Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend.

By Alia

Disclaimer: The characters depicted below do not belong to me.

Summary: Watson farewells his friend and lover.

Rating: PG

Warning: Angst. No happy endings.

Author's Notes: This ficlet was written for the slash 100 live journal community. Prompt #3 Ends. This story is also unbetaed and contains Australian spelling. If you find a mistake please feel free to point them out it to me.

Comments: Are welcome and can be sent to


History records that foreseeing an end to his career Sherlock Holmes retired quietly to the country to raise bees. For the most part this is true, what history does not explain however is that the decision to send Holmes to Sussex had been my own, not his. Now though, with more than a decade passed and my own place in history drawing to a close it is best I believe that I finally set the record right.

It was perhaps the cruellest twist of fate that at a time in our lives when Holmes and I should have been enjoying the rewards of our long friendship his craft and capacity for enjoyment was torn from his control.

Having spent so many years in general practice I was not completely inexperienced with matters of the declining psych, and yet my initial reaction to Holmes's failing mental health was one of abject fear. Fear for his safety and reputation. Fear that left me as incapacitated as he, and for a time I could do little more than suffer his torment along side him as I mourned the future we had planned together. As weeks became months one element of the situation became blatantly clear to me -- London was no longer safe for him and it was with an already breaking heart that I decided to send my love away in the hope that he might recover his physical wellbeing at least

In retrospect I know I had little choice in the matter. Although Holmes's body had been protesting his years of self abuse for some time, the deterioration of his mind had manifested suddenly and with no regard it seemed for the price we would both ultimately pay.

Certainly there were days when Holmes was his old self, full of his usual passion and grace and then there were others when the simplest tasks became too much - when leaving him alone with a lit cigarette risked burning Baker Street to the ground, or when he would forget that we were lovers, shunning all displays of affection as if my touch caused him great pain.

I despaired in the darkest of hours, holding him gently in my arms when he recalled enough of our lives together to allow it and preying alone in my room for a miracle that I knew would never come when he did not.

In the end I made the necessary arrangements. I found comfortable lodgings for him and a kind and caring woman to see to his needs. I visited every weekend for the first year and then once a month for the remaining years when it became evident that my presence made no difference to his health and disturbed what little peace he had found.

It was best, kinder I realised during our most recent visit to end our times together then and there than to have him confused and fearful. I had loved him for so long that farewells were not necessary. All that need be said between us had been expressed and understood long ago and there was no need to repeat any of it. Holmes was safe and I had my memories, journals and dream that one day we would meet again.



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