第 31 页

I held Holmes’ ring tightly in my hand, as always on the chain around my neck. The love I felt now for another did not diminish the love I had felt before, just helped me to understand it better. That intense, frenetic, fatalistic love was so very different to what I was feeling now, but just as futile.

I became aware of someone beside me. Watson was leaning on the wall gazing out across the gardens with a fresh drink in his hand. I looked away from him and up into the star encrusted sky.

“You know, when I was in the workhouse there was this old lady who took pity on me because I was an orphan. She’d sometimes take me to a window to look up at the stars at night because she believed that they were the souls of the dead looking down on us from heaven. She was completely mad of course, but looking up at them tonight I can understand why she thought such a thing.”

Watson said nothing, just continued gazing out into the darkness.

“Watson?” I asked, turning to face him. “What do you think Holmes would make of what we have become? Say one of those little stars was indeed his soul looking down on us, would he be pleased with how things have turned out?”

John Watson turned slowly to face me and his tired, sad eyes looked straight into mine.

“When was the last time you called me John?” he asked quietly, searching the depths of my icy blue eyes.

“When was the last time I saw you sober?” I retorted sharply.

He didn’t reply but continued to hold my gaze, almost as if somewhere deep within that inebriated shell the essence of my friend still remained and he was calling out to me, willing me to find him again and save him from himself.

Just at that moment, Caroline marched out onto the patio.

“John darling, our guests will be missing you.”

She shot me a most disapproving look as I sat there upon her wall conversing alone with her intended.

She took Watson’s arm and started to steer him away. He looked over his shoulder towards me as she led him back to the party and continued to do so until they reached the door. Then, finally, he looked away as she took him inside and returned him to their guests, to their grand engagement party, which swallowed him up like a stone sinking in water.

Chapter Nineteen

The wedding was booked a month after the engagement party. I was surprised when Watson arrived at my office to personally present me with an invitation to his forthcoming nuptials.

He looked terrible, tired and pained, the strain of many late nights and such a rapid change in lifestyle etched across his face. He looked every one of his thirty-seven years and a few more besides.

My surprise at his visit turned into deep sadness when he took the opportunity to tell me that Caroline wished to live abroad once they were married and he had decided to sell our business. He had come to ask for my blessing and to reassure me that he would ensure that I received three quarters of the sale price. The pub would be transferred into my sole ownership on the condition that I allowed Ronnie to work there for as long as he wanted.

This did little to soften the blow and I was devastated. The money was irrelevant. The business was everything to me, all I had left. It got me out of bed each morning and filled my long days with stimulating challenges which had come to define who I was. It was fundamental to my identity, gave me purpose. The thought of signing that over to someone else after starting it from nothing was unbearable.

The anger bubbled away inside me as he talked, explaining his reasons. I forced out a smile and clasped my hands tightly together to stop them from shaking. I told him that I was happy to go along with whatever he wanted and thanked him for his generosity.

I then explained that I was very busy and would he please return to me on this matter at another, more convenient, time. He apologised for disturbing me and left my office.

Once he had closed the door behind him, I put my head in my hands and cried like a baby.

All my life I had been strong and brave, fronting out difficult situations with a defiant resolve, not wanting anyone to see my pain. But now I realised that I didn’t have to do that - I was a successful adult and didn’t have to prove myself to anyone. Why turn up at the wedding and watch the man I love marry someone else, just to pretend I didn’t care? Why put myself through that? Better to walk away, disappear for a month or two and return when it was all over - regardless of what people would conclude from my absence. I decided to go to Paris.

I had made Watson describe to me on many occasions exactly where Jude had been murdered and now I longed to see it for myself. I wanted to go to him, the childhood friend who I missed every day and see the place where he had been taken from me. The time was right; the anniversary of his death was approaching.

I organised my travel arrangements, left Sandy with Ronnie and simply disappeared from London.

At first I just explored Paris, walking for many hours through the streets like a regular tourist. I was trying to emotionally prepare myself for the memories that needed to be confronted. Then, on the same date and at the same time as the murder had taken place, I walked to that dark little backstreet which I had previously only seen in my nightmares.

I knelt down on the wet cobbles as they glistened in the moonlight. I was completely alone, the street was deserted. I lay my hand on the cold stones, closed my eyes and strained to feel a connection to Jude - willing him back to me as if he would rise from the ground beneath my hand. “I’m so sorry,” was all I could say before the tears started to fall. “I’m sorry it was you and not me instead.”

I don’t know what I expected, maybe for him to appear before me or to hear his voice. But there was nothing save the gentle hum of the city and the cold of the cobbles against my palm. Then I realised that it didn’t matter, Jude was with me every day, carried around in my heart. He wasn’t forever stuck in this dark street, he was alive in my memories and I could see him and hear him whenever I wanted. All I had to do was remember.

“I miss you,” I whispered softly, then stood up slowly, blinking to clear my tears. I became aware of someone walking towards me, the collar of their overcoat pulled up against the mist and drizzle.

He drew closer until he was standing right in front of me - standing on the spot where he had held a dying man in his arms and promised him that he would look after me. Sober and bright eyed, John Watson simply held out his arms and I fell into his embrace.

He held me as I cried gentle tears then pulled back and wiped them away with his fingertips.

“I don’t understand, why are you here?” I asked.

“Because I knew you would be. As soon as Ronnie told me you had travelled abroad, I looked at the date and worked it out.”

“That still doesn’t explain...”

“For once in your life Red, just don’t say anything - don’t say anything at all.”

And then, holding me in his arms, he kissed me and fulfilled his promise to a dying man.

John loved me and had done for a long time. But he had pulled away from me fearing rejection, causing me to do the same and so we had ended up in the tangled mess of the previous months. Caroline and alcohol had been his way of trying to cope with what he saw as a rejection, and the deeper he got into the situation, the more impossible it seemed to get out. It was self-perpetuating and we had both retreated from each other.

Fearing that I would not return from Paris and knowing instinctively that John shared my feelings, Ronnie finally told his brother the truth about me. The wedding was cancelled, the sale of our business halted and John rushed to Paris - knowing exactly where to find me. Knowing me better than anyone.

I was completely preoccupied with my work when Mycroft walked into my office one hectic afternoon. He asked if we could go for a walk and was unusually insistent. And so I found myself strolling through the park on a lovely bright, sunny afternoon holding his arm.

“What is troubling you?” I asked. His eyes were darting all around us, observing everything compulsively as he often still did when agitated. I touched his hand.

“Come back to me,” I said softly. He met my gaze and managed a weak smile.

“I presume you now intend to marry John Watson?” he asked.

“There is nothing official between us yet, but yes, I hope so.” I smiled warmly, thinking of the wonderful courtship I had been enjoying since John and I returned from Paris.

“Is he truly the man you would want above all others?” Mycroft asked earnestly. “If my brother were here, who would you choose for a husband?”

I was shocked by this unexpected question.

“That’s irrelevant. Your brother isn’t here and never will be so that has no bearing on who I choose to marry.”

“You haven’t answered my question, and you must answer it, if you have any love for me at all you will answer it truthfully.”

“I don’t understand, why are you asking me this?”

“Because I have come to love you as if you are my very own daughter and your happiness is of paramount importance to me.”

“Mycroft, I loved Sherlock very much. Please don’t think that anything I now feel for another diminishes that. Do you think I am being disrespectful to Sherlock, to his memory?”

Mycroft started to survey our surroundings again. I squeezed his hand and he turned back, looking at me intently with those sharp, lively eyes which were just like those of his brother.

“No, I don’t think that at all. I am concerned only with your happiness. Please, answer my question. If my brother was here, what would you do?”

A bird struck up a tune from one of the tree’s branches. I hesitated slightly unsure quite how to explain my feelings.

“I was very young when I first met Sherlock Holmes. I was a child really and developed a strong infatuation. I didn’t know anything about him, not really, not things you know about a person which create true bonds. Even when I saw him again as an adult, even when I travelled across Europe with him, I think I still saw him through child’s eyes. It remained an infatuation, a different kind of love to that which I feel now. It was intense and powerful, fuelled by the knowledge that it couldn’t last.

“Even if we had both survived the constant life-threatening danger which stalked our relationship, he would never have married me, or anyone for that matter. There would always have been something far more exciting and important than me, a case to investigate, a villain to pursue. We didn’t really know each other. Not in the way that John knows me. I have told him things no-one else will ever know and he understands me. We have a strong friendship, a partnership. That is the foundation on which to build a marriage.

“Holmes was of the moment. A glorious, intense, unforgettable moment, but John is a whole lifetime. I would choose John Watson every time, over any man, even Sherlock Holmes.”

I returned to my office late that afternoon and sat at my desk. There in front of me was a note from John asking me to be at his house for seven o’clock that evening.

I was surprised when John himself opened the door.

“Where’s Tilly?” I asked, walking into the hallway and smelling that wonderful, familiar smell of home-baked bread.

“Oh, I gave her the day off. Red, it’s always so lovely to see you back in this house. It hasn’t really felt like home without you.”

He took my coat and kissed me on the cheek. He was wearing black trousers and a black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, but much of the black was covered in what looked like white powder. It was in his hair too and he saw me looking at it quizzically.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckled, “I haven’t developed more grey hairs, thank heavens!” He ran his hand through his hair and shook out the white dust.

“I can smell bread.”

“Yes, indeed. Come through.”

He took my hand and led me into the cosy kitchen at the back of the house, the room where so many pleasant hours had been passed in friendly conversation.

The kitchen was in a mess. Pans and cloths were strewn around with every surface in disarray. But the table was neatly laid out with a rather irregular shaped loaf of bread, some butter and two pots of jam.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Well, I know how much you dislike jewellery so I had to think of something else to give you in celebration of our engagement. I concluded that what you love most in the world is, well, home-made bread and jam. Besides the dog of course, and me hopefully. So, I thought, why not make it for you. Tilly has been giving me lessons. I don’t think the bread has turned out too well but I’m quite pleased with the jam.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time John had managed to surprise me but it will always be one of the most memorable. It really was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me. There he was covered in flour in a messy kitchen amid total chaos demonstrating that he really did know me better than anyone.

“Are you asking me to marry you with bread and jam?”

“Yes, I am, most sincerely. Please marry me Red, I have never and could never love anyone as deeply and utterly as I love you. I hope that I have done enough over the last few months to make up for all the hurt I caused you. Please let me spend the rest of my life making you happy because I know I can, better than anyone. Only say yes if you mean it, if you choose me above all others. Say something, please”

I looked at his eager face.

“Yes,” I said simply.

As happy emotional tears ran down my face he kissed them away and held me so tightly I could barely breathe.

I married Doctor John H Watson in a pretty little church on a bright morning. It was the culmination of two years worth of friendship, partnership, misunderstanding, family reunions, business expansion, bread, jam, one fat dog and a deep abiding love.

I wore a simple dress and let my loose hair tumble around my shoulders as I walked towards my happy groom, who looked effortlessly handsome in his new suit. My wedding band was a beautiful slim antique gold ring which had belonged to Mycroft’s great grandmother, the famous artist Vernet.

When the moment came to exchange rings, I unclasped my neck chain and removed the ring which Holmes had given to me. It was the most precious thing I possessed. Wearing it was a link to a past which was long gone. Giving it to John signified a new beginning. I was a very different person to the one who had crashed her away into 221B Baker Street and slipping the ring onto John’s finger was as strong a declaration of love as I could possibly make.

Chapter Twenty

Ronald was quite right to be afraid when he heard me bellow his name, shouting from upstairs as he served a few bewildered customers.

“I have been summoned,” he declared and made his way up to me swiftly.

He sheepishly appeared in the doorway of the little sitting room which I used as an office and could see the rage playing across my reddened features.