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1. Watson, back at the hotel after the futile search for Holmes at The Falls.
Shock
He is gone. I can think of nothing else. Only those three words, resounding again and again in my head. He is gone.
Could he have known that this was coming? I try to look back, to find a clue in his behavior since our arrival in Switzerland. I can see nothing. Only him. Gone.
I should pack. I know that. Send telegrams. Inform . . . someone. His brother. The police. Mary. I can not move from where I am sitting.
I pray that I am dreaming, that I will wake soon. The truth of the matter is unbearable.
He is gone.
2. Holmes, back at Baker Street immediately following Watson's marriage to Mary.
Manipulation
The morocco case is open. I stretch out one finger, feeling the syringe’s smooth glass with an odd sense of detachment. I move with exaggerated slowness. I can, now; there is no chance of Watson seeing, of his berating me for my foolishness.
I wonder what he is doing. I know what he is doing.
Unbidden, the image rises. The two of them, twined around each other, hands straying where they now have every right to go.
The thought unsettles me; I speed my actions.
Watson would go far to help a friend; I shall not lose him entirely.
3. Holmes, watching Watson give up the search for him at The Falls.
Sacrifice
I find myself willing him to look up at the cliff face, to notice the loose rocks and dislodged roots that mark my travel. He does not. Of course he does not. Why would he?
For the best; it would be disaster if he discovered me.
He crumples to the ground so suddenly I fear he has been shot. It is not until I hear a single wracking sob that I realize he is weeping.
Nothing in my life has ever been so hard as watching him walk away, but I must.
Better dead than fallen in his esteem.
4. Watson, packing his things just before his wedding to Mary.
Denial
My trunk is nearly full. I carefully fold the dressing gown that Holmes gave me last Christmas and place it on top.
Tomorrow I shall be married. Anticipation makes me tremble.
My sea novels are next. He sneers at them, but these three were gifts from him.
A beautiful wife, a burgeoning practice. Perhaps, in a few years, children.
Finally, my journals. He was with me when I picked this one out.
I shut the lid. The life I have dreamt of is nearly within my reach.
I only wish that I did not find it so difficult to breathe.
4a. Watson, going on his honeymoon with Mary.
Too Late
My wife is asleep. We were wed today; tomorrow we leave for Italy. A month—no, I correct myself, a lifetime—without Holmes to rouse me at ungodly hours. The thought does not cheer me as it should.
A lifetime without his foul pipe smoke, without the noxious fumes from his experiments. No longer witnessing his black moods. Or the sound of his violin.
My heart lurches as I picture his hands, his thin frame, his gray eyes.
I hadn’t realized the truth until this moment. I look at Mary, and I am shattered.
Dear God, what have I done?
5. Holmes, returning to Baker Street after the Hiatus, knowing he has to confess to Watson.
Last Stand
He is sitting across from me, grinning like a fool. It is the same smile that he has worn, off and on, all evening. The thought of shattering such happiness makes my stomach clench.
I am nervous, far more than I was when I revealed myself this afternoon. Watson forgave me then, but I do not know if he will now. What, after all, is the deception of three years when compared to that of the ten that came before?
He has realized that something is wrong. I have to tell him. It is time.