Monday came and went, and the telegram from Scotland Yard had only brought the news that Moriarty's entire network had been captured, with the exception of the formidable professor himself. Reading this, Holmes urged Watson to return home to his London practice, rather than continue this dangerous journey on the Continent. Watson, however, refused to be the good husband over the good friend in this case. For half an hour, they argued over whether Watson should leave, despite the scene they were making in the salle-á-manger.
Watson was adamant. "I have never failed you before, Holmes, and I shall not start now."
"You would not be abandoning your post. This is not the army!"
"No, this is friendship. This is honour, and loyalty, and trust, and ... devotion."
"Watson!" he sighed.
Even as they left the hotel that night for the train station, Holmes kept trying to insist that Watson go home before they must take the next train onward.
However, with a high whistle and a rumbling of the tracks, the train came to Strasbourg.
They arrived in Geneva late that night and took rooms at a hotel, quickly retiring to their beds with exhaustion.
An hour before dawn, Holmes rose and lit a candle in his room. He dressed himself and quietly packed his bags. Then he sat and wrote a brief farewell note for Watson. Holmes thanked the good doctor for his faithful service, implored him on his honour not to follow, and wished Mrs. Watson well.
Holmes paused for several moments, staring at the words, then at last signed and folded the note, getting up to depart.
Unfortunately, Watson had woken in time to interrupt him. He burst suddenly into Holmes's room, taking in Holmes's clothes, bags, and the note. He swiftly realised the meaning of it all, scowling. "Holmes, how dare you try to shake me off! I've told you, I'm here with you until the end."
Holmes sighed with a frown. "You do not even know when that end might be!" he insisted. "I cannot keep you with me. You have a wife, a practice, responsibilities--"
"I have a greater responsibility to you." Watson stepped closer, taking the bags from Holmes's hand.
Holmes narrowed his eyes scornfully. "Greater? Does your wife feel the same?"
"She does."
He folded his arms and sneered. "She's a very understanding woman."
"Yes, she's always been. You know that."
Holmes flung the note off the writing-table furiously. "A woman shall only understand so much! Three days' holiday with me while she is gone is one thing, but indefinite absence, in peril--?"
"I left Mary a letter explaining the urgency of the circumstances, and I have telegrammed her, as you know, when you said that it was safe to do so."
"You cannot stay with me."
Watson grasped Holmes by the shoulders. "I will, Holmes! There's no arguing about it, nor sneaking away without me."
"You pledged your life to her, not to me. Let go!"
"When have I not risked danger with you? Mary knows the consequences of each case we share, and she would understand even if I should die here upon this journey with you." He stepped closer again. "I would follow you anywhere, all my life."
Holmes grimaced as if stung. "You couldn't even begin--!" He tried pulling away.
Watson held on, despite Holmes's resistance.
Holmes turned. "Anywhere, damn it?" He grasped and kissed Watson sharply, for spite. "There, now--"
He was surprised when Watson returned the kiss, just as forcefully. Passionately. A most unexpected, ... dizzying response, indeed.
Standing near the bed with Watson, Holmes backed up by steps until he stumbled awkwardly and fell to the mattress. Watson followed him onto the bed, still kissing and embracing Holmes heatedly.
At last, Watson released Holmes a bit, sighing into his neck, "Oh, why didn't you do that years ago?" He continued warm kisses down Holmes's throat, undoing his collar at the same time.
Holmes lay stunned and breathless. "Years--? I ... I thought I'd drive you away. Frighten you," he bit his lip, "disgust you."
Watson blinked and pulled back, gazing at Holmes with wonder. "Disgust me?" He even seemed mildly amused, and he shook his head, sitting up. "Holmes," Watson smiled softly and took on a confessing tone of voice, "do you know something? Something amazing and wonderful?"
Holmes regarded him with only bewilderment and curiosity. What was so damned funny?
Watson still smiled blithely, shrugging. "You see, some weeks into my engagement with Mary, I finally could not bear to deceive her anymore and I came to see her with a confession that seemed certain to endanger, if not totally end, our engagement." Watson had a flair for dramatic pauses.
"What are you talking about?" Holmes sat up impatiently.
Watson continued quietly, "I told her that I was drawn to her charm, her sympathy for others, her warmth, and her good humour, but I did not love her. I could not, for I deeply loved someone else," here he caressed Holmes tenderly, "whom I could not have. Though I would endeavour to be a good husband to Mary, she ought to know that I married her for companionship and to get on with my life without my love."
Holmes paled and gasped, quite astonished by this pronouncement. "You said--" Holmes widened his eyes. "And she married you?"
"Do you know how she replied to me?" Watson teased brightly, reaching his punchline at last. "She laughed. She laughed and said that she had the same confession herself. It had not been merely grief for her parents and shyness that kept her unwed for so many years. She had a lost love of her own, a soldier killed in battle whom she pined for still. Though she indulged a streak of romanticism in picturing me as a knight-errant in her service during the Sholto affair, she knew deep within that I could never replace her true love. Mary too had agreed to our engagement for reasons of convenience."
Having thus shocked Holmes, Watson lay close against him once more, kissing his lips softly. "You can imagine our mutual relief at that moment. With no burden upon our consciences anymore, we gladly agreed that, so long as we both knew exactly what we wanted, our marriage could be quite practical and satisfactory. Mary and I have been most affectionate and amicable with each other ever since."
Speechless with disbelief for several moments, Holmes finally touched Watson's shoulder, frowning uncertainly and asking fretfully, "Does she know--of me? That I am--?"
Watson nodded. "She could guess whom I loved, without my telling her." He embraced Holmes reassuringly. "She spoke in detail about her soldier, while I remained exceptionally vague and reticent about my own love. The better for her to believe that I referred to a woman, I thought. But she noted how I spoke of you, spent time with you, and thought of you constantly; she saw the connexion clearly enough. She confronted me about my love for you one night, and I had to admit to it. Thus," he kissed Holmes again, "she has been understanding."
Holmes softly whispered, "I ... never knew. All this time, she knew, and I never even guessed...." He shook his head, blinking.
Watson caressed Holmes's face lovingly. "It seems that we each were so fearful and focused on hiding our own love, that we did not look closely enough into each other's eyes."
Their eyes met, gazing deeply together. Then they kissed as deeply. They embraced and entwined their limbs warmly.
Holmes sighed with a faint frown, "You have undone all my plans."
Watson laughed softly, "You could not make me leave you, for a thousand kisses." He assisted Holmes in getting out of his doubly unnecessary travelling clothes, crushing his mouth with another kiss.
They made love and remained there the rest of the night, lost in each other in that bed, as if all argument about ever leaving was ended.
The peril remained, though, and H worried of endangering W by continuing on the journey. He had had no qualms about facing Moriarty by himself, but he could not bear having W come to any harm. H had intended only to have three days' chance to say goodbye to him, but now all had changed--W had indeed undone his plans.
[H spent every moment trying
to protect W,
feeling apprehensive
until Reichenbach.
glad to have W out of harm's way,
but at the falls...]
H caught his breath, shivering and watching Moriarty's figure swiftly fall ever deeper into the chasm. He sat stunned in the torn up, muddy patch of the pathway on which they'd fought. shut his eyes, trying to decide what to do. thinking of W. still infuriated at the monstrous unfairness, that they had known each other's love so briefly, so late. H ached and wished for him.
W comes back and finds the terrible scene. Finds the letter. is crushed and horrified.
Against his better judgment, H cannot bear W's pain. calls out to him and reveals himself on the ledge above.
"Holmes! Oh, thank God!"
"No! Stay there," H warns urgently. shakes his head "Watson ... I could not leave you, how ever much I tried. I cannot explain now, but you must pretend that I have perished, exactly as you found this scene. It is imperative that you report my death to the authorities in Meiringen, and convince them of it."
"?"
"My presumed death is essential in a very urgent matter. The news must be made public, and reports must go out, internationally if possible. I shall meet you again, in Rosenlaui, when the official investigation is over here. I shall explain everything to you then, I promise. Please don't fail me."
"I--yes." H has withdrawn out of sight again. Was it only a desperate hallucination? W sees no further sign from that ledge. sighs quietly, then whispers again, "Yes." W pauses, then turns away and does what he must, on faith. It's a long walk back down to Meiringen.
later reunion in Rosenlaui