By the summer of 1905, Holmes was for all intents and purposes a new man. I say this with hesitation. True; however it may have been, Holmes still fought the black dog. She would just let him be. Always checking that the path to him was clear of any obstructions. Lizzie would smile when she noticed me checking the desk drawer. Holmes had almost quit his deplorable habit.
Lizzie had been such a breath of fresh air in our lives. She had introduced me to Victoria, whom is writing this for me now. My wife. Lizzie was right; Victoria is everything I was searching for.
Over the course of the next two years, Holmes was happier. He smiled more, laughed out loud, played like a school boy, danced, and was a pleasure to be around, mostly.
If it was happening in London, we were witnesses to it. She balanced him out like nothing I have ever looked upon or read about.
As I was to learn, this was true of her as well. Lizzie had a tendency – Victoria and I pondered over trying to find the right words for Lizzie. Holmes was logic, reason, data. While she welcomed these; she was sunlight, dough, (I smile upon that memory). and rabbits. She required not to touch it or taste it to know that it was real. Victoria gave me the right word, faith. Lizzie had an overabundance of faith.
Christmas Eve ’06, we went to the park to listen to the carolers. We were frozen; however, warm at the same time. The music, the merriment, a true measure of Christmas was upon us.
Constable whistles started blowing, people started running in every direction. We stood grounded to our spots. Holmes on one side of her and I on the other, watched with curious excitement at the scene unfolding before us.
A man; whom I presumed to be homeless, was running toward us with a goose in high agitation in his arms. It seemed the faster he ran, the more inflamed the goose became. Three constables were hot on his trail, whistles sounding out over the screaming. When he got almost in front of us, he turned throwing the upset goose at the constables. Two fell as one caught the bird. The homeless man started running again. As he passed Lizzie, she sank to the ground. From her coat, stuck the handle of a knife.
By the time we were able to get her back to Baker Street, Vernet was waiting on us. On this occasion he had a nurse with him and would not allow me to help him. In hind sight, it was for the best. But at that moment, it enraged me. They worked for hours. Finally, at dawn on Christmas morning they came out.
Vernet sat us both down, “this is not easy for me.” He paused looking at the floor. “It saddens me to tell you that if she makes it to the end of the week, it will be a miracle.” He took a deep breath, “the knife that was used to injure her was dirty. Her body has already set up infection.”
I kept a watchful eye on Holmes. He moved not a muscle. Said not a word.
I went in to her. She was still asleep. Vernet had done an excellent job cleaning her up.
“Watson,” I jumped when he spoke my name. “She asked me not to let you help me.”
I was shocked and honestly hurt, “why?”
“The last thing she wants is for Mr. Holmes to be infuriated with you. She said that he is going to need you. If you were here helping me, he would focus his anger on you.”
I had never considered that Holmes would be angry with me. He was still in the position where I left him; sitting in his arm chair staring blankly at the floor.
His voice was but a whisper when he spoke, “ring for Mycroft.”
I did.
He spent the better part of the day with us.
Lizzie hung on to life for the better part of a month. It was mid-January before she left us. With each passing day, we could see more and more of her life slipping away.
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