Chapter XXIII

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A New Adventure

"Come!  Watson, come!  The game is afoot!"

The familiar summons woke me from a strange dream and I looked up blearily to see the tall, shadowy figure of Holmes standing over me holding a candle.

"Holmes?" I groaned.  "What time is it?"

"Time to go, my dear.  Come, take my hand for the game is once more afoot!"

I could see his hand before me but I was still groggy with sleep and there was an odd buzzing sound in my head.  "What is it?" I asked.

"Hush!  Quickly!  Give me your hand, my dear, for we must be off!  A glorious new adventure awaits!"

"Oh, Holmes, ring the Yard!" I muttered crossly, more than half asleep.  "We are both much too old for this kind of nonsense!"

"The Yard can not avail us in this matter.  Now not another word, into your clothes and come!" he demanded in his imperious way.

However, as I tried to rise the buzzing in my head grew louder and I felt as though I had a morning head, although I knew that that was impossible as I was a moderate drinker and had imbibed no more than two glasses of port the previous night.  I tried to reach out to him but my hand seemed to be moving very slowly and I felt as though I was swimming through treacle.

"Quickly, John!  Take my hand!"

The urgency of his demand galvanised me into action, so I made a determined effort to get out of bed, wondering what could possibly be wrong.  As I sat up Holmes firmly grasped both my hands, literally pulling me from the bed and into his arms.

"Thank God!" he whispered fervently in my ear, crushing me against him.

"Holmes, what is it?  What's happened?" I demanded in some alarm, but even as I asked I knew that something was very wrong for I felt strangely different in a way that I could not immediately define.

My dear one was holding me closely and I knew well the familiar feel of him.  I also knew that in the last few years and despite my best efforts Holmes had progressively lost weight until he was little more than skin and bone.  And yet the body that I held now was slender, not bony, and supple with lean musculature, like it had been when we were both much younger men.

In complete wonder I gazed at my dear friend - really studying him - and beheld the most beautiful and astonishing sight that I had ever seen!  Gone were the lines of age and in their place was the smooth, tight flesh of youth.  His enormous grey eyes held a twinkle in their depths and thick dark brown hair fell softly onto his forehead.  His lips were firm and full with the pinkness of youth, a subtle hint of a smile in their turned-up corners.  It occurred to me that he appeared even younger and more handsome than when first we had met.

Abruptly, I noticed my own body and I pulled back in order to examine myself.  Gone was the pot belly that I had developed in recent years and in its place was the firmness of my university days.  At that moment I noticed my hands and they, too, were the hands of a young man, totally devoid of the wrinkled and spotted look of age.  As I reached up to touch my cheeks I discovered that they too were smooth and youthful.  As if this were not enough, I realised that I felt wonderful.  There was not a hint of the stiffness of joints and the aches and pains that had been my lot in the last few years.

Once more I gazed on my dear one, only to observe him leisurely perusing me, still with that hint of a smile on his sweet lips.

Taking his beautiful face in my hands, I ran my fingers over the surface of smooth, youthful cheeks once more feeling the hollows of his dimples.  "Holmes, what miracle is this?  What has happened to us?  Are we dreaming?"

"Observe!" he whispered in my ear, his eyes indicating the bed behind me.

However, as I turned toward the bed, in some way I already knew in my heart what I would see, though none the less the sight shocked me, and I was grateful for the feel of Holmes's arms around me, holding me firmly.

Lying there on the bed, locked in intimate embrace and covered by the old grey shawl, were two old men whom I knew well.  There, on his back with his eyes closed lay - myself! - sleeping soundly.  What hair I had left was white, as was my moustache.  My arms were around my dear Holmes, his face resting gently on my breast.

"Look closer," Holmes whispered in my ear.  "Do you see?"

As I gazed, mesmerised, at the sight of myself holding my dear Holmes I realised that my body was still breathing.  However, Holmes's body appeared deathly still and I could not see the gentle rise and fall that would indicate respiratory activity.

As the enormity of the scene before me was sinking in Holmes murmured in my ear, "Your body still lives, my dearest, but mine has, alas, expired."

"You...?  You're dead?"  I turned to touch him, feeling the living warmth of his flesh as he held me closer, lips touching my cheek in a soft kiss.  "But how can you be dead?  You are no wisp of a ghost, you are real, as solid as I am!" I expostulated in complete astonishment.  "And how can I be standing here with you when I am lying...  there?"

"It would seem that we have left our bodies, my sweet.  A truly amazing phenomenon, would you not agree?"

"Amazing is right!" I whispered in wonder.

His lips twitched in a small smile.  "A mystery for us to solve, my dear!"

"Then...?  Then you really...  are dead?"

"Yes, my love," he whispered gently.

"You...  died in your sleep?"

"Yes.  Selfish as it would seem, I died in your dear arms, as I had always desired to do."

"Oh, God!" I moaned, looking at the clock and recalling with dismay how we had made love on our beautiful bed not two hours ago; how I had felt pride at his praise that, for an old man, I could still love him that way, though not with the vigour that I had once possessed.  I had laughed and said that love kept us young.  Afterward, my dearest one had kissed me repeatedly, extolling my virtues and thanking me profusely for loving him and looking after him these many years.  In fact, he had spent a long time just holding me, communicating through word and touch how very much I meant to him.  Eventually, he had asked me to put the shawl around him and hold him tightly.  Naked, we had fallen asleep in each other's arms, for once not bothering to cleanse ourselves as we normally did, the evidence of our passion still lying sticky on our skin.

Now, as I turned to once more gaze on my dear friend's features, I realised in growing dismay that I, a doctor, had most likely been the instrument of his demise.

"Dear God, Holmes, tell me I didn't kill you!" I pleaded in dawning alarm.

"No, no, no, my dearest, you did not kill me!" he protested most vehemently.

"But I did!  Oh, God, no, I did kill you, didn't I?  And I call myself a doctor!  I killed you making love to you!  Dear God, I might as well have murdered you!" I moaned in horror.

Placing his hands on my shoulders he shook me a little.  "Never!  Hush now and listen, my dear.  I knew that I was going to die - and very soon."

"You...  knew?  You knew - and you said nothing?" I exclaimed incredulously, not knowing whether to hug him or strangle him at this revelation.

"How could I possibly tell you, sweet John?  I feared that the knowledge would only distress you and I was unsure exactly when it would happen.  I had dreamed it for the past three weeks and as each new day dawned I was so very grateful that we were still together...  and I was still alive.  Then yesterday...  Yesterday...  somehow I knew.  I knew that I would not survive to see the dawn again."

"That's why you...  ?"  The realisation of his actions of the previous day hit me like a thunderclap.  "Oh, Lord!"

Ignoring all else, he had spent the whole day with me and was so affectionate, so very loving.  Together, we had strolled down to our favourite willow tree by the lake and taken an afternoon nap under its profuse foliage.  In the evening we had stood on the lawn together watching the full moon rise above the treetops around us and there had been tears in my dear one's eyes.  When I had inquired the nature of his distress, he had answered that it was merely the beauty of nature around us.

"Oh, my darling, I should have realised!  I should have known that something was wrong when you were so moved by the sight of the full moon yesterday evening.  Oh, my sweet, forgive me!"

"Hush now, my heart, and calm yourself.  It was in part true for I knew that it would be the last time I would witness such a majestic sight but, more than that, I knew that I could not bear to leave you.  You and I have seen much more of death than most people and I knew how I would feel if you were to die before me.  My dearest, how could I contemplate leaving you to face my death alone and comfortless?  I had long mused on that very possibility.  I have never forgotten our vows on the day of dear Mycroft's funeral and I found myself repeating them like a prayer.  I knew then that I would be the first to go, but I swore that I would not leave you behind, my love."

"Oh, Holmes, I, too, have prayed of late that we might go together!  Oh, my love, my love!"

We hugged each other, rocking a little, overcome with relief that we had, apparently, beaten the odds.

"How fortunate we are, my dear, that God has granted our wishes for, against the odds, we are still together."

"Lord, yes!" I affirmed.

"So you see, dear love," he continued, "I wanted, needed you to love me one final time.  If I had to die...  if I had to leave you, my dearest - and I prayed to God that I would not for it would have broken my heart - then I vowed that I would go with the memory of your lovely member buried to the hilt in me and coming gloriously, giving me the generous bounty of your love.  Yes, it is true that my heart gave out, my dear John, but it was filled to overflowing with love for you, and with gratitude for the deep and abiding joy your love has brought me all these years.  My dear, dear John, I thank God I found you!"  His fervent lips covering me in kisses matched his impassioned words.

"Oh, yes!  I was never so grateful to anyone as I was to dear old Stamford for introducing us."

"Indeed.  But one lifetime is far too short, my dear," he complained.

"I know, but perhaps now we shall have eternity," I reflected.

"God willing!  But now, my love, you must make a decision.  Your body still lives - do you wish to return to it?"

Gazing down, I beheld our bed with its beautiful quilt made for us by our dear Mrs. Hudson so many years ago and the cream satin pillow covers she had lovingly embroidered with our initials.  I thought of the words of her farewell letter to us, that she had been privileged to know us, but it was we who had been privileged to know such a kind and understanding lady who not only condoned our unusual, not to mention unlawful, relationship but protected, supported and looked after us for so many years.

The figures on the bed had not moved; the old physician with his lined face and white hair and the body of his dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes, the Great Detective, who had literally expired in his arms in the blissful aftermath of passion.  I thought how peaceful they looked together, their entwined forms an eloquent testament to their love and utter absolute trust.  Indeed, there was something so poignant in the sight of the two old men lying in peaceful repose that I was moved to tears.

"That is what we looked like together," I whispered in awe.

"Yes, my love."

Our time in those bodies was past, I thought.  I had no desire to return to the old shell on the bed who lay cradling his beloved on his breast.  The thought of waking to find that my dear one had died in my arms during the night did not bear contemplating.

Resolved, I turned to my partner.  "We said it long ago - where you go I go, and we vowed that, if possible, we would go together.  I will never break a vow to you.  I will not leave you," I stated firmly.

His expressive, grey eyes glowed as he hugged me.  "Together?"

"Always!" I affirmed.

"Excellent!" he declared, squeezing my shoulders in great affection.

It was only then that I noticed our garments for both of us were now garbed in the fashion of our youth.  Wearing a black frock-coat and waistcoat, pin-striped trousers and black leather boots, white shirt and black tie, Holmes was dressed in a style now long out of fashion.  On his watch chain was the old Afghan coin that I had given him on the second anniversary of our loving intimacy with which he had replaced the one given him by Irene Adler and had worn ever since.  There, too, was the gold ring with its amethyst stone that I had placed on his finger in the Diogenes Club on that auspicious winter's day so long ago.

"My God, Holmes, look at you!" I exclaimed in amazement.

"Look at yourself," he murmured fondly.

Upon examining my own garments I discovered that I, too, was dressed in the manner of much younger days except that I was in light grey colours with a deep blue tie.  There also was my own wedding ring with its glowing sapphire.

"John, do you remember I once said that not even I could explain the mystery of death?"

"I remember."

"Are you ready to find the answer to life's greatest of all mysteries?"

"Yes!" I declared with complete conviction.

He smiled at me, his whole face lit from within.  "It will be our grandest adventure!" he proclaimed with much enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes, indeed!  A kiss for luck?"

"Mm, yes..." he murmured, following our ritual of old as we shared a sweet kiss, lips caressing lovingly.  As we parted I was again struck by his darkly beautiful appearance and told him so.

He gazed at me intently.  "Oh, my dear doctor, you are wickedly attractive!" he asserted and I laughed and deliberately raked my eyes over his lean and masculine beauty.

"Mystery first, love later!" I declared, and he laughed at the words that I had first uttered in jest so long ago now and which had become our firm's unofficial motto.

"Hah!  Later indeed, my sweet!" he promised.  After a moment he appeared thoughtful.  "Do you suppose they have willow trees in the after-life?"

"We shall find one!" I boldly proclaimed.

He gave a hearty chuckle.  "We shall indeed, dear heart!  We shall indeed!"

We put on our gloves and hats and as we picked up our silver-topped canes I became aware of a change in the room.  Over in the corner where there had been no door or entrance of any kind there was now an archway with a long corridor leading gently upward from it.  The air was fresh and sweetly perfumed with roses and the corridor - if such it was - appeared to be filled with a most beautiful golden light.  I could also hear music now - the most enthralling and beautiful violin music that I had ever heard.  It was apparent that Holmes heard it too as I observed him listening keenly, entranced by the melodious sounds.

As I turned to take a last look at the motionless figures wrapped in the old grey shawl I found myself filled with affection for the physical shells that had served us so well for so long.  No longer breathing, my body seemed merely to be sleeping, as did that of my dear friend.  I also could not help but realise what a tableau of love they presented to the world.  The poignancy of the scene moved me to tears.

"Do you mind that we will be found like that?" Holmes asked quietly, following my gaze.

I shook my head.  "What the world thinks of us after we are gone is of no matter.  It was the way we lived our lives that matters, my sweet, and I was so proud that you were my wedded partner that I would have told the whole world if we could have done so without ending up like poor Oscar Wilde."

"Quite so.  The world is not yet ready for our kind of love."  He gave a soft sigh.  "Dearest friend and companion, you have always been the wise one."  He hugged me and kissed my cheek.  "Are you ready, my love?" he murmured.

Nodding, I smiled at him, so utterly grateful that we had been allowed to be together even in this, our hour of death.

With hearts full we turned toward the lovely golden light once more.  Holmes was smiling at me, his cheeks pink and beautiful grey eyes positively glowing at the thought of a new mystery to solve.  His excitement was palpable as he took hold of my gloved hand and squeezed it.  "Into unknown territory?" he murmured, gazing fondly at me.

"Always!" I proclaimed with absolute conviction, giving his hand an answering squeeze.

"Hah!  That's my Watson!"

So saying, my dear Holmes took my arm and together, as always, we strode toward the light.

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