"When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you,
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too~"
16th of May, 1891
Watson had planned to stay with me in 221B Baker Street for some days, for I was still affected by the news of Sherlock Holmes' death. He said that he could not just make me have to deal with this loss all by myself. I was very grateful for this offer he made, for I feared I still wasn't able to live a life by my own under these circumstances.
Every day seemed to melt and blurred into the next day, so in this monotony it's hard for me to now tell how many days we were together in Baker Street before another sad incident tore up another wound in the already afflicted soul of my friend Dr. John Watson. It was a dull, foggy day, and the shade of destiny figuratively seemed to hang over everything already early in the morning. I had thought that one could not possibly have darker a life than we had had recently. But I was terribly wrong...
For in the morning of that rainy Saturday, about an hour after breakfast, I heard Watson call out to me: "Rebecca, I think there's someone at our door!" He was right, and if he hadn't pointed it out, I probably would not have noticed it at all. I went to open, and was handed a telegram addressed to the doctor. I brought it up to him, and while ascending the stairs, I wondered what it might contain. Who in the world would send him a telegram- to the Baker Street adress?
His wife Mary was, how I quite certainly knew, the only one being aware of his current but temporary residence in 221B. So, the message was most probably from her, and so it was none of my business what it said. Yet I wondered whether she minded his staying with me. I hoped not. I always had liked her, so naturally I would want her to like me too. Dr. Watson had invited me over for dinner with them a few times, and I always had gotten along well with Mary.
I reached his doorstep, and softly knocked on the door. "Come in.", he replied, and I stepped in. He was sitting at the desk, and had obviously been reading a book which now lay open upon the desk. "Here. It's for you." I said, putting the envelope in his held out hand. He thanked me and I was about to leave the room again, when suddenly he called my name. I turned around, and looked at him. His face was deadly pale, and he told me, with an trembling voice, the content of the telegram:
Mary had been away visiting some relatives when he had departed for Switzerland and she had also stayed with them during Watson's absence. And now she obviously had become dangerously ill, and of course he was summoned to come at once.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave." He apologized as I handed him the time table from a sideboard, because I assumed it would be best that he would take the next train, as soon as possible. As he studied it, I could perceive the expression in his blue eyes very well. I had only seen this one look on his face once before: on the very day they left for Switzerland.
He was so worried as one could be- naturally.
Then he finally had found a train which would depart in about forty-five minutes. We had to hurry but we would quite surely make it.
In the utmost haste I ran downstairs, put on my hat and went outside to call for a cab while Dr. Watson packed the few most important things and then followed me outside. He ordered the driver to take us to the station and promised him a sovereign if he would make it in time for the 10:30 train. It was one of the fastest rides in a cab that I ever witnessed. And indeed, the train had not left the station yet as we reached our destination. Hurriedly, Watson gave the promised money to the driver and advised him to wait.
We both ran towards the platform, but before entering the train, the doctor turned around again. "I'm sorry that you'll be alone again now. But you see..."
I had to cut him off: "Of course. Rest assured that I fully understand, I really do- and anyway, I'll be fine on my own. Thanks for staying the last days. And I really wish the best for Mary, I hope she'll be alright!", I answered as he squeezed my hand softly as a goodbye. He nodded and then climbed into the wagon. As the train departed, I stood still for a few moments and watched until it disappeared around a bend.
I felt my heart clench, as I thought of how happy Watson was with Mary. It would be the most terrible thing if anything happened to her. After all events that had clouded a light-hearted life lately, another stroke of a malevolent fate would completely destroy the little that was left to brighten up these days. With a worried expression, I returned to where the cabman had been waiting and then was on my way home again. I descended at Baker Street and paid the driver, then walked back into the house.
What if Watson would be too late? What if...