Death at the Reichenbach Falls
In February 1891 a woman called Flora White was killed with a knife in Whitechapel. Everyone thought that the murderer was Jack the Ripper. I alone knew that this was not true. I was sure that 'Jack' had not killed the last two women to die on the streets of Whitechapel.
Soon after this, Holmes left for France. He sent me a strange letter from there which worried me very much. I could not understand a word of it and began to wonder if he was taking cocaine again. This was his letter:
If you remember the Berlin case of 'one in three', Watson, everything will be clear to you because . . . the famous German professor in Paris is no longer alive. I heard he was recently killed while studying flora in the White Mountains of my favourite island. Letters and books are appearing soon. Read them quickly but carefully, as I cannot always follow or understand him myself. Last night I dreamt and the next day suddenly understood this problem. The time comes when he and others will be free - not an easy escape.
About three weeks after that, I was sitting alone at home one evening. My wife was away on a visit. Suddenly, the door opened, and Holmes came in. He then ran to the window, closed it and locked it.
'Holmes,' I cried. 'What has happened? You look terrible!' He looked old and ill, and he was shaking with tiredness. 'What is it?' I asked. 'Are you afraid of something?'
'Of someone,' he said. 'Did you not get my letter?'
'Yes, but I didn't understand it. What is wrong?' Holmes looked at me sadly. 'You didn't understand it. Is your wife here?'
'No, she is a way. Do you want to sleep here? I shall make sure that you are in no danger.'
He shook his head. 'I cannot rest anywhere. If I sleep, he will win! I cannot stay here. I would bring evil into your house. But you can help me, Watson. I must leave the country tomorrow. Will you come with me?'
'Where are you going, Holmes?'
'Going? I am not going anywhere. I am trying to escape from him. But he will find me again. Everywhere I go, he will follow me.'
'Who is he, Holmes?' I asked. 'Professor Moriarty, of course!' 'But Moriarty is dead,' I said.
'Dead!' he screamed. 'He is trying to kill me! How can he be dead?'
'But you told me that he was dead.'
'I was mistaken,' Holmes said. 'He is not dead. I told you that.'
'You told me? But when? Where?'
'In my letter, man! The Berlin case- every third word! A very easy hidden message, Watson. I thought even you ... Oh, it doesn't matter. The fact is, Moriarty is alive and free in London. He killed a woman only three weeks ago. He will kill again if I do not stop him. It is a fight to the death between us. Come with me and help me, Watson. Say that you will come!'
'Of course I will come, old fellow,' I said.
He smiled and lay back in the chair. In a second, he was asleep. Quickly, I gave him an injection to keep him asleep. Then, with the help of my cook, I put him to bed and locked the bedroom door. After that I had a drink and sat down to think about what I must do.
Perhaps I did not understand Holmes's hidden messages, but I did understand what was happening to the man. He was mad - I knew that now. All that was evil in him he called Moriarty. The fight with Moriarty was a battle that was taking place inside his own head.
I had hoped that Jack the Ripper was dead. He was not, and now another woman had been murdered. I felt that her blood was on my hands. The time had come when I must tell Holmes what I knew about him. First, I had to be sure that I understood everything.