Experiments and Experience; Lost

Excerpt from The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, The Final Problem

“My dear Watson [it said], I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made every disposition of my property before leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow,

Very sincerely yours,

Sherlock Holmes”  

Is there anything you would not forgive me for?  He asked me on that seemingly long ago afternoon.

Good god, did that only happen few short months ago? I’d been convinced at the time it was some mad fancy of the moment, but now I suspect there was more involved than I knew.  

Where Holmes was concerned, wasn't there always?

This can’t be real.  I go over the events again and again in my mind and it feels so dreamlike.  Now that the initial shock and grief has cleared and I am thinking more clearly, I can see where I went wrong.  It is in the letter that the answers are hidden.   

There is a code.  

I extended my stay in Meiringen after Holmes disappeared.  The local authorities conducted an extensive search for the bodies.  Nothing was found but that was expected considering  the powerful currents at the bottom of the falls and the size of the river coming from it.  

I am now convinced though, that there is more to it than that.  

My dear friend Sherlock Holmes did not die on that cliff.  

I find it a difficult experience to talk about.  The papers were intensely interested in the tragedy.  I will be a witness at the trial to convict Moriarty's gang, and I suspect I will have to recount it then as well.  I attempt to remain as faithful to fact as possible without endangering or otherwise divulging private information not meant for public consumption, but it is an important story to be told.  How dare Moriarty’s sympathisers accuse my friend of being a fraud now that he is not here to defend himself.  So long as I am able, I will do what I can to keep his memory true.  

As for the Swiss youth who led me away that day with a false story of a medical emergency, I explain that he was not found and that I believe him to be an agent of Moriarty.   Holmes wrote it to me himself in his note; that he suspected the boy to be a hoax.  I can’t very well defend his honour and call him a liar all in the same breath.

Holmes lied.  It was he who sent the boy to lure me away.

Why would he do that?  This too is what leads me to believe that there is more to this mystery than meets the eye.  I handled my own search for the lad, and it was not difficult to find him.  He was a young shepherd from the village.  I questioned him closely regarding his errand, and his story was one that set my mind reeling.  

“I didn't know what was in the note sir.  It was your friend who asked that I run it up if he sent the signal.”  

“What signal was that?”  I asked.

“He waved at me, sir.”  

I hadn’t seen it, but then I’d been much affected by the terrible power of the falls.  Holmes could have danced an entire jig and I’d have been none the wiser.  Reichenbach falls is a fearful place, and I did not like it even before the incident that took my friend from me.  I felt overwhelmed by the natural violence.  Holmes, I recall, had been less affected and I understand now that there’d been other matters on his mind.  

I feel haunted that all my insights are only after the fact.

I am now aware that Holmes had known Moriarty was closing in on us.  I wonder how many times he almost caught up to us along our journey?  Holmes had been careful to keep me in the dark, but I remember his uncharacteristic apprehension.  

He did it to save me.  I know.  My life had been at risk as surely as Holmes had been before leaving London, there wouldn't have been the need to be so on guard before fleeing if it danger was not imminent.  

My dear Holmes.  That was not the first time he attempted to shield me from the darker side of his work.  How many times had I tried to explain to him that I am made of tougher stuff than that, surely my service in Afghanistan should have been some proof.  I recall his response to one such argument over the matter.  Your security may not be of great importance to you, dear Doctor, but to me it is of the utmost importance.  There was never any swaying him from that point.

So, in hindsight, it is not such a surprise to me that Holmes himself would orchestrate my absence if he knew the danger we faced.   

Holmes' deception. Not Moriarty.

He must have been pressed with time, he would have been careful to be as brief as possible.  Why write out a lie so easily discovered?  Because I'd know it was a lie. 

And so I must refer back to that passage.  

"Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow."

The problem is, I have no idea what the message is. 

What am I doing?  I must be mad.    

He was so much more clever in these things than I am.  It pains me to think he overestimated my abilities so completely.   

Is there anything that you would not forgive me for?  He asked before kissing me that afternoon.  He was adamant that I forgive him.  

Yes, I forgive you.  I answered.

Was he planning this deception even then?  An unexpected kiss on an afternoon between two friends is one thing, faking your death and leaving your friend to mourn is another.  I know, I know, there is something more to this.  He would not outright lie to me in what he believed to be his last letter.  He knows me better than to think I wouldn’t search out the truth and find it out.  It has to be a clue, and I will continue working on the puzzle until I solve it.  

I must solve it. 

There is nothing more I can do. I trust when the danger has passed he will come back to me.  

And I will be waiting.