Sherlock Holmes (ex_sherlockh648) wrote in voicesinmyhead, @ 2007-09-05 18:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | prompt #05, sherlock holmes |
Prompt #5: What's your greatest fear?
As a man whose career is as dangerous as my own, one would expect fear as his constant companion. However, my investigative methods leave little in question, thus I am assured its outcome insofar as I am capable before confronting the criminal of his crime.
However, there is something I am loathe to admit that I fear most in the world.
I fear that my faithful friend and companion of the past two decades will abandon me. Yes, I speak of my trustworthy chronicler, my Boswell, Dr. Watson.
Most of my life I have spent alone, yet I was never lonely. Unlike fellow men, I do not feel the need to seek out compatriots. Even though my brother has extended to me the privileges of membership to the Diogenes Club, I feel no need to commune amongst the most unclubbable men in London.
All that changed when I met Watson.
When I sought a roommate to share the flat at Baker Street with, it was purely for financial reasons. My brother Mycroft had been more than generous as to help me when I first set out to carve a niche of my career. However, even with his rising position in the British government, there was only so far money could stretch, and I had outlasted my welcome in my brother's financial pockets.
With earnestness, I had to find lodgings that would be both suitable for my increasingly busy consultation and something I could afford on my own. As I was being booted out of my old lodgings on Montague Street due in part to my penchant for late night sonatas and dabbling in chemical experiments, I had to find a suitable place quickly.
I chanced on the lodgings at Baker Street and realized the locale and layout was perfect for my needs. The sitting room had a good view of the street, it was not far away from my old lodgings, and the neighbourhood, although not quite as affluent as it once was in years gone by, was still considered respectable. The only difficulty was the fact that a second bachelor's room was also for let, and Mrs. Hudson was unwilling to let only one.
I begged Mrs. Hudson to save the rooms for a fortnight and slipped her a few sovereigns to assure her honesty in the deal. I then put my mind at work on my resources. Although I was a friendless sort, I had many acquaintances. I recalled a most sociable fellow I met at St. Bart's who always seemed curious about what he termed my "shenanery." He would obliquely ask about my studies as a means to learning my trade or at least my goal in what he thought haphazard education of the sciences, but when I tried to demonstrate my interest in applying science to the world of crime, Mr. Stamford would roll his eyes and shake his head. Apparently he thought crime fighting as a jester's folly. Considering the arbitrary way in which agencies such as Scotland Yard went about it, I didn't contradict the man.
As a house surgeon and well-liked social climber, Stamford was, I felt, the most suitable candidate to finding a roommate for me. On the New Year of '81, having been kicked out of my old rooms due to the stench of some of my experiments, Stamford wandered in to discover why I was alone in the labs. I told him my tale of woe, and as I knew it would, planted the seed which sprouted fruit for my needs. He found a suitable companion for me that very same day, and by the next thereafter, I had new rooms and a new flat mate.
It was by design that I threw subterfuge upon Watson's attempts at discovering my personal and professional designs. I knew that if I were to keep the man in a state of perpetual confusion about me, when the time came, I could easily do away with my companion and take up the financial burden of both rooms if need be. Until then, I worked on my best behaviour, keeping myself to regular hours and only giving him tantalizing glimpses to my work.
Watson was an inordinately curious creature. He peppered me with questions about my education and knowledge of the world in his attempt to discover what I was about. I loved the games I played with him pretending not to know the nature of the Universe and its celestial bodies. I was most proud of my performance over the ignorance of the importance of Thomas Carlyle, for surely no Briton in his right mind would ever admit to never having read his works.
Obviously the truth was that I know his works well. Many an hour spent between my brother and I would be for debate of Carlyle's theorems and the future of mankind. In fact, the Diogenes Club was not named after Diogenes the Cynic but rather Carlyle's creation, Diogenes Teufelsdröckh. It was Mycroft's assertion that men were lost between the "Everlasting No" and "Everlasting Yea." After all, it was this Diogenes who had developed a contempt for the corrupt condition of modern life. Thus we are all a jumble in the "Centre of Indifference."
How appropriate to reference Carlyle's //Sartor Resartus// in regards to my friendship with Watson! It had been my intention to string my new roommate along until I felt financially secure to take on the responsibility of both rooms. My plan had been to discover Watson's weaknesses and exploit them. Initially I had found the good doctor to be a simple-minded man who accepted everything earnestly. What I hadn't planned was this same earnestness was also his saving grace and greatest asset.
I had decided to reveal my profession to him at last one morning by laying out my published monograph on the subject of observation and deduction. As I knew he would, Watson accepted the bait and was drawn into a debate over my methods. Like his friend Stamford, Watson could see no benefit of my work. By chance, I was able to demonstrate the power of observation. He quickly saw the practicality of it and was genuinely astounded.
It was the first time anyone had truly expressed appreciation of my abilities since that of Old Trevor senior. Certainly my clientele were appreciative for solving their cases, and although Inspector Lestrade would call on me time after time, he never gave me my proper due. Thus I had resigned myself to never seeing accolades for my exertions.
I will admit it, my ego desired more of these simple and obsequious attentions. I brought Watson along in the investigation and discovered how his mind focused my own, for it was his plainness at approaching a problem that steered me toward the answer. I initially utilized him as thus, a whetstone for my mind and a chorus for my triumphs.
In the end, Watson's presence became so much more to me. Now, as then, I cannot form the words I desire to say. I fear that if I put it into words, that which I fear will come to pass. How can I, after all, speak my mind to Watson when I cannot admit it to myself?
I had not planned on feeling this way again for anyone.
Other than my brother, I had formed only one true friendship in my life--that of fellow college student, Victor Trevor. I knew him only briefly, but my feelings for him were of such intensity, I felt as if I had known him my whole life. I was certain the two of us would somehow find our lives entwined by the chain of serendipitous circumstance that brought us together. It was an incredible shock when in a moment's notice things changed so drastically between us.
After the death of his father, my friend Trevor had taken advantage of my feelings for him, and when a fellow student discovered our impropriety, we were both thrown out of university. He blamed me for not only the loss of his education, but his father's death as well, and he went away to India never to be seen or heard from again.
I had vowed never to allow myself to become prey to my softer emotions again. For years Watson and I lived under the same roof, and I vehemently denied that I had any feelings for Watson other than that of assistant and partner. Yet when Watson told me he had fallen in love with Mary Morstan, I behaved badly. I had known even before then that Watson was drifting away from me. I had taken up my vile and syringe and escaped into my drug-induced dreams, further wedging the rift between us.
I cannot say that I do not feel a pang of guilt when I remember that Watson became a bachelor once more because of me. His home life was in tatters, and I was solely to blame. I had put too many demands on my friend to be by my side. In the end, it broke his marriage in two. He is not officially divorced, for such a thing would not be possible as it was not Mrs. Watson who had committed adultery. Although I could well afford to pay for such legalities, Watson would never accept it, nor would he drag our names through the mud-slinging that would surely ensue once the court date were made to the papers. Like Mr. Wilde, the truth would ring out far too clearly, and Watson and I would have found ourselves breaking rocks along side the once-respected author and editor.
So instead Watson and I have agreed to a half-life. I am here at this hotel at his behest. I doubt that I would have come if my older brother alone had requested it. It was my fear of losing him yet again that drove me back to my old habits. Watson confronted me with an ultimatum: submit myself to Dr. Agar's care and rid myself of this demon or I shan't see him again.
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