Clues to a Broken Heart

It came to the attention of everyone who worked closely with Sherlock Holmes in the year 2103, that the great detective was hiding a great pain within his heart. They tried to confront him, especially Watson, but all attempts were returned with a stern glare and a sharp tongue-lashing. No one could get close enough to the detective to find out what was wrong. Not even Watson could get his friend to speak with him, and suffered the worst of the harsh words.

"My affairs are none of your concern! I don't need some rambling bucket of bolts prying into my business!" Would be Sherlock's reply. Beth Lestrade was especially concerned. She had read all she could about Sherlock from her ancestors and from Dr. John Watson's books, and not one of them could explain why Sherlock, who was known for his emotionless efficiency, was so clearly hurt by something.

"It bothers me Watson," she said quietly to the robot as they watched Sherlock work. Watson frowned and nodded in agreement.

"It does to me as well. It's not even as if he's trying to hide it either. I've noticed that it may even be getting worse," he said in reply stroking his chin in thought. Beth looked up in question.

"Worse? How so?"

"Well..." Watson paused trying to make sure that Sherlock couldn't hear their conversation. "I've noticed that when he plays his violin, its often very sad music, not at all the contemplative compositions I'm used to hearing. Also...I've seen him on numerous occasions trying to hide his face from me. I believe, Inspector Lestrade that he has been crying." Beth blinked in shock and frowned.

"Crying? The great Sherlock Holmes crying?" she asked in shock. Watson nodded sadly.

"Yes, and I can't place a single event as to why..."

"You know, your speaking of my personal matters is quite distracting to my job, Watson, Inspector. I'd appreciate it if you did not speak of it as it is none of your business," came the harsh voice of Sherlock. Both Watson and Beth frowned and apologized to the man. Sherlock glared at them both and returned to his investigation of the area. Had he been honest with himself he would have accepted that as of late, his gifts had been slipping due to his emotional state. Yet he tried day in and day out to force himself to ignore or throw out the emotional attachments he felt and turn his whole mind body and soul into his work.


It was only a week later that again, Sherlock broke down in his Baker Street home. The urge to smoke or to inject cocaine into his system was stronger than ever.

"Blast this era for banning smoking..." he muttered to himself half heartedly as he tried without success to fight back tears. He was glad though, that Watson was getting repaired at Scotland Yard and that he was left alone. He looked once again around the common room, seeing almost everything as it was back in the late 1800's yet something was still missing. Sherlock slumped and covered his face, feeling his heart break, as he realized, not for the first time since he was revived, that he was alone. He got up and put on his coat and hat and walked out the door.

It was then just as Watson was walking towards home, that he noticed his friend. Noticing his posture and his slow movements as he hailed a cab, Watson decided to follow him and reach the bottom of his friend's depression. Hurrying to get into the vehicle that he drove for Sherlock, he followed the cab at a distance.

As he drove along, Watson noticed that Sherlock's cab was headed for an old Victorian Era cemetery. Still, though, the robot could not connect Sherlock's depression and this apparent stop. As the cab slowed and lowered down to let it's passenger out, Watson parked a bit away and reached out his scanners to hear what Sherlock was saying.

"If you could just wait here for a moment. It shan't take more than a minute," the detective said. Then, walking with purpose towards an older section of the cemetery, Watson watched and listened.

"Here you are, my old friend," he said softly, barely registering on Watson's hypersensitive audios. "It took quite some time to find you. I can only imagine that you went through much of what I am going through right now. I wish that I never had fallen into that gorge. I'd still be with you, my dear. Only now do I realize that you held my heart so strongly. If there were a way, I would so dearly love to hold you again in the flesh. Please...be at rest my love." Watching in shock as Sherlock placed an item down onto a grave, Watson could barely believe what he had heard.

"He was in love," he whispered to himself. He felt horrible for the great detective. The woman who he loved was dead and he was still alive. Waiting until Sherlock went back into the cab and left, Watson then got out and went to the stone to see who it was that had won over Sherlock Holmes' heart. Walking over and kneeling in front of the stone, he noticed an old pipe and a tattered old book that was no doubt going to disintegrate out here in the elements. Raising an eyebrow, Watson looked up at the name and gasped. Standing up he took off his hat and bowed his head in respect. Leaving the cemetery he headed back for Baker Street, and hoped that he could hide that he knew whom it was that Sherlock loved.

The book began to chip away and the pipe would soon follow on the ground in front of the stone. It was there that Sherlock would visit upon the birthday of his lover, and pay his respects to Dr. John Watson.