I felt sick and weak. Before my eyes Holmes was
changing colour - red, then green, then blue. I shook
my head to clear it, but he was still talking.
'And your letter, telling Lestrade that I was the
Whitechapel murderer. What rubbish! How Scotland
Yard would laugh! But I have the letter here - 1 saw it
in your cook's hand and took it from her while you
were calling the cab. You have failed, Moriarty. I
have enjoyed making you run around Europe with
me, but now you must die.'
He took out a long knife.
'Holmes!' I cried. 'I am Watson, your friend, Watson! I
have tried to save you - save you from yourself and
from the police!' He held up the knife and stepped
towards me.
'If you kill me,' I screamed, 'Moriarty will win! That is
what he wants! Kill your only friend, and Moriarty has
won!'
I closed my eyes and waited for the pain and the
darkness. It did not come. I opened my eyes and
saw that Holmes was looking at me. He had put the
knife down. The look in his eyes was sadder than
anything that I had ever seen. He seemed to see far
into both the past and the future, and to find them
sad beyond words.
'Never fear, old fellow,' he said. 'I shall not let him hurt
you.' Then he stepped backwards off the path. 1 saw
his body hit the rocks far below.