~continued from last post.
The stage is set. The curtain rises. Sherlock
Holmes is facing his arch nemesis, Professor Moriarty. Twists and turns,
ally-ways and by-ways /all/ of them reach to the Reichenbach Falls. The flight,
the fight…and finally, the Fall. Watson is there, side-lined, left out of act,
watching; horror-stricken to see his master, companion, friend, lover who is left
to fall over into the dark, watery death. Watson, the Heart, whose past wounds
were healed to perfection by his perfect partner was left once more, crippled and
broken. Of course! That man has a goddamn wife, doesn’t he?!! The fellow who
fell off the waterfall was just his best mate, stuff like that happens people,
get on with your lives…! The show’s over folks, thanks for coming! Now skedaddle
off to wherever you’ve come from. Doyle Doyle Doyle…. How you have changed.
The pen was set down and the last novel was
published. ‘Sherlock Holmes is dead!’ said the newspapers… ‘No more detective
stories’; ‘no more adventures for Holmes and Watson’; ‘the curtain is down in
Baker Street’….. Maybe I should put on my cape and take the next train to
Sussex, for retirement. Maybe Watson /did/ think to leave London once and for
all; for what’s the use of staying in
a place where you could /never/ escape your memories? His laughter, his gentle
manners… how can he run away from the soft heart Sherlock only ever showed to
his John, his Boswell, his biographer? Watson could die while drowning in grief.
He could only scream at the injustice that has befallen him. How can the
creator be so much like the devil? How can anyone ever just /think/ of letting
his Holmes die like that?!??
Can you not see the hurt John felt when
Doyle did what he did? Can you not see how miserable things become when ego
gets in the way? Oh I think you /can/ see. Not just see; I think you are slowly
starting to wish that this story didn’t take such a horrendous turn. But then
you saw how such things can happen. In our last discussion we saw how fear of
being slandered and ridiculed by others can make us stop in our tracks and give
up from following our dreams. Our narrator is exactly like us, he too came to this
murky pond of despondence, and was lost in narcissistic thoughts about allowing
pride and ego clinch the victory. For once in our story, evil had overrun good.
The table has turned.
‘Good’ was let down, thrown over a waterfall. The light
was out, darkness has fallen. Pages were torn, and documents burned. Lovers were
separated; and hearts that were once tenderly sewn together, stitch by stitch, were
ripped, torn apart. For over a decade, things that should never have been
forgotten, were lost.
But as always, when things become overrun
by darkness, there comes the East wind. Strong and destructive, it wreaks havoc
in a land plagued by wrong-doing and evil. So it was for our rather ‘lost’
narrator. He has followed the wrong arrows and had ended up in a deep well that
was dug up due to his own choices. So it was up to the East wind to whirl him
back up into light and push him towards the right direction. He was /asking/
for a good ass-kicking and such a reaction was coming his way. It was coming his
way extremely strong and powerful. It was coming to get him and shake him right
down to his bones. The people were rising. One by one, they began to stand
around the two people who seemed to /belong/ to each other in a very strange
way. They were separated by their ‘creator’ and it was /not/ right. In every
way possible, it was /wrong/. Doyle, you’d better bring Holmes back to his
Watson…
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