Dr. John H. Watson

December 26th, 2021


*WARNINGS for Suicide themes

Five years have passed.

I apologize in advance for the undoubtedly incoherent entry I am about to write.

As it is… I don't want to do this.

It is beyond painful to relive those last weeks in 2016. If it weren't for the absurd rumours which are now trending I wouldn't even consider it.

Sherlock Holmes is dead, and nothing good can come out of lying to ourselves.

I have to say I don't appreciate the poorly taken pictures and videos people send me to "prove" me wrong. I was there.

The lack of official statements about the bizarre circumstances that surrounded the weeks before and after his passing might have contribute to the now worldwide fantasy, if not delusion many of you so desperately want to believe in.

It may sound harsh, but my intention is not to offend any of you. Writing this, the last entry I will ever write, it's my contribution to honour his memory. And all of us who really believe in him and cared for him, would do well in emulating his dedication to logic and reason.

This is why, as one of the few eye-witnesses to those chaotic days, I feel the responsibility to try and elucidate what happened then.

Enough time has passed.

Now... I feel the need to remark that I haven't written anything at all in these past years and I'm afraid I don't want to go over this text more than once.

That being said... I suppose not many of you could have forgotten the sudden attacks perpetrated against four of England's most secured buildings in the space of two days in the summer of 2016. The inhuman manslaughter at the Ministry of Defence, and the cybernetic breaches in Pentonville Prison, the Bank of England, and of course the Tower of London, the day afterwards.

The public uproar and the political fallout is not our concern here, but the tragic clash they generated between the most dangerous criminal association and the foremost champion of the law of our generation.

The reason behind those sudden attacks, though it was never made public, was deduced by my best friend almost immediately. I have no need to go back to the notes I took back then, those couple of days are etched in my memory and they haunt me still. It was after our breakfast, at the request of his brother Mycroft, that we arrived to the Ministry of Defence only moments after a man and a woman had killed their way up to the roof, stolen a helicopter and shoot at an office from it. Sherlock realized it had been a rescue mission by observing a drop of blood at the entrance of the building and the pattern of the bullet holes in the office.

After a little inquiry we came to know that a couple of hours before agents from the Ministry of Defence had captured a highly trained terrorist leader called Morpheus, and had been questioning him when his men came for him.

What caught Sherlock's attention was that three people who had nothing to do with anything; a taxi driver, a security guard and a police officer who were working near an abandoned factory where this man was captured, were found dead at the Ministry, precisely in the same office were the interrogation was taking place. Sherlock had some theories about their presence there, I'm sure, but unfortunately he didn't share them with me, and despite my best efforts to uncover the truth that fact will forever remain a mystery.

He managed to find a pattern to the locations this terrorists group used as hideouts, and sent his backup to scout those places with the generous help of Scotland Yard. It was in one of them, at the corner of Ainger Rd. and Meadowbank st. where we had our first glimpse of them.

You have all seen the videos by now. About their incredible speed and strength, and their extravagant attire. I can attest to those. Morpehus' capture clearly changed their PR viewpoints. Whereas they were almost unknown to the public before that day, now you would be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn't heard about them (although I'm appalled by how many people actually believe they are some kind of heroes, or some soldiers on a crusade, and I mean you, Harry, stop sending me "proof" that they can "fly").

The night Sherlock went looking for them was clear and dry, an anomaly in the month of September, and he didn't come back. I was worried, of course, he had barely slept or eaten the previous week. Even for him that was going too far. Not to mention these were dangerous people we were pursuing. When he finally arrived he barely spoke a word before two men came for him. To this date I'm not sure who were they or where did they take him. Sherlock went with them willingly, going so far as to assure me everything was fine, that it was a prearranged meeting, but I could tell something was wrong.

You can imagine then, what I felt when D.I. Lestrade called me and told me they had caught Moriarty in the Tower of London after the Break-ins, and that he had written "Get Sherlock" on the unbreakable glass before smashing it. It hit me like a lightning bolt. Sheer dread pooled in the bottom of my stomach as it wasn't until that moment that I realized the seriousness of the situation. Sherlock had told me once that in Moriarty, he had met an antagonist who was his "intellectual equal". I, myself, had witnessed beforehand Moriarty's sick obsession with him. The idea that a man like that could be in league with these extremely lethal terrorists was terrifying. I made my way to the crime scene and reviewed the security videos.

I returned to the flat a couple hours later barely reigning in my panic, to find Sherlock passed out in his bed. Maybe I should have let him sleep. That day was a roller-coaster of emotions. I was on the phone with Mycroft when I found him, and he immediately came to talk to him.

I shouldn't have left them alone.

I made a lot of mistakes those days. And the first one was trusting Sherlock to take care of himself. To know when to ask for help. To know he could count on us. To know he could count on me.

I asked Mycroft multiple times what they discussed that afternoon.

"I offered him help and he refused it," has been his invariable answer.

After that day he never came back to the flat.

He still kept in touch with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft and I by texting and I was always trying to catch up to him. But tracking Sherlock Holmes in London is an impossible endeavour, even if you have Scotland Yard's finest backing you up.

Lestrade and Molly met with Mrs. Hudson and I in Baker Street a week later. I don't know which one of us looked worse for wear. Of course Mycroft was "too busy" to come.

"Does he answer any of your calls?" Molly was the first to broach the subject.

Lestrade shook his head.

"Oh, that foolish boy," said Mrs Hudson expressing, I think, what we all felt, "I thought he'd knew better now, that to take off by himself!"

"He's only trying to protect us, I think," said Molly.

"He's not sure he'll attend Moriarty's trial," said Lestrade, shaking his head with incredulity, "he is the key witness in the Trial of the Century, and he is not sure he'll attend or not".

"Has Moriarty said anything?" I asked Lestrade.

"No. He lawyered up as soon as he was in custody. We're still gathering evidence. Sherlock's helping us," admitted the detective, "from afar."

"But, what's he doing out there?" Said Mrs. Hudson, clearly upset.

"He's hiding." I said without thinking. I had to elaborate after the pause that followed. "The people Moriarty is working with are really good hackers. And I think…"

What I thought then, and still think now, is that Mycroft overprotectiveness was the real danger. Mycroft had… a lot of tools at his disposal to watch over Sherlock. And maybe those same tools could be used, and were used against him. That is the only reason I can think of for Mycroft not making a real effort in tracking and helping his brother.

Our gathering was interrupted however by a call. Lestrade took the call after an apologetic glance at us. "Mycroft?" His expression became horrified. "What!?" He looked at us in bewilderment. "I'll be right there."

When he hanged up he said what has to be the most surreal thing I have ever heard "Sherlock broke Moriarty out of prison".

That part was never made public either. If I remember correctly the media had a field day against Scotland Yard and the lack of security feed in the cell blocks. But there was a security feed.

The video showed Sherlock, clad in an uniform, entering the cell block and Moriarty perking up in his seat.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what do you think you're doing?" You can picture his voice if you imagine a grown man trying to imitate a 10-year-old bully.

Sherlock advanced until he had his back to the camera and whispered something to him. Whatever he said made Moriarty lose his stupid smile and grow serious.

"Explain," he said.

Sherlock apparently did. Why he chose an evil mastermind to his friends to tell what was going on, it's something I will never understand. It took some minutes before they both grew silent, looking intently into each other's eyes, Sherlock daring him to not believe him and Moriarty… gauging his honesty I suppose.

"Get me out of here." Moriarty said it as a challenge. I could almost hear the If what you say is true…

And Sherlock did. He had the keys in his pocket. He opened the cell and let him walk away.

I couldn't believe my eyes. And for a second I doubted everything I had ever believed in. Sherlock stopped texting us, except maybe Mycroft (he is an expert in neither confirming nor denying anything). That, I think was the hardest week of my life. And as an ex-field surgeon I don't say that lightly.

It ended of course with the double suicide.

I received a text from Sherlock that day asking me to come to the Hospital where Molly worked.

I rushed there hoping he was going to let me in on his investigations. But when I got there, and was about to enter, he called me and told me to go back some steps, and to look up. He was on the roof of the Hospital, his figure clear in spite of the distance.

I was scared stiff.

He said it was his note. That that was what people did. They leave a note.

He apologized. He said that he couldn't leave Moriarty to his own devices. That it was obvious he had planned to be caught. But that he had found a way to take care of him. That it was alright, now. He would never bother anyone ever again.

He thanked me for our partnership, he bid me farewell. And then he jumped off of the building.

I saw him fall.

I searched in vain for his pulse.

Sherlock Holmes is death.

And I didn't tell him how much I owed him. How much he had given me. He'd saved me. And I couldn't help him.

Little else is there to say.

They found Moriarty's body in the rooftop of the building. Forensics proved he had shoot himself with his gun.

I am convinced that Sherlock fed Moriarty a lie about a double crossing that the terrorist cell was going to make. To get him to kill himself. To free the world of his machinations. I have no proof, of course, but I believe Sherlock was under duress. He had known too much. He discovered something too big and they made him kill himself. Under what threat I do not know. And yes, I know how I sound. But the terrorist cell is real, you have seen the videos and not all of them are fake. Sherlock is not alive. And his killers are still out there.

I've had five years to mourn him and I still haven't gotten past anger.

I am angry. And rightfully so, I believe. The Government has been downplaying the reach this terrorist organization has in our society, trying to make it seem as if Moriarty had been the center of it all. Convenient for them he is dead, there is nothing to worry about, now. That is a lie. And if it's the last thing I do I will make sure everyone knows who were really responsible for Sherlock Holmes' death.