Reflections    

 

 

 

Sherlock Holmes stood at the foot of the newly dug grave; his hands thrust deep in his pockets openly weeping. This was not just another grave; this was the grave of his biographer, his dearest friend, his companion Dr. John H. Watson.

 

The rain beat down upon him, soaking him to the core. He didn’t care; the only reason he lived was because Watson had sacrificed his own life.  

 

Where did it go wrong? I knew we were in danger, but then danger was nothing new to us. How was it that you saw what I did not? You put your self in front of me. I keep going over that night in my mind. There was you, Lestrade and I. We just rounded up Seagrove and two of his accomplices; the third had seemingly vanished. I was so preoccupied with Lecturing Seagrove about his crimes I failed to watch my back. Then again I always had you Dear Watson. I should have known by Seaagrovs actions that the fourth man was in close proximity.  I only remember Seagrove  calling out  “Now Jim NOW” I heard you call my name , felt you push me, and there you lay, gasping and panting for air. I don’t know why I ran after him, I should have sent Lestrade, perhaps I couldn’t face what I knew was coming.  I heard you call out to me, a gurgled cry. I should have stayed, but I couldn’t. I was filled with rage, and had to get the man that had wounded you .I couldn’t face what happened to you, couldn’t bear to watch you suffer, hear you struggle for you last breath. You were in good hands. Lestrade was with you, yet I know you felt alone, it should have been my hands.  Watson I am sorry, I wish I could take back every unkind word, every unkind deed, and every hurtful action. Watson I am sorry. I remember the first time we met. He smiled fondly at the memory. So many things I could have said to you but chose the one I KNEW would make you curious, You have been in Afghanistan I perceive. The look on your face was priceless.  From that moment on I knew I had someone whom I could practice my art of deduction and hone my observational skills. It didn’t hurt that you were always so baffled by my parlour trick as you soon came to call it. The early days of our friendship seems hardly a friendship at all. True I introduced you to Lestrade, but you had no idea what he did for a living.  You were always so put upon yet so patient.  In the days when I would ask you to leave the house or to vacate the sitting room, despite your being in ill health, you did. I shall never know why. You never even complained, even when in the worst pain, you just smiled politely and did as requested.  I find it so hard to believe I shall never again utter the words Watson quick the games a foot, or to ask for your assistance. 

The first time you asked if you could record my cases I was sceptical, but allowed it, what harm could it do?  I accused you of many things with your written accounts of MY adventures, they were ours really.  I was unkind to you, though secretly enjoyed reading them. It gave me an insight of how you were feeling, if I couldn’t gauge for myself. And they brought me considerable fame and a small fortune. You were very gracious with the royalties as well, always paying me half even when your circumstances called for you to keep it all. And the clients the tales attracted ranged form the extremely poor to those opulently wealthy.  I never did thank you.

You were always there when I needed someone, be it in a professional or friendly capacity. Your kind heart and noble sprit never ceased to amaze me, you found the good in everyone, and when those closest to you disappointed you, you stood by them. God knows Watson I must have been the biggest disappointment of all.  You trusted me with your life, and I betrayed that trust, if never I met you, you would still be alive and happy, with a family no doubt. I robbed you of a normal life, I kept you with me for selfish reasons, and I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you. I AM lost without my Boswell.

There was so much I wanted to say to you, so much I had to explain. WHY.. Why did I have to be afraid of my feelings, why did I run away from them?  From the moment I realised I was falling in love with you I pulled back. When did I realise I was in love with you? When you married Mary Morstan. I should have been happy, you were. I knew you loved her, and I was jealous . Why couldn’t you love me that way?  When you asked if I would be your best man I turned you down cold, yet I was at the wedding, you never realised that the waiter serving your drinks was me.  My feelings became so overwhelming for me that I had to get away, I had to leave, and the only thing for me to do was die. I never wanted to hurt you, and didn’t mean to stay away so long, but even three years didn’t dampen the feelings I had for you.  When  Mycroft informed me that Mary had died in childbirth, I thought to come back then and there, but feared I would be taking advantage of your grief, and so I waited.

When I did return you were as hospitable and wonderful to me as always, and my heart sang. Yet I still feared ruining what we had by revealing my feelings. So I remained aloof. I was greatly pleased when you agreed to return to Baker Street. I vowed I would tell you, I planned to the night you died.  I tired to tell you over dinner, the wine loosened our tongues and we talked about so much, but Lestrade came in at just that moment to tell us that there was movement from Seagrove, we had to move fast. I remember what you said when I told you there was something important I had to tell you, you smiled warmly, put your hand on my shoulder and said “It will keep Holmes, tell me when we get home.”  I never got the chance, or at least never took it.

 Holmes sighed deeply and wiped the tears from his eyes, for the first time becoming aware of the rain, and being grateful that it hid his tears.

He did not cry so openly at the funeral, he kept to himself and stood far from most everyone else. Holmes was surprised at how many people Watson had touched. It gave him great satisfaction to see his brother Mycroft there, who later explained it was out of respect and to show support to Holmes that he went. There patients past and present, a few distant cousin and several of Holmes old clients. There were friends of Mary’s as well. It was strange how despite standing well away everyone still managed to come up to him and give their deepest sympathies, almost as if they knew what he had lost, but did they? Could they understand?

 

I have come here every day for the past year, would today be any different? It is the one-year anniversary of your passing. It feels like yesterday.  Lestrade is worried about my health, he sounds like you sometimes with his Holmes you really must look after your self, and that can’t be good for your health. He’s quite annoying actually. I sit in your room sometimes, just looking at your things, I half expect you to come walking through the door and admonish me.  I have all but retired; cases mean nothing now that you are gone. Lestrade stops in from time to time and tries to coax me into taking on a case or two. He has yet to succeed. My life is empty without the one person who I could trust with all matters in my life. Watson I love you, nothing can change that, and I have so many regrets.

The biggest one, that’s easy not telling you I love, the second, being caught with my guard down and costing you your life.

 Holmes began to cry again, he was overcome with emotion, when this happened he knew it was time for him to leave but today proved an exception. He knelt down and placed the flowers he had been holding on the grave. He re-read the tomb stone, tracing the letters that spelt Watsons name. A new wave of grief washed over him even as the rain did.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder; he spun round to find Lestrade standing there. “Mrs.Hudson said I might find you here.”

“Did she?” his voice was flat and emotionless

 

“I need to speak with you Holmes, why don’t we go back Baker Street?”

 

“Whatever it is you have to say Lestrade can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Holmes looked annoyed

 

“No. There’s something I think you should know, but here is not the place to tell you.”  Lestrades tone was forceful, but there was something gentle in his eyes.

 

 

Holmes nodded and they caught a cab back to Baker Street.

 

Holmes was in a sombre mood, Lestrade could see that his grief over Watson was becoming worse. Yet in all that grief he never once thought to ask him what Watsons last thoughts might have been or if he had any last words. He seemed not to care, Lestrade was going to change that, he planned on telling Holmes exactly what went on, not to be mean, but because he felt Holmes should know.  

 

It had been an hour since their return to Baker Street; both men sat comfortably by the fire sipping brandy. “Tell me Lestrade, what is it that brought you searching for me?”

 

Lestrade looked at Holmes; he was the one asking so Lestrade would tell him. “Watson”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Lestrade sighed, and took a sip of his brandy for fortification. “Watson. Holmes you never asked about his final moments, were you never curious as to what he might have thought or said?” Lestrade attempted to sound sympathetic, but instead sounded angry.

 

Holmes gazed deep into the fire, his fingers steeple position and resting against his chin. “I assumed they were not favourable, and that you were sparing my feelings.” His eyes never left the fire.

 

“What ever gave you that idea?” Lestrade cocked his head.

 

“I would have thought if they were favourable that you would have told me.”  Holmes said matter of fact.

 

“Well, in way you are correct, I didn’t say anything so as to spare you pain, but on the other I didn’t want to say anything unless you asked.”

 

“I get the feeling you want me to ask.” Holmes looked at Lestrade; the reflection of the fire glowed eerily in Holmes eyes.

 

“After you went after the fourth man, I knelt by Watsons side, he was calling out you.” Lestrade hung his head as he recalled that dreadful evening. “I remember it like yesterday…”

 

 

“It doesn’t matter Seagrove, we have all the evidence we need, Lestrade here will confirm that you and your gang were coming out of the scene of the crime and that you were caught red handed. Did you honestly think you would get away with” You were in lecture mode, and going on. I was reading the rights to the other two When Watson moved off slightly.  Watson peered into the darkness and was convinced he saw something, suddenly Seagrove shouted. Watson shouted to you my god look out! And pushed you down.  A second later the gunshot rang out, and Watson fell like a stone, you stood up and ran in the direction of the shot, calling back to me to look after him. Watson coughed and called out to you, his voice gurgling. I knelt to grab his hand; he was reaching for you I think. He was worried about you. He asked if you were all right? I told him to rest and save his breath that he could speak with you when you got back. He smiled weakly, shook his head. Said Lestrade I’m dying, I can feel it. He grasped my hand and asked if I would do him a favour. I said yes. He said, tell Holmes I KNOW what he was going to tell me tonight, tell him I feel the same. Tell him I am sorry I never told him. He grasped at my hand, and coughed. Will you tell him? He asked. I reassured him I would he smiled. Then said tell him from day one, he’ll know what it means. He looked for you. He was whispering by this time, Lestrade he said, make sure he doesn’t give up. The world lost him once; it can’t lose him again. Tell him his work is important and I believe in him, I always have and always will.”  Lestrade looked down into the fire  “with that he sighed and whispered your name and. well you know the rest.”

 

Holmes looked at Lestrade and for the first time in nearly a year he smiled, and the tears he cried were mixed, “Thank you Lestrade, please. Don’t think me rude, but I would like to be alone now if you don’t mind.”

 

After Lestrade had left Holmes made his way to Watsons room and lay upon the bed, he found the courage to say aloud what he had felt in his heart for so long “Watson, I Love you.” Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt as though he had been hugged, and he heard the words “I love you too”