Chapter 4

Upon opening the book, Melinda was quick to notice how the way John wrote in his diary reflected a bit on his approach to the world; his bold, blocky handwriting reflected the man she remembered - direct and to the point, without a hint of guile or façade. Melinda had always thought those traits had served him well as a diarist for his friend Holmes; John's admiration for the detective in no way kept him from finding fault with Holmes' behavior - or his own, for that matter. Perhaps that touch of veracity helped make Holmes seem more embraceable, she thought: his superior mind and the attitude it seemed to engender balanced by the human stumbles and stigmas to which only her brother-in-law seemed privy.

The first entry was typical John Watson, designed to explain why he was keeping a private diary - as if someone was looking over his shoulder asking questions as he wrote:

Ever since I moved in with Holmes at 221B Baker Street, I have kept a journal noting the very interesting and exacting cases that my friend has been involved with as a consulting detective. It is those journals upon which I have drawn to publish the various chronicles which have captured the fancy of the easily-titillated public.

However, recent events make me think that some of the things I wish to chronicle about my dear friend should remain forever private. He is perhaps the greatest detective that has ever lived, but he is human, and has the failings of a man. And while the cases he consults upon make ripping good tales, some of what goes on in our everyday lives deserves to remain beyond the public pale. Therefore, I have decided to keep two journals: one which limits itself to Holmes' work, and another which contains thoughts and actions of a more personal kind which I will keep for my own purposes only.

Melinda found herself nodding at John's words, thinking that it was just like him to both wish to protect his friend, yet chronicle their relationship in more detail than he might publish for the public-at-large. John had even noted in that first book that Holmes might be a subject worthy of scholarly study, worthy of being observed and documented in all aspects of his life, not just the exploits for which he was the most famous.

Turning the page, Melinda noticed that John had chosen not to date the next entry, perhaps considering it to be such a general observation that it did not need one.

I have always wondered why Holmes seems so aloof and cold. He tells me that if were to allow himself to feel strong emotions it would interfere with his powers of logic and deductive reasoning. And yet, I wonder... I observe him on a near daily basis, and I see him grow restive and irascible without some difficult case with which to occupy his mind. I have recently had yet another talk with him about the way he sometimes injects himself with cocaine during these periods, but he says it is the only way that he can rouse himself to do anything at all. His depression is sometimes so deep as to blot out the sun in the noontime sky, but then, in an instant, he can turn into the most garrulous and witty host one could ever hope to have. His intellect is relentless, ever demanding to be fed some new tidbit, but when the natural challenge of detecting and solving crime is not there, is his only surcease the unnatural energy brought about via the syringe? Even today I watched him sit brooding in his chair, ignoring my attempts at conversation, uninterested in afternoon tea; I needed only to look into his eyes to see that his thoughts had turned so far inward that nothing short of another unsolvable mystery might jar him from his gloom. How I pity my friend, even as I fear for him. Is there no medium territory for him, some place between the light and the darkness to which he seems confined at present?

Melinda shook her head sadly. John had hinted in a few stories of Holmes' use of cocaine, but had only hinted at the depth of emotion inside his friend that brought about its use. Her work in the hospitals of London had shown her the long-term effects on those who used drugs unwisely, trying to ease their private pain with a tool not meant for that purpose. Injury, madness, death... the results of long-term use of narcotic or stimulant drugs in unstable personalities were quite vivid in her mind. 'At least that is no longer a problem!' she thought, smiling. Thomas had kept some morphine in a locked cabinet in the surgery from time to time, thinking that the odd patient might benefit from its use, but there were no other drugs or drug sources for miles around. Wine, whiskey, and ale were the relaxants of choice in Fetching, and few if any of the town's residents would have the faintest clue as to what cocaine, opium, hashish, or any other exotic drug might look like, never mind their effect on the body.

Melinda skimmed over several similar entries, noting that most of these "private" entries seemed to be John's way of exorcising his own pain at watching Holmes' suffering. John would always encourage Holmes to stop using cocaine, to find some other means of dealing with the lulls between cases... but Holmes would continue on his own course, and John would be left to fume at his inability to do something to help.