The Last Romantics

A Forgotten Farewell Speech

Even if John had given up hope, my own persistence was not something to be trifled with. There were four days until John's departure, and I spent them tearing this house apart, piece by piece, in an attempt to find that missing notebook. Mrs. Turner offered as much help as she could manage, for even her off day came to a close and she was back where she belonged, with the two of us in what had turned out to be a hell hole. Of course the house keeper claimed no knowledge of the book, claiming that when she had dusted she only moved it to the other side of the coffee table and back again, sensing its importance and deciding to leave it relatively untouched. But if that was the truth then something else must have happened, an incident whether purposeful or not at the hands of someone who had no business touching the book. My first suspicion was Victor, and that of course was a very sound assumption, though after all these days of interrogation Victor remained silent, denying profusely any knowledge about the whereabouts of the sacred notebook. It felt as though I spent all that time searching, sleeping not a wink and plagued with nightmares if ever I fell into unconsciousness. I didn't know it then, but I was wasting the few days I had with John, trying for the chance that he wouldn't have to leave in the first place. Though the more I searched the more I realized that it was gone, at least gone from this house. Where it had escaped to I could not guess, and in the hands of who I almost did not want to know. I could only suppose one potential villain in this house, and he was not going to be confessing any time soon. As my despair grew so did my dislike of my host, and before long I refused to talk to him nor anybody else, holed up in my bedroom that Sunday and refusing to leave. I knew that I should have spent this time with John, my most beloved who would be setting sail for two years come tomorrow morning, though for the life of me I couldn't find the strength to move. It was my fault, entirely my fault, and for the duration of John's long and perilous journey I would be miserable and burdened with my own guilt. A couple of times Mrs. Turner arrived to console me, offering me lunch and dinner at her prearranged times, though along with my optimism my appetite too was gone. I could find nothing better to do than to sit up in my bed, streaked in my tears and deranged like a madman. It was a lost cause; everyone could see it, though I was the only one who seemed to take it seriously. I wasn't sure that anyone else could even wrap their heads around John's absence for such a long duration of times, and dare I even consider his demise in the sea! I couldn't think about it for long without breaking down into a fresh wave of tears, tears that weren't in ready supply due to my lack of hydration! I might be dead before he even set sail, though in my mind that was the preferable option. I felt as though I had no right to outlive him, especially when it was I who unintentionally prearranged his death. When Monday morning came the notebook had not been found, and with that came the shocking realization that it was time to say goodbye. The sun was mockingly bright in my window, for the curtains had been drawn just as soon as dawn had broken, and before long I was being roused by a pair of anxious and almost excited hands.
"Today's the day, Sherlock." Came Victor's voice, a bit distorted but all together comprehensible. I could smell that foul pipe on his breath, but I found not the energy to complain.
"Leave me alone." I growled, having only just fallen to sleep about an hour previous to Victor's eager wake up call.
"The ship sets sail soon, Sherlock, you can't miss it." Victor reminded me in a near sing song voice. God I never hated that man more, at least in that moment.
"Why should you care?" I wondered, throwing the blankets over my head in protest. The darkness was but artificial, and of course as my rational brain began to wake I realized that it was indeed the time for action, not for lying in bed. As much as I despised agreeing with anything Victor said these days, well he was right about this. I could not miss it. The man wrestled the blankets from my hands and exposed me once again to the sunlight, though this time I rather voluntarily gave a hiss and sat up, trying to swat his hands away from where they were still trying to bother me.
"I'm up! I'm up." I announced, finally managing a good shove and sending Victor stumbling back a couple of feet. I could see that he was already dressed, though by the state of things I suspected they were his clothes from yesterday. I might not have been the only one who hadn't slept.
"You have an hour, then we need to be at the docks." Victor announced, departing from the room before I could shoot back the numerous questions I had to offer. For one I began to wonder why on earth he wanted to come along, if only to revel in the grief that was being exchanged. He had always disliked John, and to see the boy sailing away not to return for two years, well that would obviously be Victor's idea of entertainment. What a miserable man he was, how terribly inconsiderate. I dressed quickly, though I put at least some effort in my appearance. Considering this was going to be the last time John saw me for a long while I at least wanted to make my appearance memorable, I wanted to make sure that he had a good image in his head as he sailed off to look at nothing but sailors for two years. Sailors...oh what had Victor told me of that particular breed? How could I be sure that John would stay true to me after those years on a boat, all compacted and close together on a boat for so many weeks! How could I know that he wouldn't submit to one of their advances, just for something to do, something to enjoy? I shivered with the thought, though my mind was eased when I considered that John would have the same sort of ideas going through his head. Who was I to worry about crummy sailors, when he surely suspected that I was living in close quarters with a man who has done nothing but love me? Oh well, we must both be true to each other. I'll make sure of that. I departed downstairs to sit at the breakfast table, not able to eat a bite due to my rising anxiousness. John must already be down there, baking in the hot sun and carrying the cargo that would in turn sustain his life. All of the things they would be loading onto that ship, food, water, gunpowder. And how can they be so sure of its help, how can they depend on a livelihood they found in a barrel? I shivered at the thought, though dedicated myself now to thinking of how John was feeling. He must be excited, I could tell from his attitude the other night that he was not dreading this voyage as much as I was. For him it was another adventure, a chance to see a new and beautiful part of the world. For me, well the world was not going to change. For me I would stay rooted in the same place, just absent of my most prized companion. My life would keep on turning, as would his, though I would be turning around in circles while he would be turning around the globe. Victor was just about to lead me out the door when a knock interrupted our process of getting our coats on, a rather aggressive knock at that. We were standing right in the entry way when Victor swung open the door, revealing the rather frantic looking Mary Morstan as her finger was hovering right above the doorbell, as if prepared to ring it should her knock had been unanswered in the next ten seconds. She looked just about the same as I felt, though she had put quite a lot of time into her presentation. Today she was dressed in something that looked like a blue ball gown, with a large hat perched in the midst of her styled blonde hair. Though despite her outfit I could tell that she was upset by today, for her face showed signs of exhaustion and her lips couldn't even manage a smile upon seeing us. I tried to acknowledge her with at least a wave, though her attention was focused primarily upon Victor.
"Are you going to meet John?" she asked a bit stupidly, for she seemed not to notice our coats and hats.
"Yes, we are." Victor agreed. "I imagine you're going the same way? Would you like to walk with us?"
"If you don't mind." She muttered quietly, at last directing a glance towards me and managing a small grin. I couldn't smile back, my facial muscles seemed paralyzed to allow any sort of happiness seep into my expression, and so I merely stayed quiet and stoic, my heart beating abnormally slowly and my limbs becoming heavier by the second. It was almost as if my body was rejecting the journey, under control now of my fragile emotional state that surely could not take another blow. Saying goodbye to John Watson may very well be the final hit before I crumbled at last, unable to regain that emotion that was supposed to be happiness. Wordlessly the three of us took to the streets, walking in some sort of mournful parade down towards the shipyard that I had once adored. Countless times I had made this trek from the townhouse to the docks, though this was the only journey I took where my heart was as heavy. This would be the last time I retraced my steps in this direction, seeing as though there would be nothing waiting for me upon arrival. The only sound our group could manage was the tapping of Victor's walking stick against the pavement, clicking away in almost a cheerful melody. I knew that he was the only one handling John's departure with a light heart, and I despised him for the way he so easily disregarded my pain. Surely the men had never seen eye to eye, though to rejoice in even your enemy's two year departure seemed rather mean spirited. I could not speak to Victor, for an anger I could not describe, though it would seem as though he was not probing for conversation. Like Mary and I, the man remained silent. When at last the stink of the shipyard came within view we were able to guess quite accurately which was the ship that would be taking our friend away. Right in the middle of the docks was stationed a large iron steam ship, tethered with ropes with steam puffing merrily from the stacks above. It didn't seem nearly as threatening as I imagined it would be, though it still had an air of hostility to it. While the sides were cleaned and the deck was loaded with cargo there was still a sense of mockery, as if it was deliberately trying to emphasize the fact that John would pick it over me. Well it certainly wasn't a competition, though either way I felt a bit insulted. The ship was being loaded up with any last minute supplies, though by the look of the hour I could guess that it was mostly time to say farewell. There was a large crowd gathered about the docks, and the luckiest of sailors were crowded around their families and kissing them goodbye. Others walked alone on the planks, perhaps without any family to bid farewell, minding their duties to bide their time and mask their grief. As I looked about the crowds of family I found a rather mournful bunch, though a much more diverse group that I ever would have guessed. Some of these sailors were not the single young men I had assumed them to be, rather there were some who had wives and children to their name. Some were even as old as fifty, though I imagined the more seasoned men were the ones who were going to be in charge of the ship itself. The captain, perhaps. Though the mess of men I was finally able to glimpse a familiar blonde head, stalking about the crowd with his hands sunk deep in his pockets, looking this way and that as if trying to search for a familiar face.
"John!" Mary called out, rushing up to him without a mind for the hem of her dress which began to drag in the salty mud at her feet. The man responded to the call, turning around just in time to receive the flying mass of Mary as she flung herself into his arms.
"Mary!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "Oh come on now, don't cry." I didn't at first notice her tears, though as soon as he mentioned it I heard what could only be a sob emitted from the poor girl's mouth. She was sniffling against his shirt, hugging her thin arms tightly across his chest as if with the intentions of never letting go. Perhaps this was her grand plan, to capture him within her grasp and ensure that he could never escape to get onto the boat.
"John you know I hate this! Oh every single journey you've ever taken, I'm always convinced of the worst!" Mary exclaimed, at last raising her head to face him. Tears were streaming down her pale face, her makeup streaked along her cheeks, and despair evident in her eyes.
"Mary, darling, I know it's hard to say goodbye. Though each time you said goodbye you also got to greet me again, months, years later. Each time I left I've always come back, and this time will be no different." John assured with what could only be an attempt at optimism.
"John, don't tempt fate like that." Mary warned, her voice dipping down fearfully while he forced out a little chuckle.
"Alright then, I won't." he agreed. "So then I'll just get on to my final farewell."
"Oh don't say final." Mary whined.
"No, I say it purposely. This is the last time we'll have to do this, it's my last journey. Once I hit the shores of England once again, well I'm never leaving." John pledged, to which Mary could at least manage to hide the despair in her eyes for a quick moment.
"I believe you, I want to." She admitted, though she could do no better to stifle the sob that was soon emitted from her throat. "I want to."
"You take care of yourself, alright? No scandals, no cat fights while I'm gone." John insisted.
"The same goes to you, John Watson. If I hear you're not getting along with your crewmates well...well I'll sail over to the Philippines to set them straight." Mary pledged.
"Oh these guys? Don't worry about them. I've handled worse." John assured. Mary merely slapped his arm, trying to make him pay for what he assumed was humor. John winced, though they finally shared a smile. It was a sad smile, the parting of the ways for lifelong friends, though there was no stopping what had to be in motion. They gave a final embrace of farewell, Mary's tears falling just as hard as before, before at last John untangled himself from her arms and set his attention onto me. Well I couldn't do much but force a smile, my legs trembling weakly as he approached me in all of his collectiveness. I could see his emotions wavering behind those familiar hazel eyes, though whatever he was feeling he was certainly not brave enough to express.
"Sherlock. God, what to say to you?" John muttered, stopping at last about two feet away from me, minding his correctness. There was a crowd here, a dense one with a lot of eyes and a lot of ears. Not to mention the small audience that we had, composed of a yawning Victor Trevor and a weeping Mary Morstan.
"You don't...well you don't have to say much." I assured. "I'm just here to...well to see you off."
"I'm happy to see you here; honestly I thought you were going to be a stowaway." John admitted with a chuckle.
"I still have time, don't tempt me." I warned with a little grin, reaching my hand out for the man to take. It was a perfectly innocent gesture, in my mind, though when he took it I could feel Mary's eyes widen in surprise. Perhaps she wasn't sure what to expect in our farewell, though nothing upon the likes of this.
"Everything I could say to you, well I suppose it's already been said. Everything I'm supposed to say to you, imagine it now." John instructed.
"Supposed to say?" I whispered, allowing confusion to show upon my exhausted face.
"In our situation." John agreed, his cheeks now blushing just a little bit. Mary's ears were perked, though for a moment I decided to ignore her. I decided to ignore...well the entire docks in fact. There was a moment of complete nihilism, where all of my worry of being exposed, of being arrested, of being noticed, well it all faded away. I didn't want John to say anything incriminating, in fact I didn't plan on saying anything either. Though I knew that here in this shipyard remained our only chance at a proper farewell, a long overdue exchange, and an action that had been on my mind before I had even considered pledging myself over to him. I let the world around me dissolve, acting as I might if we were alone in complete darkness together. I grasped his hand tighter, my heart giving a great jump as I pulled him into my chest and pressed our lips together, perhaps in a more aggressive manner than I would have at first intended. Mary's scream could be heard, Victor's gasp evident, though at the moment I cared nothing for our friends' reactions. I cared only for John's, which was not an exclamation of disgust, nor a refusal based off of social cues. Instead he embraced the kiss, bringing his hands to the side of my face and pulling me closer. I latched my arms around his neck, and for a moment we stood there in such an embrace, our lips meeting together in one of the most beautiful though pitiful exchanges of love. Though as appreciated as the intimacy was I knew that it must end, for there may have been eyes beginning to turn in our direction. I was the one to pull away, forcing the magic to end and trying to still my heart, which was now beating straight through my ribcage and rushing all of the blood into my face. I blushed like a melon, shaking my head as I let John fall from my grasp all together. He took to a nervous chuckle, looking over to Mary who had now paled from the face to the ankles, standing stone still and trembling at what she just witnessed. John gave me a great smile, clearing his throat a bit nervously and standing up as straight as he could manage. With that he turned to Victor, for the man was the last of the few of us to be addressed, and nodded stiffly.
"Victor." John muttered.
"Mr. Watson." The poet breathed, clicking his stick upon the pavement as if that was his final word. Mary was still speechless, I was still shell shocked, and so that indeed was the final word of the morning. Mr. Watson, the man who had now gave his final farewells and began to move towards the ship. Mr. Watson, who never heard half of the speech I had prepared. Mr. Watson, whose lips were still fresh on my own yet whose smile was fading farther and farther away. Mr. Watson, who I would never see again.