Title: Meiringen Revisited?
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Rating: G
Length: 458 words
Summary: Many years after the events surrounding Holmes' apparent death, Watson reflects

As Holmes and I hurried to leave England for the Continent I had only an inkling as to the gravity of the situation.  Holmes was clearly very concerned, as was apparent given that Mycroft had been the driver of my brougham.  Had I, too, realised how dire the situation was, I might have chosen to act differently, yet even now, so many years later, I cannot tell whether I would have done so. 

Do I blame Holmes for not making the situation clearer?  Perhaps.  It was always his way to keep me in the dark so far as was possible, believing I was more likely to act naturally if I wasn’t aware of the full portent of the circumstances.  Certainly, I am sure at the time I would have leapt off our slowly moving train to confront Moriarty at the railway station, which would have achieved nothing, except probably my own demise.

As it was, we journeyed through the Continent, finally arriving at the pretty village of Meiringen.  It was early May and the mountains were snow-capped as the thaw was still in process.  Yet below the snowline the paths and tracks were perfect for hiking and the weather was glorious.  Stupidly, I succumbed to the beauty around me and allowed myself to relax slightly and simply enjoy the scenery.  Again, in retrospect, it may have also been a deliberate ploy of Holmes’, who I think by then had come to accept the inevitable.  Certainly, he did not appear surprised when I received a note recalling me to our hotel.

I have already written of my thoughts when I finally reached the Reichenbach Falls and discovered that Holmes was no more.  I watched as the waters tumbled down the mountainside in their torrents, pulled downwards by gravity into the dark swirling mass below, as surely as my own thoughts were pulled down into the darkness.

I have never returned to Meiringen.  Holmes did once suggest we could visit the Bernese Oberland a few years ago, saying that the pure air and the beauty of the countryside would be a change from the heat of London when even I was struggling, but I rejected it out of hand.  Holmes may view the events of those days as something best put behind us, I can never reconcile the beauty of the surroundings with the horror of his apparent death.

We settled instead for going to Lausanne.  It may not be the scene of one of my greater triumphs, but I can live with the embarrassment of my failure.  Lake Geneva is beautiful, and Holmes was able to enjoy performances at the Lausanne Opera which I do not believe he could have attended in Bern.  And so we were both satisfied.