Work Text:
An entry from the diary of the late Mrs Mary Watson
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April and May of the year 1892 were not kind or merry months to my husband. I had dreaded the coming of those days at the end of April and the start of May more than a man condemned to the rope dreads the sight of the parson coming into his cell. He had been so fragile upon his return from Switzerland that for many months he could do no work save to write, almost frantically, the remaining cases upon which he and Mr Holmes had been engaged in the years prior to our marriage. He had shown signs of improvement towards the Christmas of 1891 and in the New Year had taken up his medical practice again, much to my delight for John is not a man who should be idle it gives to much scope for the nearly fatal melancholia which dogged him upon his return to take hold.
I was prepared for him to be withdrawn and silent during those days that marked the first anniversary of his great loss and had taken pains to ensure that we would not be troubled by well meaning but unwelcome friends calling round. The weather in April was unseasonable warm and fine with day upon day of clear blue skies and fine sunshine which helped to stave off the worst of the seasonal epidemics that typically plague this city. But John, John I fear saw the good weather as a personal affront. His temper which I had never had cause to be wary of shortened by the day until by the 20th of the Month there was no living with him, everything was wrong and he was so out or sorts with all that I confess I took to adding small amounts of powdered opium to some of his meals so that he would relax and become more bearable. The whole household trod as if on spun glass around him that by the beginning of May when the weather turned hot and oppressive and John's mood darkened further we had taken to whispering and tiptoeing around so as not to disturb him.
It was with a giddy relief that I heard the first rumble of thunder and felt the first spots of rain fall as a storm broke over the city, surely this release of tension would aid my husband in the recovery of his good nature. I cared not that my dress became soaked quite through as I disdained to take a cab and walked home allowing my own fears and tensions to be washed away by the rain. It was not until I had stepped into my own front hall that it was impressed upon me that coming home soaked to the skin during this time was not perhaps the wisest course I could have taken. John had been descending the staircase and at sight of me balked so sharply that his legs gave way and he sat heavily upon the upper treads staring at me as if I were a ghost or some other terrible phantasm. In a moment more he had recovered enough to fling himself down the remaining treads, across the hall and to grasp me so tightly by the arms that I still have the bruises from his grip. His eyes were wild and I saw at once that he was caught halfway between that terrible place in Switzerland and here.
"M..mary! You, you look d..d...dr....dro." He stuttered unable to finish the word and I realized that he saw in my state what had been Mr Holmes fate. I shuddered in his grasp and with words and gestures attempted to sooth his fears. Nothing would do for him however but that I change at once into dry clothes, and he would not leave me for a second even insisting that he be allowed to aid me in dressing! I fear my maid was rather scandalized by this but understands that John was not himself.
When I had dry clothes on and my maid had left us he clung to me, tears pouring from his eyes and broken sobs and half sentence of self reproach and guilt from his lips. I held him as the storm raged and I too fancied that I could hear in the patter of the rain the endless roaring of those terrible falls. At last he slept over wrought by the fit of grief and I laid him in our bed and slipped away softly to give the necessary orders to the household. A light cold lunch to be brought to our room and for my husbands valet to find and remove John's revolver from his dressing room. That done I went and sat beside him watching over his sleep and hoping that such a storm of grief had been as cleansing as the storm which played out outside our window.