'My Dearest Holmes' is a novel of two halves. Part I, entitled 'A Discreet Investigation',
tells the story of an unconventional client's search for her missing companion – a quest
that Sherlock Holmes embarks on with enthusiasm and solves with relative ease. The
denoument of the case, however, has less to do with the resolution of Miss Anne
D'Arcy's dilemma than with Watson's admission, forced out of him by the circumstances
of the investigation, of his feelings for the great detective and his determination to seek a
'marriage of convenience' in order to protect them both from suspicion and scandal.
Part II, entitled 'The Final Problem' and set three years later, follows the same sequence
of events as the original Conan Doyle story of that name (in which Holmes plunges to
his death over the Reichanbach Falls in Switzerland, locked in the arms of his arch-
enemy Professor Moriarty) and carries the reader forward to the events of 'The Adventure
Of The Empty House' in which Doyle, finally bowing to public pressure, 'resurrects' his
hero and returns him to 221B Baker Street and to a conveniently-widowed Watson. In
other words, my version of 'The Final Problem' is an attempt to give an alternative
explanation for the fabled 'Great Hiatus'.
Those of you familiar with the original stories will recognise the setting of this extract,
in which Holmes and Watson, having excaped Moriarty's gang in London, travel across
France and Belgium towards Switzerland. My conceit, however, is that Conan Doyle
failed to disclose the real reason for their flight: Moriarty's threat to expose Watson's
homosexual lifestyle and bring down upon him the full rigour of the 1885 Criminal Law
Amendment Act - the same law under which Oscar Wilde was to be convicted and
sentenced to imprisonment with hard labour just a few years later.
I will therefore state here very briefly that we sailed for the Continent not from Dover as we had
intended, but from Newhaven, having abandoned our scheduled train, and our luggage with it, at
Canterbury to put Moriarty off our trail. Accordingly we arrived, not at Paris as Moriarty anticipated, but at Dieppe, whence we made our way to Brussels. There I despatched a telegram to Mary. I did not impart anything concerning the alarming circumstances of my departure; I merely stated 'Have been whisked away to the Continent for a short holiday. Do prolong your visit if convenient. Will let you know how things progress. S H sends regards'. I deduced that knowing whom I was with, she would be less likely to worry if my stay were prolonged or if there were any unexpected developments.
After two days in Brussels we moved on to Strasbourg. There Holmes received a telegram
informing him that Moriarty had slipped the net. The police had secured the whole gang with the
exception of him. Holmes was furious.
'Of course, when I left the country there was no one left to cope with him,' he snapped, hurling the
telegram into the grate, much to the astonishment of our fellow diners in the hotel salle-a-manger. 'But I did think I had put the game in their hands.'
I watched him anxiously, crumbling a piece of bread roll between my finger and thumb. He had
been as tense as a coiled spring for the last three days, and I feared an extreme reaction.
'Where do you think he is?' I asked.
'On our trail. It will only be a matter of time before he catches up with me. And with you. I think
that you had better return to England, Watson.'
'Why? I thought you wanted me to stay here until after the trial. I thought you said I would be safer
over here.'
'And so you would, if Moriarty were in police custody. Then his only channel of revenge would be
the attempted ruin of your reputation from the witness box. As it is, however, he is after bigger fish; he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself on me. He said as much in our short interview, and I fancy he meant it. I think, my dear friend, that you would be safer away from my company.'
I stared at him across the table. He avoided my gaze.
'How could you think that I would leave you in danger?' I whispered.
Holmes looked sideways at the approaching waiter.
'Now Watson, be logical, there's a good fellow. Let us discuss this seriously over dinner. It looks as
if they keep an excellent cellar here; what would you say to a bottle of Chateau Lafite?'
We argued the question over dinner for nearly two hours. I was determined that nothing would
persuade me to leave him. I cannot for the life of me recall what we ate, but I vividly remember the mingled taste in my mouth of wine and panic. The claret was very red; I remember turning the thin stem of the glass in my hand. Holmes was logical and gentle; he did not try to bully me. I think – I am sure – that my devotion touched him, in spite of himself. He said that he regretted ever having involved me in the business; he said that he would have me on his conscience if I did not leave for England immediately; that my presence would in any case hinder him from achieving the only goal left to him. But I remained adamant, and the same night we had resumed our journey and were well on the way to Geneva. There was a fanatical look in his eyes, however, and an edge to his voice when he spoke of 'the only goal left to him', which disturbed me more than his danger, or mine.
I need hardly say that I will never forget the week we spend wandering up the valley of the Rhone,
over the Gemmi Pass and on through Interlaken. 'A charming week', I think I called it in my published account. The beauty of our surroundings made an idyllic setting for a leisurely walking holiday; the little hotels that we patronised were clean, friendly and discreet. How often had I dreamed of such a week with Holmes, such leisure, such privacy, such scenery. We wandered among vineyards and orchards, with the slopes of the mountains rising almost sheer above us, the snow-capped heights dappled with sunlight and shadow as the clouds moved over the sky. In the evenings we would dine quietly, usually in a small hotel salle-a-manger overlooking the river. At night we would lie awake and talk into the small hours; in the morning we would breakfast on coffee and hot croissants, and then set off once more into the fresh delight of a spring day. I was of course painfully aware that the circumstances were far from ideal; and Holmes' constant references to the fact that he would cheerfully bring his career to a conclusion if he could be assured that society was free of Professor Moriarty both alarmed and puzzled me. Behind his single-minded eagerness I sensed an element of self-destruction.
I tried to make light of his obsession and to encourage him to do the same. 'You are so vain,
Holmes,' I remarked one night, when he had concluded a little speech to the effect that the air of
London was the sweeter for his presence, and that if his record were closed that night he would be able to survey it with equanimity. 'I think you have a tendency to view yourself in an almost Messianic light. You just want to go out in a blaze of glory. What good will that do for us ordinary mortals? You seem to think that Moriarty is unique, but I would be willing to wager that his chair would not remain vacant for so very long; and then, shy and self-effacing as you are, I think you would be coaxed out of retirement with very little persuasion.'
I spoke into the darkness, gazing up at the faint pallor of the ceiling. I heard the creak of his
bedsprings as he made a quick, annoyed movement, and turning my head could dimly see his outline, propped upon one elbow, looking across at me.
'You refuse to grasp the reality of the situation, Watson,' he said, 'Moriarty is unique, because of his
genius.'
'Ah yes, a genius that is matched only by your own. You are vain, Holmes.'
'I am not vain,' he snapped. 'I am merely stating the facts. There is no virtue in false modesty,
Watson. I know that I am the only man alive who can match him. I am being quite truthful when I say that to overcome him would be the pinnacle of my career; and that I would count not only my career, but my life well spent in the process.'
I felt my throat constrict.
'Don't be ridiculous, Holmes. Supposing you were to lose your life and he to keep his? You said he
was your equal. There is no need to take senseless risks.'
'But for the good of society, Watson. And there are always risks.'
'Society can go to hell!' I said with a ferocity that surprised us both. 'This is a personal contest
between you and him, and you couldn't care less what happens to society or to – anyone else. You are just obsessed with the need to best him. It's transparent.'
'Absolute rubbish, Watson,' he snapped, and turned away from me, pulling the sheets up over his
ears. I stared, as I often stared, across the space between our two beds, at the outline of the hump he made under the blankets and the shock of black hair upon the pillow; and took several deep breaths to calm myself.
'Holmes, can't you grasp the simple fact that I fear for your safety?' I said as steadily as I could into
the darkness.
'I am quite capable of looking after myself,' came the muffled, dignified reply.
'No, you are not. You are under too much mental strain. You are not well, Holmes. I can see it.
You are just in the state to throw yourself into unnecessary danger.'
'Don't try to nursemaid me, Doctor. I can assure you that I neither need nor want it.'
The words hung between us in the silence that followed. I spoke again as soon as I could.
'I need you, though. Don't you ever think about me, Holmes? Or has Moriarty eclipsed everything?'
I heard him turn over. I remained staring at the ceiling.
'You don't need me, Watson. You are doing perfectly well without me.'
After the briefest of pauses, I said quietly, 'What makes you think that?'
'I deduce it,' he said, 'from your style of living.'
'What do you mean?'
He did not reply. His silence made me angry.
'You know perfectly well,' I said bitterly, 'that I married for convenience, and to protect your
reputation as well as mine.'
'My reputation can speak for itself, thank you.'
I sat up angrily in bed and turned towards him. I spoke clearly and painfully into the space between
us.
'All right then,' I said, 'I married to protect you from me. Is that satisfactory? I married because I
could not go on as we were. And you act as if I deserted you unreasonably. You talk as if I were
wallowing in domestic bliss. You are surely aware that Mary and I enjoy a purely friendly relationship. Is that the way of life that you so much object to? Do you deduce from this that I have no need for your friendship?'
I waited, counting the seconds. Not since before my marriage had I spoken so frankly. His reply,
when it came, took me completely by surprise.
'I was not referring,' he said, 'to your marriage.'
I let myself fall back onto the pillow, and lay quite still. I felt the room spin in the darkness. It was
a long time before I could think of anything to say.
'You are mad,' I said at last.
'On the contrary, it is a perfectly logical deduction.'
'You think that I keep other company because I prefer it to yours?'
'I think that you have chosen according to your priorities.'
I gasped, and turned to look at him once more. He was still staring at the ceiling.
'And what incentive can you offer me to change this way of living that you despise so much? Do
you think that your own is any more healthy? Cocaine, ambition, obsession?'
He was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, 'You ask the impossible.'
'And so do you!'
I turned my face away from him. My cheek was wet against the pillow. His selfishness, his
childishness, overwhelmed me. His twisting of the facts convinced me that he was in an unbalanced
and paranoid state of mind. I heard him settle down to sleep. There was nothing more to say, it
seemed. All the same, I had to have the last word.
'I don't know why we continue to torture each other,' I said. 'I sometimes think that it would be
better if we never saw each other again.'
There was no reply, only the steady sound of his breathing. It was too late to bite out my tongue.
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