(back to Part 4)
* * *
“I am having those dreams, you know”, I say slowly, as he finally loosens his firm grip on me and sinks back against the pillow. His eyes are following my every move, as I bend to his feet to take off his shoes.
“No, old chap”, I say, as he starts to protest. “Let me at least return this favour. And pray, make yourself a bit more comfortable, will you? It is time for your mind and body to have a little rest.”
I undo his tie and open his collar; I lift his feet to position them on the mattress; I take the blanket and cover him up to his chin. Numerous times he has rendered those services to me, especially during my darker hours, when I had been weak, vulnerable, sick and tired. Now it is my turn.
“I’m sorry, Holmes”, he finally says, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “I must have mistaken the room…”
“That’s all right”, I assure him and try my best to smile. I know very well that he is not telling the truth, that he has come here absolutely on purpose. By means that have not much to do with logic and deductions I understand that he had chosen my bedroom to be able to feel himself closer to me. Maybe he had just wanted to sit here for a while before retiring for the night. I know these things, because I would have done the same.
I clear my throat and point to an armchair in the corner. “Would you mind to bear my company for a couple of additional minutes?” I am now setting sail for a long overdue conversation. “It is actually a little bit lonely out there.”
“Please, go on”, he replies, trying a half-smile. “Just make yourself at home.”
“You are indeed obliging, doctor”, I retort, as I understand that he is obviously trying to lighten the mood. I pull the chair close to the bed, make myself as comfortable as the situation allows and just behold his face for a while. I would have never believed that I could miss the man, any man, so much!
He returns my glance. “You… are having dreams?”, he finally ventures.
“Oh, yes.” This is not going to be easy for me, but I owe him the truth.
“Every single night. I am crouching down in my hideout at the Reichenbach Falls, and I am watching you coming to look for me. You are examining the surroundings, you are calling my name, you are finally finding and reading my letter. You are so very near. I want to stand up and open my mouth to make you notice me. But I am unable to make the slightest move. I want to shout, but I cannot produce any sound. You are finally going away, and I cannot reach you. You are out of sight. I am falling. I am falling down the Falls.”
I am suddenly finding it hard to steady my voice. At some point I must have closed my eyes, because as I now look up, I see his eyes fixed on me with an intense and utterly amazed gaze.
***
I decide I’d better continue talking as long as I still dare to do so. After a few deep breaths I take (figuratively spoken) the plunge into the dephts of openness.
“My brother Mycroft…”, I begin, slowly, measuring every word. “I have already told you about the way he is leading his life. Secluded. Without much contact to the public. The impersonated enigma. Few people know about the relation between him and me. Remember how long it had taken even you to find out that I have a brother.
Now, when I understood the urgency for me to obtain the funds for my exile, I contacted him. He had the means to provide for me – not only regarding the money, but also regarding the logistics. After all, he has the British Government behind him. I also thought his lifestyle and his position might render – per definitionem – some sort of protection against any possible schemes of Moriarty’s henchmen, should they find out that I was still alive. So I wrote to him instead of you.”
Watson is watching me. He does not interrupt me, but he has started to look more at ease, much more himself.
“When you accompanied me to Switzerland, three years ago”, I continue, “I soon began to scent the danger that surrounded us. And I knew I was not the only target person, meanwhile. By bringing you along, I had endangered your life severely, and I almost could not endure this thought. On our way to the Falls, when this presumed messenger came to lure you away from me, I did not doubt for a minute, that this had been Moriarty’s work. And I was more than glad to get you out of the line of fire.
You know what happened, then. I decided to dissappear. From my hidden place at the Falls I watched you… and, believe me, it had been the hardest thing I had ever done and I’ll ever do to let you go away without any sign that I was still alive. Not very much unlike my dream – the difference being the fact that maybe my body would have allowed me to call out for you… but not my conscience! By that time I had promised myself that I would not let you become a target person for Moriarty’s men. I know you would not have let me go on my own if you knew I was alive. So I had you rather believing me dead than being in any further danger on my behalf.”
He has closed his eyes now, wiping his face with his right hand. I anxiously hope that when he will look at me again, I will be able to read from his features, that he has not only forgiven me – but that he now also understands me. Otherwise I should see myself liable to dip in even deeper emotional waters – and that would be something quite outside my ususal range of experience.
(Part 6/7)
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