Chapter Text
John Watson felt positively younger when he left Simpson’s that night, on the arm of his housekeeper of years ago, his best friend a half-step ahead of them both. Watson could tell that Holmes had been invigorated, renewed with an old energy, by the adventures they had just completed. It felt as though they were twenty-five years old again, returning from Scotland Yard having just deposited the murderer Jefferson Hope into custody. He could remember it as though it was yesterday, although it had been over thirty years previous.
“When will you be joining your regiment, Watson?” Holmes asked, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. The goatee that was required to fulfil his duties to his country the last two years had been shaved off just that morning, and Watson was glad to see it gone.
“Tomorrow morning, Holmes,” Watson answered. “I expect we’ll be in France in just a couple days.
Holmes did not respond to this pronouncement, instead slowing his step and moving behind Watson to allow another couple to pass.
“And you’ll be returning to the South Downs?”
“With only my bees to keep me company.”
“I’ll come visit when I return.”
“You must,” Holmes said, with the air of one that expected that eventuality to never occur.
- - -
The next morning, Sherlock Holmes took his breakfast with Watson and their always-loved housekeeper at the hotel, still reminiscing of the old days at Baker Street, about the cases they had worked together. Watson and Holmes still laughed to remember the Red-Headed League. Mrs. Hudson still tutted in disapproval when Watson recounted all the disguises he’d seen his friend take. Holmes did not point out the ones that Watson had forgotten.
But in time, breakfast ended.
“I believe I am expected at noon,” Watson said, his bags at the ready in the lobby. Mrs. Hudson leaned forward to straighten the lapels of his uniform and Watson thanked her.
“I hope this military campaign is a more fortunate one for you,” Holmes said, shaking his partner’s hand firmly, and not letting go.
“My dear Holmes, if the first one had left me healthy, I would never have met you. I think , in that respect, it was successful.”
Holmes didn’t answer, and shook the hand again, his eyes firmly on the hands, and not his friend. He clapped his other hand to Watson’s shoulder.
“Take care of yourself, Holmes. Thank you.”
Watson patted the shoulder of his best friend- his closest and most valuable companion that he’d ever met. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t met him.
He lifted his luggage and left to get a cab, while Mrs. Hudson put her arm in that of the retired detective.
“I’ve never met a luckier man, Mr. Holmes. He’ll be visiting us before you know it.”