The Greeks!
 
 
 
 

It is incomprehensible to me that such a whimsical and trivial beginning of a case could have such a stunning impact upon my life. That a pretty little puzzle such as this could lead to such harrowing events is nearly beyond belief!

When I jokingly lured Watson into a meeting with my mysterious brother and the case of Mr. Melas, little did I know it would leave me so profoundly shaken. Still my nerves are on edge at the remembrance of the hazardous denouement of the case. How close I came to losing my closest friend for the trivial -- the nothing -- life of the villain Latimer.

I have resorted (in the privacy of my room) to the solace of my cocaine to settle the nervous strain in aftermath of our adventure. Watson would heartily disapprove of this method.

'It is your fault, Watson! I would not be in this nervous muddle now if not for you!'; only a partially serious jibe. For it is Watson who I must thank for any depth of feeling I may ever display. The Kratides girl has reminded me of my low and justified opinion of most of womankind. I might have felt a similar sense of betrayal for all society had it not been for an unassuming roommate who has ingratiated himself into my life.

It seems not long ago I came to a slight realization of the astounding dependence I have developed on the good Doctor during the three years of our association.

The night vigil in Stoke Moran; when my headlong plunge into danger could have cost him his life. That was my first miscalculation. Tonight, it was HIS headlong plunge toward danger, which nearly cost his life and a great part of mine. I tremble that my death-grip was the act which stopped his ridiculous, yet instinctive, sacrificial heroics.

Now I see it was a miracle, or Fate, he survived Afghanistan! How many foolish heroics did he indulge in on the battlefield? I should have inquired how a surgeon managed to be struck down in the fight.

'I cannot say the death is likely to weigh heavily upon my conscience,' I told him of Roylot. I feel the same of Latimer's fate. Yet what a crushing impact the death of Watson would have had on my life.

Death.

Mortality.

It haunts me as a shadow-spectre. Can I ever be free from it? There will come a time when I will have to face it -- for Watson or myself. I find it an inevitability I can not cope with.

'When a Doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge,' was my comment on Roylot. Never was there a more opposite comment to fit my friend, who has been a sterling example beyond his supposedly noble profession. He has nerve and knowledge and many more qualities, which I now see, can be a danger to him. He has a heroic, impulsive streak in him, which could be his downfall.

I, on the other hand, have a sense of infallibility and control which is arrogant and superior. At Stoke Moran, and tonight, I lost mastery of the situation. Unforgivably, I failed to foresee all possible permutations of the situation. I failed to calculate Watson's predictable reaction to the situation. That is MY responsibility. I momentarily lost control and it could have cost me the dearest price of my life.

Failure is the overriding fear of my life. I detest being less than I can be. I fear ending my life without proving myself the useful defender of justice I see myself to be. There really is no justice in the world and I must use my talents to create what justice I can. I am driven to that end.

What justice is there in dragging Watson along on my wild schemes? Yet, he has willingly thrown his lot in with mine. He doesn't understand my years-old and marrow-deep Cause for justice. Just as he will probably never know the reasons behind my distrust of women and my disinclination to form attachments.

I doubt I could ever reveal those deep secrets. What would he think of me? As a medical man he would see too many frailties in my mental armour. Somehow, it has become very important to me to NOT fail in his eyes. Yet, even when I fail, when I am wrong, he never condemns or thinks less of me. Of my faults and shortcomings (except my excessive smoking and cocaine) he never mentions. He offers only continual praise for what he believes is my intellectual pyrotechnics. He calls himself a simple ex-army physician and feels honoured I include him in my investigations!

 This entire episode has caused me to reevaluate my life. Thus, I walked most of the way from the station and arrived home long after my exhausted companion (who intelligently took a cab) was asleep in his room. Fortunately I did not need an explanation for my abrupt departure from the station. Watson sensed my moodiness and did not enquire. He is used to my idiosyncrasies. (Another indispensable trait! How invaluable to have a dependable companion who never questions erratic and sensitive behavior!)

I never noticed until Stoke Moran, and now our misadventure on the train from Dover, how truly irreplaceable Watson has made himself.

He has become my only friend. I find I depend absolutely upon his good sense, his patience, his understanding. He is a rock and an anchor in my life of erratic tides. His steadfast stability is as certain as the sunrise.

What makes my cool and independent mind confused is that he has secured himself, irrevocably, to me. And instead of resenting or shying from the bond, I eagerly accept it.

On my part it is because I see he fills gaps within me which I can never fill and which no one else would care to try to fill. He is a true friend and I find I have a great need for one. It is my good fortune destiny or Fate has divined I should have as my friend a stalwart as ineradicable as Watson. I see now, after Stoke Moran, after tonight, that our future is inevitably intertwined. I could not shake him from my side even if I wanted to.

That fills me with fear. Just as I was frightened tonight. Whatever foolhardy and venturesome endeavor I pursue, Watson will be there with me. It puts a responsibility and obligation of his safety in my hands. Protection is not something I think of and do not desire the responsibility (what if I fail?) yet still feel the keen desire to defend my friend against whatever threats assail us. I shun such weighty shackles for myself, how can I accept them for a companion? Yet, accept these trusts I must for I sense ahead an indeclinable preordained future. I shall have to learn to deal with this in some way.

For now, that method is the old, cold, crutch of cocaine. It calms my nerves and allows my racing thoughts to slow enough for me to control and analyze them. This temporary method cannot last. Watson will not allow it, for one. And I find myself reluctant to cause him such anguish on my part.

I do not resent the concern. I find it strangely comforting to know when things go wrong -- when I need someone just to silently be there, he is ever at my side. At times his subtle support makes me think it is not such a horrible thing to fail occasionally. Better, he always seems to have the right advise to put me back on my right track. Strange what friendship can drive one to do.

SH

28 AUG 86