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The colonel was now shaking with rage and trying to struggle back into the room, straining against the two constables who were holding him.

“You cunning, cunning fiend!” he shouted at Holmes.

He then turned his attention to John. “And you Doctor Watson, you think you have won the greatest prize don’t you? Well, just remember, every time you claim that prize, think of all the hundreds of men who have been there before you!”

He spat out the words with pure hatred and John just exploded with anger. He rushed at Moran furiously and managed a blow to his face drawing blood. A rather curious Lestrade ran forward to restrain John before he could strike again and the constables managed to drag the colonel’s great bulk out of the room.

Lestrade followed, leaving Holmes and John alone. John inhaled deeply trying to calm himself but knew it was too late, he could already feel Holmes’s eyes staring right into him and knew his great brain would be trying to make sense of what had just been said.

He felt agitated and his hand was smarting from the punch. He removed his gloves to inspect his bruised knuckle, then wiped his hand across his forehead to remove a few beads of sweat.

“Why are you wearing my ring?” asked Holmes.

They were standing together in the centre of the room illuminated by the street lighting outside. The unusual shape of the ring was unmistakable to its former owner.

John realised his mistake and knew that it was too late now to even hope that the secret could remain hidden. He couldn’t lie to Holmes. He had always been such a poor liar and now that the full powers of the world’s finest detective were turning upon him there was little hope of diffusing the situation with a vague untruth.

Time stood very still for a moment and the two men just looked at each other, unsure of what to say or do next.

“You’ve been with me all evening and you haven’t mentioned Red once. Don’t you think that it should have been the first thing you did when you came into my study? Shouldn’t you have asked me if I knew where she was? Shouldn’t you have enquired about her welfare after clearly giving it so little regard? Don’t you even care about what became of her after you left, leaving her to believe that you were dead?”

“I did not need to ask you, for I know where she is. I found her three days ago. She is with child and married, they have a public house in Kensington. He is unfaithful but I am too late, woefully too late.”

Holmes paused slightly as a connection occurred to him that he had dismissed at the time of discovery, but it now took on a greater significance.

“Her married name is Watson, coincidently.”

John laughed for he couldn’t help himself when faced with such arrogance. For once, Holmes’ theories were all wrong and he was too sure of himself to have even considered any other possibilities.

“Unfaithful! No Holmes, unlike you, Red’s husband would never betray her, not as long as he lives. He would never knowingly hurt her as you did and wouldn’t leave her for anything, or anyone, under any circumstance.”

The silence returned between them but it was obvious from Holmes’ expression that the truth was beginning to dawn upon him. He was re-ordering all the pieces of the puzzle, re-shuffling the cards and drawing a completely different hand. When he finally spoke it was with a cold, determined voice, asking a question for which he now already knew the answer.

“You still haven’t answered my question Watson, why are you wearing my ring?”

“You’re the great detective Holmes, why don’t you tell me?” John retorted.

The two old friends just stared at each other, standing alone in that empty room as the truth forced itself between them, changing the rules of their relationship. John had other priorities now and knew that he had to leave, to reach me before Holmes did.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then turned away from Sherlock Holmes and started running, running out through the door, down the hallway and out of the house into the yard. He could hear footsteps not far behind him; hear his name being called and felt a rising panic reverberate through his body.

He threw open the wooden gate and ran out into the deserted street wondering what to do next. If he went to the hospital he would just lead Holmes straight to me, but how else could he reach me without being followed? What if the truth was as he had always suspected, I still loved Holmes and had only married him because I couldn’t be with the one I wanted most?

He heard Holmes running across the yard towards him and was surprised to find that the person who came to mind in this hour of need was actually his brother. He took off as fast as he could along the street knowing that Holmes wasn’t far behind.

John pushed the key into the lock of the back door of the pub and ran into the hallway closing the door, purposely leaving it unlocked. He called for his brother who came running down the stairs in his nightwear.

“John, it’s the early hours!” he said and was about to complain further about being dragged out of slumber but turned up the light and saw a look of absolute anguish on his brother’s face. “What’s going on?” he asked as John leaned against the stair rail panting.

“Please Ronnie, I need your help. I didn’t know where else to go. He isn’t far behind me, I caught a hansom eventually and lost him but I know he will find a way. Please, you have to help me; I need to reach Red before he does. She’s in danger.”

“Whoa, slow down, you’re not making any sense. Who’s following you?”

“No time to explain but you must keep him here. Do whatever you have to but please keep him here as long as you possibly can.”

“But...”

“Please, if you have any love for me you will do as I ask.”

The two brothers stood together for a few seconds and then footsteps could be heard coming across the yard.

“Go! Quickly! I’ll do as you ask, of course I will,” said Ronnie, as John managed a smile and patted his younger brother affectionately on the shoulder. He then ran through to the front of the building and disappeared out of the main door.

Ronnie was sleepy and bewildered but determined not to let his brother down. He pulled his shotgun from behind the bar and pointed it towards the door not knowing what to expect.

The door burst open and Sherlock Holmes ran into the hallway only to pull up sharply when he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun being held by a man with a very determined expression.

“Not so fast my friend, I’m an honouree Irishman so don’t think I’m not stupid enough to use this.”

“Let me pass, this matter does not concern you.”

“It concerns my family so it concerns me.”

“Who are you?”

“No, I’m sorry but that’s not how this is going to play out. I’m the one with the shotgun, so I’ll be asking the questions, not answering them. Now, are you going to tell me who you are and what you want with my brother, or am I going to have to use this?”

Holmes could see it now and wondered why it not occurred to him before, but then his judgement had always been somewhat impaired when a situation involved me. The family resemblance was quite clear, the thick wavy hair, full lips, strong chin and blue-grey eyes. Holmes understood everything now. The Mr Watson in the bookshop was clearly my brother-in-law, not my husband, and now he stood between Holmes and finding me.

“I am Sherlock Holmes.”

“He’s dead; at least pretend to be someone from the land of the living.”

“Will you please let me pass?”

Holmes rushed at Ronnie and swiftly gripped the gun, trying to pull it from Ronnie’s hand. They wrestled together for a moment and Ronnie managed to pull the weapon free, swinging it round and smashing the butt against Holmes’ head, sending him crashing to the floor unconscious.

Ronnie lifted the stranger over his shoulder and took him down into the cellar then hunted around for some rope. He managed to tie his feet and ankles; then ran back up the cellar steps closing the door behind him, securing the bolts.

He sat with his back against the door and the shotgun on his lap wondering what on earth to do next. At least he had done what had been asked of him and his prisoner wouldn’t be going anywhere. However, in the rush and drama he had forgotten about the trap door used to lower barrels from the street. He also underestimated his adversary.

Chapter Twenty-Two

John got to the hospital too late, I had already left. Pregnancy had done nothing to weaken my willpower and I had managed to fight the sedatives, waking in the early evening. I still felt light-headed but could tell that I was out of danger. A doctor explained to me why I had been admitted, told me about my blood pressure and asked me to stay calm. I remembered nothing of what had happened and was desperate to go home.

The doctor explained that my husband had been sent away and would return in the morning. But I couldn’t wait, I needed to leave and find out what had happened to me. My hands were inexplicably bruised and I had a vague feeling that something in my world had changed but I could not remember what it was. I asked about the baby but the doctor assured me all was well. I promised to rest until morning but, as soon as I was alone again, I pulled on my clothes and left.

Arriving home to an empty house was most unexpected and I couldn’t think where John could possibly be at that time of night. I tried to stay calm and presumed that he was staying with his brother rather than spend the night alone, but felt too anxious to sleep. I lay on our bed trying to remember the events of the last twenty-four hours but saw only flashes of unconnected incidents.

It was almost light when John got home, dawn was breaking and the birds had begun their morning chorus. He saw the light from the bedroom and raced up to find me. I got up to greet him, so relieved to see him but alarmed by his distressed appearance.

“What the hell were you thinking Red? I know you are strong-willed but this is absurd, sneaking out of hospital in the middle of the night, travelling home alone when you are heavily pregnant. Anything could have happened to you, I was terrified, thought someone had taken you. How could you be so stupid?”

John paced the floor of our room drenched in sweat and running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry but you know how much I hate hospitals. I just wanted to come home. I’ve lost a whole day John and I’m really scared. I know something is wrong but I don’t remember what, my mind is all over the place. I couldn’t stay there, last time I was pregnant and found myself in a medical facility I woke up to find my baby flushed from me. The first thing I did when I realised where I was tonight was to touch my stomach and make sure there was no blood, so don’t speak to me like that, I did what I had to do.”

“It was foolish! Don’t you understand?”

He sat on the edge of our bed with his head in his hands. I sat next to him, noticing that his knuckles were bruised.

“What have you done John? What is wrong?”

He turned to face me and he had tears in his eyes. He took my hand in his own.

“Do you remember what I asked you the night we were betrothed?”

“I don’t understand, what has happened to you tonight?”

“I asked you to marry me and I asked you to only say yes if you really meant it, if you truly loved me more than any other, and you knew who I was referring to didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, of course, but...”

“And you said yes but did you really mean it? Am I really the love of your life Red?”

“How can you even ask me that? After all we have been through together. I am your wife John, I’m about to give birth to your child, what more do I have to do to prove my love to you?”

Someone was banging on the front door, hammering it forcibly.

“You are my life Red, the blood in my veins. Please don’t leave me, I beg you.”

The hammering was getting louder and I didn’t understand what was happening. John continued, “I have to tell you something. Please stay calm, think of our child, please. Sherlock Holmes is not dead, he is here and he knows about us. I tried to keep him away but I have failed.”

The hammering stopped and the house fell silent again momentarily. Then we heard the sound of breaking glass. “Please Red, I know this will be a tremendous shock but don’t...”

I heard my name being shouted and the voice was familiar, strangely so. Footsteps started to climb the stairs and John rushed from the room. I rose to my feet and turned towards the door. I heard John shouting and then that familiar voice again, they were arguing. Suddenly, there in the bedroom doorway stood Sherlock Holmes.

There stood someone who had once been my world but was now alien to my new world. The shock was almost physical, painful, impossible to absorb. Part of me was propelled back three years as if everything in between hadn’t happened, yet the rest of me stayed anchored to the present.

He looked different. Older, thinner, with flecks of grey mixed into his otherwise dark hair. His eyes were still bright and full of life, intently staring at me in the same old compelling, penetrative way. A sudden image flashed into my mind, a recall of forgotten events that caused me to gasp and step back in shock. I remembered the old man in the bookshop, those eyes. Now, the lost twenty-four hours came swirling back, like a giant wave overwhelming a tiny vessel.

He started to talk but the words were inaudible to me, like being under water and hearing someone shouting from above the surface. He walked towards me and I recoiled.

John insisted that he leave the house at once but he kept reaching out to me, asking me why. I put my hand on my stomach and tried to calm myself. I couldn’t help thinking of the child I had lost; a situation that I now knew could have been avoided.

I thought Holmes had died heroically trying to save me and the world from an evil man. Now I knew that he had chosen to leave me. I was suddenly full of rage, a furious intense anger which consumed me. I spat at him, shouted and pushed him away from me.

“I lost our child! All for nothing! Your own child, your own flesh and blood.” Hysterical tears rolled down my red cheeks. “I tried to jump into the falls, to be with you, I wanted to die too. I had nothing left. I shot the professor, then tried to jump, but John saved me. How could you do this to me?” I slapped him hard across the face.

He had stopped speaking now and was stunned into silence by what I had just told him.

“Get out!” I screamed. “Get out of my house and stay away from my family.”

I started to push him, trying to force him from the room but he stood immobile like a statue. I slapped his face as hard as I could then threw myself against him, pushing him from the room. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

John tried to restrain me but there was no need because Holmes suddenly rushed out, slamming the bedroom door behind him. We heard his footsteps as he descended the stairs, then the sound of the front door being slammed. I fell into John’s arms and sobbed manically as he held me.