My Full Confession

Surely He Can't Live Forever

Mr. Watson faltered, before finally bursting into a finalizing burst of coughing. Greg opened his mouth to protest, and yet could not find the strength to do anything but hand the man a glass of water, in the hopes that he might continue with his story. And yet no, as soon as Mr. Watson's coughing settled down he too settled into his pillows, rearranging his blankets over top of him with weak arms.
"That's all for today?" Greg presumed, not bothering to hide his disappointment. Mr. Watson sighed heavily, yet nodded.
"Yes, I do suppose I've given you a lot to think about." He agreed with a forced grin.
"Certainly." Greg agreed quietly, staring a bit blankly at the man before him. It was so easy to get lost in the timeline! It was so shocking to be absorbed in a tale so in depth that it might as well have been playing out before your eyes, only to be thrown into reality and see what time had made of that beautiful conflicted boy.
"Still no chance that you might get me my pipe?" Mr. Watson clarified a bit hopefully. Greg just grinned, flipping through his notebook for a while before shaking his head and rising to his feet.
"Not a chance, sorry." He decided. Mr. Watson grumbled a bit, and yet he surely understood that he was in no position to argue, nor to get it for himself.
"Too much of a law abider, Detective.Truly a horrible alibi in most situations." Mr. Watson decided with a frown.
"I suppose you were much more rebellious than I am, in your youth." Greg agreed. Mr. Watson nodded his head, looking quite proud of himself.
"I was only rebellious because the times forced me to be. None of my crimes would have been committed, had I been able to love John without issue. If I had been born in your generation, Mr. Lestrade, there would have been nothing interesting in my life whatsoever." Mr. Watson assured.
"You're wrong about that. A love that strong, in any century, is completely noteworthy." Greg corrected.
"Ah, perhaps you're right. And yet there is no love story complete without a little risk, is there? No, perhaps my relationship would've been noteworthy. But because of the times it has been given the potential of a novel." Mr. Watson chuckled. "And I suppose that's what you're doing, in the end."
"I'll need to get a new notebook soon, I'm afraid." Greg agreed.
"Oh I'm sure there's hundreds scattered about here somewhere. We were never too good with our money, and continually forgot that we bought things. We've got at least three of everything you can see." Mr. Watson chuckled. "He was always so fiscally irresponsible."
"At least you had money in the end." Greg offered, to which Mr. Watson nodded his head.
"But it's not the end, is it?" he muttered. "The end of this life, perhaps. The beginning of another."
"I hope you're prosperous in all." Greg agreed, collecting his coat from the back of his chair and noting the time. Oh dear, he had been here nearly five hours! That was undoubtedly the longest story that Mr. Watson had told, yet that was most likely due to the excitement of it all. That, and perhaps because he didn't know if he would live to tell the rest. He spoke of the most important things now, so as to make sure they were remembered even if the aftermath was forgotten.
"Mr. Lestrade, do you think I was a good man, in my youth?" Mr. Watson asked just as Greg was fixing his hat onto his head. Greg paused for a moment, thinking on the question some time longer than his host might have preferred. There was much to take into account of course; for there was no doubt that Sherlock had been a very selfish boy. He was willing to leave his entire family behind, let his brother suffer, and break Irene Adler's heart just for the sake of his own happiness. And yet, just as Mr. Watson had mentioned, it was all because of the times.
"I think you did what you had to do, in the situation presented to you." Greg decided finally. "Like you said, the times required some more rebelliousness." Mr. Watson nodded his head, looking satisfied with Greg's response yet not all together convinced.
"Looking back, I do believe I was a rotten boy." he decided finally. "Not made for a farm, by any means."
"You weren't rotten." Greg assured a bit anxiously. Mr. Watson chuckled, as if he really couldn't be convinced otherwise.
"Well then, if you insist." Mr. Watson muttered. "Please tell that then, to the nurse. I do think she finds me an awful client."
"Have you been giving her a hard time?" Greg presumed, like a mother who was scolding a rather misbehaving child.
"Well of course I have been, she's horribly uncooperative." Mr. Watson complained.
"Oh treat her well; she's the one keeping you alive after all." Greg whined.
"What makes you think I want to be alive?" Mr. Watson grumbled, crossing his arms a bit moodily before glancing to the empty side of the large bed, obviously missing the man who used to lie there. Greg sighed heavily, aware now that there was nothing he could do against this man's childish little fits. The longer he spoke the more Mr. Watson was going to take offense, and so Greg decided that it might be better for silence.
"Have a nice night, Mr. Watson." Greg decided finally, starting towards the door.
"And you as well, Detective." Mr. Watson called back in his failing voice. "And you as well."