Mary was there, so he turned to the window and made sure his reflection showed no sign of the impact of Clarkie's news, imagination playing the possibilities before his eyes. Watson, staying to guard the machine. Watson, faced with Moriarty. Watson, found with a small-caliber bullet in his head and powder burns on his eyebrows. For the first time he blessed the explosion at the slaughterhouse. If those shoulder wounds hadn't begun to bleed again from the exertion of fighting the Dredger, Watson might not be trying to chase Gladstone at this very moment.

He'd dance at the wedding. Gladly.