easily read the retort in my expression, anyway. Silence lengthened uncomfortably before three false starts finally became quiet words.
"Thank you."
I simply nodded. Appreciating the rare acknowledgement did not change the results.
"Where are you going?"
"Train station." I made no effort to remove the blatancy from my tone. Where else would I be going? Only following him had brought me here at all.
"But—" The reply cut off behind another frown. "You…are returning home?"
"I hardly want a solitary holiday in Switzerland, Holmes. Get out of the way."
"No." Darting movements placed him in front of me, using several feet to remain out of easy range even as he shifted to prevent me from passing him. "Why would the rest of our trip be 'solitary'?"
Our trip? I halted in the middle of the path, leaning heavily on my cane to study him. Why would he—
Oh. Another lackey. Of course. Moriarty must have sent his other lieutenant away at the wrong moment, and Holmes wished I had stayed hidden until they returned.
"Who else are you trying to trap?"
Or not. Surprise flickered into view and changed some base deduction.
"Moran was the last one." Keen eyes alternated scanning me and trying to read my thoughts, as if confused at why I would leave when I had no reason to stay. "The case is over," he added when I remained silent. "I thought we could explore the continent for a week or two. Mary could join us in the next town. We have not traveled together since that case in Paris."
No. No, I had no interest in drawing this goodbye out any longer than it had already gone, but concentrated effort firmly stepped outside my initial reaction. Something did not match.
Why would he invite Mary and me on an extended tour of the continent when he had just tried to cut off all contact?
"Watson?"
I doubted he would have accepted a second case with Moriarty's of such magnitude. Surely he would not form another plan to divide all three of us later? Mary did not deserve that.
Nor would that make more sense than simply disappearing now. He had avoided me this last year, not Mary, though one facilitated the other. Her friendship with Mrs. Hudson need not end just because mine had with Holmes.
"What did I do?"
The question cut into my wandering thoughts, and I refocused to find Holmes staring at me, brow furrowed beneath the disconcerted worry of missing some social grace. I had seen the expression often enough over the years, but I had not expected to see it today.
Had he not intended to end things after all? But then why so blatantly tell me to leave?
"Watson, answer me."
"You—" The question refused to form. Searching bewilderment noted the worry he let me see as well as the fleeting glances announcing the concern he would never voice. Part of him wondered if I returned to town for medical attention. Several seconds finally rephrased his question.
"What about that invitation comes as a surprise?"
We frequently turn the cases abroad into a short holiday, that reminded me. Why is this one different?
Because he had been avoiding me for months. Another moment found a better phrasing.
"Most people don't take holidays with someone they just told to go away permanently."
"Perma—" Utter shock nearly choked on the word, strangely enough. A step closer considered putting a hand on my shoulder. "I did not want that."
He wanted me to leave…temporarily? That made no sense.
"Watson, what do you think I planned today?"
"To use yourself as bait," I answered without hesitation. He easily heard the idiot I would normally have voiced. "Sending me away finished the last year's pointed distancing to cut ties entirely, and a denouement at the falls meant I would return well after you had dealt with Moriarty and disappeared into the mountains. Whether I assumed you dead or on the run, I would have no further desire to continue trying to reach you at Baker Street." A pause noted—and wondered at—the growing horror on his face. "I admit curiosity as to why you dragged me out here to end things," I added eventually, "rather than simply continuing to avoid me in London. We both know I stopped trying to reach you over two months ago."
"I—" He swallowed, hard, clearly struggling against the horror now mixing with remorse and something strangely like fear. "That—was not my plan," he finally managed. His ears flushed bright red as they always did when he made himself say something he wished I had deduced. "Moriarty—you—he—" Some terrifying thought made him smother a flinch, but a deep breath forcibly shoved it aside. The next moment blurted whatever bothered him so badly. "Youwerehistarget." A pause slowed his words slightly. "From the beginning," he added. "Not me."
I…what? I could only stare at him, surprise preventing me from forming any sort of reply. Why would Moriarty target me? He had never seen me and certainly could not have tied me to the nets closing around him. Holmes had not let me help with this case. I knew almost nothing about this case.
"I told the boy to come…when he saw the professor approaching," he continued at a murmur, eyes on mine as if the contact would make me believe him. The first sentence had apparently opened the dam, if only slightly. "He would have…shot you on sight, but alone, he would agree to a duel I knew I could win. I intended to meet you at the canyon's mouth on your return."
At the canyon's mouth. If I had truly fallen for that note, I would have returned at a sprint after leaving Holmes alone for a hoax, but rather than disappearing into the mountains, he would have met me in sight of the falls? Why?
And why would he pay someone to lure me away instead of telling me to hide? He knew I preferred to face any danger with him rather than wait in ignorant safety.
"You told me your revolver lost accuracy past about eighty to a hundred feet." So I could not expect you to be able to help while also staying out of sight.
He did not need to voice the addition for me to hear it, though I also caught the underlying hint of reproach. Holmes' more limited exposure to firearms would not have let him guess the holdovers as I had. He thought I had underestimated how far I could reliably aim.
Which mostly explained today but did nothing for the last year—or this trip as a whole. If he did not want my help with the denouement and did not need the protection of a companion, why would he invite me out of London? I had learned more of his cases from the papers this year than from Holmes himself.
"There is something else." His frown deepened as he reviewed what I had said. "I have not been avoiding you."
By what definition? Of course he had been avoiding me. What else could he call months of ignored messages and missed meetings? He had left the flat via the drainpipe at least once rather than acknowledge my visit, and he never came to Kensington anymore. Even Mary had failed to find him at home.
"Watson." Remorse threaded the word and made one hand hesitantly grip my shoulder. "I have not been avoiding you. Did Mrs. Hudson not tell you I had a case?"
No. I usually left her in Kensington with Mary, but Moriarty's case hardly changed anything. This had gone for well over a year, not the month or two that encompassed any one of his busy stretches.
"I have trailed the professor for nearly two years," he corrected, clearly reading me as easily as he always had. "He noticed me about eighteen months ago and delivered his first threat soon after. How many times did you call at the flat while I was out?"
Too many to count. He had gone from thrice weekly visits to complete silence almost overnight. Everything from questions on what had angered him to resigned requests to at least say goodbye had either received no response or were returned undeliverable. No one answered when I knocked. The Irregulars knew nothing. Even an afternoon spent waiting in Holmes' sitting room had accomplished only another rejection. He had turned away from the flat on seeing my shadow in the window.
Or his disguise had, anyway. I could not see his eyes from that distance, but I had recognized the dockhand's gait and outfit as one of the characters I had helped Holmes create. That he would purposely turn away from his home until he knew I had gone had simply confirmed the growing realization. I had not tried again.
As Holmes finally realized. Lines traced his eyes and turned his mouth, deepening with every moment that I failed to hide my thoughts.
"You might have been there more than I was." Quiet words continued the spoken discussion rather than the silent deductions. "You know I was in France for a while before I invaded your consulting room. Before that, I was in Germany, and I spent some time in Spain, as well. My last few nights at home have been scattered over several weeks, and Mrs. Hudson chided me last time for spending too many days away and ignoring my mail. I imagine that mail included several notes from you?"
Probably, though how much depended on when he had last paid any attention. My most recent letter had been a farewell sent over two months ago.
"I was not ignoring you," he promised, "nor was I trying to avoid you. You know how I am when I have a case."
Completely unaware of the passage of time. Yes, I did know that. I also knew to count him vocalizing as much for the miracle it was. My friend had always struggled to speak his mind, especially on more personal levels such as apologies and misunderstandings.
And he plainly meant this indirect apology. I saw no sign of falsehood, and another light squeeze on my shoulder silently begged me to believe him. Perhaps he had not intended to sever our friendship after all?
"Come with me. We can stay in Rosenlaui tonight, meet Mary at one of the larger towns in the valley, and wander through northern Italy before we return to London. You said you had never been to Milan."
I had not, but I focused more on what he did not say than on the suggestion itself. More than an invitation, that had been a plea, a promise not to make the same mistake again. I need not face more solitary evenings when I should have company, nor would I find Baker Street conveniently empty the next time I tried to visit. Pain slowly drained to let relief stretch into a slow smile. This last, painful year had been the hectic busyness of a case combined with a misguided attempt to protect me, not a plan to slowly push me away. I willingly fell into step beside him.
Apparently, "The Great Detective" was oblivious enough to miss scores of letters. Mary would never let him live this one down.
Finally able to get on here long enough to update. Reviews are always very much appreciated :)