Sins of the Past

 

 

Out of anger and frustration Holmes struck Watson across the face causing his nose to bleed and splitting his lip. If it had been any other man Watson would have wasted no time in serving up a taste of the medicine he had just received. Holmes had to have a reason. Watson tried to speak his swollen lip making it difficult. “Holmes I don’t understand. What have I done?” Blood dripped down his chin as he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve; leaning his head slightly forward he pinched the bridge of his nose then covered his nose and mouth.

 

Holmes gazed at Watson a disgusted look upon his face. “How can you ask that? You KNOW what you have done” He nearly spat as he spoke, and he banged his fist on the desk.

 

“Holmes I assure you I do not” His response slightly nasal and very muffled. Watson sincerely had no Idea what Holmes was on about.

 

Holmes reached over to his desk and pulled out a letter. “Shall I read it to you?” His voice was caustic, and there was something akin to rage burning in his eyes.

 

Watson’s eyes widened with shock and horror as he realised what letter Holmes held in his hand. He had received the letter over two weeks ago and thought he had hidden it sufficiently in the bin when he had thrown it away. He should have known there was nothing he could hide from Holmes.

 

Holmes began to read the letter.

” Dear John,

How wonderful to finally find you again after all these years. I wasn’t quite sure I had the right man, but as luck would have it I passed you in the street just the other day and seeing you in person knew beyond doubt I had found my man”

 

Holmes cleared his throat, and continued.

 

“I was quite displeased when you left the organisation without so much as a by your leave. The fact you also left me made it even worse. I went to great pains to find you. Imagine my surprise when I found you had enlisted and then the shock and horror when word came to me that you had died in the service of your country. I was quite saddened by this news despite being angry with you.

I never imagined what lengths you would go to just to be rid of me.  Was I so terrible to you John? Did you not enjoy the company we kept?  Or the skills and experience you gained whilst with me?

 

I am sure by now the esteemed Holmes has told you all about his criminal rival, or as he no doubt put it, the Napoleon of crime.  I doubt you were surprised when he mentioned me by name. I should love to have seen your reaction however.

 

I had been aware of Dr. John Watson, knew that he was a close associate of Holmes. I thought perhaps I could enlist him, if not; I could at least use him to get to Holmes in some way. Imagine my surprise when my operative returned with a photo of Mr. Holmes and his friend Watson, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my dear friend Patterson. Thus prompting my little sojourn of the other day, I had to know. I was on my way to your surgery and as I have stated passed you on the street.

 

This is quite ironic wouldn’t you say Patterson? You see old friend you are in the most unique position as to keep me informed of all of Holmes movements and plans concerning my organisation. It would be beneficial to us both for you to comply.

I don not think you want Holmes to know the real you, after all murder is a serious crime, as is sodomy.

Perhaps Holmes will understand the circumstances of our association. But could he ever understand that his precious Watson not only worked for me for so long but was also my lover? 

If you wish for this to remain a secret I suggest you met me in two weeks time when I am again in London I shall send you details of where and when.  It's in your best interest to do as requested Johnny.

 

James

 

 Holmes threw the letter at Watson, and fought back the rage that burned inside him; he tried to remain detached but failed. “Give me a reason why I should NOT throw you out on your on arse right now! Consider your self lucky that I don’t do you beat you with in an inch of your worthless life!” Homes shouted the last bit, and was far from calm as he raised his hand to strike him again, but instead swept his arm across Watson’s desk knocking everything to the floor. “You can not explain this away Watson. Or is it Patterson?” Holmes ruefully shook his head.

 

Watson trembled with fear he had never heard Holmes speak with such hatred. Nor had he seen Holmes this angry.

 

Watson pulled the blood soaked handkerchief from his face.

“I CAN explain. But I think you should calm down first.” Watson immediately regretted his words.

 

Holmes laughed a bitter laugh. “Do NOT tell me what to do, it is I who shall tell you! Explain if you can, I assure you it will do no good.” Holmes glared at him. He leaned against Watson's desk, his arms folded across his chest, staring in silent judgement. This was the look he reserved for those he deemed unworthy, usually at the end of a case when the guilty would try and explain their motives. Watson was unaccustomed to being on the receiving end and found it quite unnerving.

 

Watson hung his head, he could hardly look at Holmes, the shame and guilt of his past was overwhelming. He did not expect Holmes to understand, but felt he owed him an explanation.

 

 “ I was born Jonathan Edward Patterson, my mother died in childbirth, my father resented it and treated me accordingly. “

Holmes held up a hand silencing him “Spare me the abused and unhappy child scenario, I already know this!”

 

Watson nodded and continued, “Right. I’m sorry. When I was 15 I met Moriarty, he was 25 or so. He had already graduated university; and held the post of Professor of Mathematics at the boarding school I attended. In the beginning I had no idea he was anything other than what he appeared to be. Which was the youngest professor in his field, and a man who seemingly helped out those less fortunate. He found places to live for the homeless; found jobs for those who needed them and helped the boys who showed no promise, he found their hidden talents and put them to use. I was not a brilliant student nor was I a complete dullard. He took me under his wing and encouraged me to do all sorts of things I never imagined possible, becoming a doctor was one of them. He said that I had a steady hand and liked my curiosity and willingness to explore new things. I knew nothing more of him than that. At least not at first.

 

Watson blushed “He was my first male sexual partner. He showed me a love and kindness I had never known. I adored and admired him. He told me I brought out the best in him, made him feel things he never thought possible, that until he met me he was cold and isolated” Watson took a deep breath, he was dying inside but Holmes had to know the truth.

 

Holmes features softened. “I can understand his feelings” As quickly as they softened they turned to stone again. “Did you love him?”

 

“It was a combination of a lot of things, gratitude for taking me in and paying for university and medical school. admiration of his brilliant mind. He was the first person in my life to treat me with respect and kindness. He made me feel that I mattered and that I was special.” Watson licked his lips “Holmes may I have a drink?” Holmes went to the table and poured Watson a large whiskey and thrust it in his hand.

"All that does NOT answer my question DID you love him."

 

Watson downed the whiskey in one gulp " Thank you."  He held the glass out and Holmes reluctantly refilled it, this time pouring a double to avoid any further interruption. His anger had yet to subside and he was becoming impatient " Now if you please answer the question did you love him!"

 

Watson dully nodded "Yes, at least I thought I did." He contemplated the glass and gulped at the whiskey.

 

Holmes turned from him as if he had been struck, he closed his eyes to hide the pain then buried it deep inside as he turned to face Watson. His face an emotionless mask, in his eyes Watson saw nothing; Holmes had retreated into himself once again behind his protective wall. He had wanted an answer, but this was not the one he hoped for.

 

"I suppose it was youth and inexperience. I accepted his offer to pay for medical school and I took lodgings with him. After medical school he set me up in practice, it was fairly routine.  Soon I began to get patients with knife wounds, gun shot wounds, and other aliments. I thought nothing of these wounds, though they certainly weren't your everyday accidents.  He would bring me female patients and ask that I perform abortions. He always said these women were victims. I know now many of them were prostitutes, and others where well lets just say that they were married and the husbands not the father, others were unmarried, and the daughters of high ranking officials or even the upper class if you will. Who ever the client was and what ever their aliment I was to make accurate records (which any good physician does any way) but I was to give him copies. God knows I am not proud of my early medical career. I did things I would never do now you understand, but it was a different time, a different place I had less compassion then and was a different person.” Watson gave a short laugh.

 

“Literally” Chimed Holmes.

 

“Moriarty never fully took me into his confidence but frequently had me run errands for him. Usually delivering parcels, I had no idea what was in them. I confess I was curious, but never brave enough to look. I knew he had a lot of money but was unsure how he came by it, he lived beyond his means as a mathematics professor, but it never occurred to me that he actually blackmailed my patients, at least not at the time. I had been with him for nearly 8 years. I began to see the real him, or at least sides of him that I didn’t like.  I witnessed him beat a child. He once dispatched me to a house where a man was had been injured, and in a lot of pain. When I arrived there was a man, the poor devil had beaten with in an inch of his life, I gave him morphine, not knowing it had already been administered. The second dose proved lethal.  I over heard him ordering what sounded like some ones murder When I questioned him about it he said it was a misunderstanding and I was over reacting. It was then that I became away of a nasty and almost evil streak in him. He began to threaten and coerce me into doing things.  When I tried to end the relationship he threatened to blackmail me. 

 

I did the only thing I could I ran and enlisted in the army. I knew there was nothing he could do to me there or so I thought. I also knew it was a temporary measure, once I was out he would hunt me down." 

 

Holmes held up his hand  "Is there much more of this?" He had lost his patience and was now pacing the room. His face reflected mild annoyance, yet his eyes retained their icy veneer

 

" No not much. I'll shorten it as best I can. When I went for training as an army surgeon I met John H. Watson. There was an uncanny resemblance between us. Everyone thought we were twins.  After training we were assigned to different regiments. Eventually though we ended up assigned to the same regiment. No one there could tell us apart. We became fast friends and he told me all about his childhood. He too had lost his mother, and his father and brother had abandoned him at an early age. He was bounced from relative to relative.

I told him of my unhappy childhood and we sympathised with the other.

Watson was well mannered and well liked; he had a gentleness and compassion I did not. I was not so well mannered. I drank and used the woman and men at my disposal. I had little tolerance for weakness in others.

 Watson said it would be my undoing. The day he died, was the day I was born you might say.

 We held the same rank, so all I had to do was switch a few things from my person to his. I took on his personality, learned to show compassion and before I knew it, it was like breathing. I learned to tolerate weakness in others and therefore recognise the weaknesses in myself. I became who I am today. Patterson was truly dead. I put the past behind me and was feeling quite pleased, but then I was wounded and feared I might be discovered.  I soon learned I had no worries as Watson had no real family and when they sent me home I was relatively safe.  I wandered about and quickly ran out of money.  You know the rest."  Watson searched Holmes features for any sign of emotion; again he was met with indifference.

 

"Have you received another letter, with instructions perhaps?" He asked completely devoid of any emotion.

 

 

Watson shook his head. "Not yet."

 

Holmes gave him an inquiring look. "I find it hard to believe you just at the moment, so if you don't mind I shall have a little look around."   He stood up and began to rummage through Watsons desk. The search turned up nothing. He grunted. He went to Watsons medical bag and turned it over, spilling all contents on the floor he tore away the lining much to Watson horror and completely destroyed the bag. Not finding what he wanted Holmes made his way to Watson’s room.

 

Watson listened to the sounds of banging, breaking glass and cursing. This went on for several minutes when it went quiet he ventured up.  The sight that greeted his eyes was complete devastation. Holmes had opened every draw and emptied them, their contents strewn across the floor. The mattress had been turned over and he had cut into it pulling the stuffing out, the quilt too was in much the same condition. There were feathers everywhere from the pillows.  Several of his garments were in disarray and the pockets and lining were torn or cut. Holmes had shattered picture frames, and pulled the others off the wall completely destroying them. The army trunk was broken into and its contents had not been spared Holmes wrath. Even his personal diaries and some patient charts lay amongst the ruins. His search turned up nothing. He stood amongst the debris seething.

 

 

Watson was near tears, he owned so very little and that now lay in ruins. He looked at Holmes in complete despair, "Are you satisfied?  Watson backed out of the room and made his way back to the sitting room.   Mrs. Hudson stood in the sitting room looking quite displeased, and when she saw him she gasped in shock and horror.

 

"It's all right Mrs. Hudson, I had a slight accident and Holmes was looking for a cloth I shall clean the mess" He lied terribly but it seemed to put her at ease.  He wondered how he would explain what happened in his room.

 

She looked at him sceptically. "I don't like these types of accidents, and I wouldn't tolerate it again if I were you" She warned. "This just arrived for you doctor" She handed him an envelope.  She met Holmes on the landing and sternly shook her head "No more accidents Mr. Holmes!" and she disappeared downstairs.

 

Watson looked at the envelope, he instantly recognised the writing. Holmes walked through the sitting room to his bedroom. Watson followed and without a word placed the envelope on Holmes bed. Watson quickly retreated to solace of his own now devastated bedroom, sank into the only chair and wept.

 

Holmes dropped onto his bed and breathed a great sigh as he tore open the envelope. As he unfolded the letter a photo fell out, he didn't look at it; not at first, he just read the letter.

 

Dear John,

 

The time has come for you to make a decision, keep in mind that I took you in, I fed you, educated you and did for you things no one else ever did or would, your loyalties lay with me.

Before you become outraged, ask yourself this; what has Holmes done for you?

 

You are the perfect person to have on the inside; Holmes would never suspect his closest friend of such grievous conduct.  The man may have a great intellect but he is fool to have trusted someone such as you, oh I am sorry perhaps that sounds to harsh, but how do you think dear Holmes will feel when he discovers the person you really are?

 

Enough pleasantries, if you would be so good as to reply by telegram to the address on the envelope. If no reply comes before 5 p.m. today I shall be forced to take action.

Enclosed you'll find a photo, there are more where this came from.

 

I await your reply

 

James.

 

Holmes picked up the photo, in it were two men, both relatively the same age, both were naked and in a very compromising position, only one of them faced the camera. Holmes traced the face of the young man. "Watson" He sighed deeply, in his youth Watson was fresh faced, and very innocent looking, but there was hardness in his eyes, that seemed to have faded now.

 

For the first time in his life Holmes was unsure what he should do, had he so misjudged Watson?  Could a man be blamed for his past if he tried to make amends for it?  Holmes sat in confusion, something he didn't like. He was torn between apologising for the destruction he had caused and having another go at Watson, as well as giving him the letter and photo. "What then must we do" he paced the floor as an expectant father, puffing away on his pipe. This is more than a three-pipe problem.  Do I apologise?  I don't know, perhaps I was wrong and acted hastily; having another go at him would not serve any useful purpose at least now.  Then there is the letter, as I see it the only thing to do is give it to him and let him make the choice. Trust a key issue, I have none, none for this man who has been my faithful servant as it were, no not servant…  Dear friend, and so much more.  Shall I place my trust in you this one last time?

 

Holmes grabbed the letter from his nightstand and quietly opened his bedroom door and makes his way to Watson's room. Silently he stood before the door, still hesitant. "The choice is yours My Dear Watson". With that he slides the letter under the door, retreats down the stairs and slips out the front door to wander London aimlessly.