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.Of course, there were younger versions of ourselves alreadyliving then, but Mycroft swapped us for them, bringing the young ones to thefuture, where they could live out the rest of their lives in simulated scenariostaken from Holmes's and my minds.Granted, we were each eight years older thanwe had been when we had fled Moriarty the first time, but no one in Switzerlandknew us and so the aging of our faces went unnoticed.I found myself for a third time living that fateful day at the Fallsof Reichenbach, but this time, like the first and unlike the second, it wasreal.I saw the page boy coming, and my heart raced.I turned to Holmes,and said, "I can't possibly leave you.""Yes, you can, Watson.And you will, for you have never failed toplay the game.I am sure you will play it to the end." He paused for a moment,then said, perhaps just a wee bit sadly, "I can discover facts, Watson, but Icannot change them." And then, quite solemnly, he extended his hand.I claspedit firmly in both of mine.And then the boy, who was in Moriarty's employ, wasupon us.I allowed myself to be duped, leaving Holmes alone at the Falls,fighting with all my might to keep from looking back as I hiked onward to treatthe nonexistent patient at the Englischer Hof.On my way, I passed Moriartygoing in the other direction.It was all I could do to keep from drawing mypistol and putting an end to the blackguard, but I knew Holmes would considerrobbing him of his own chance at Moriarty an unforgivable betrayal.It was an hour's hike down to the Englischer Hof.There I played outthe scene in which I inquired about the ailing Englishwoman, and Steiler theElder, the innkeeper, reacted, as I knew he must, with surprise.My performancewas probably half-hearted, having played the role once before, but soon I was onmy way back.The uphill hike took over two hours, and I confess plainly to beingexhausted upon my arrival, although I could barely hear my own panting over theroar of the torrent.Once again, I found two sets of footprints leading to the precipice,and none returning.I also found Holmes's alpine stock, and, just as I had thefirst time, a note from him to me that he had left with it.The note read justas the original had, explaining that he and Moriarty were about to have theirfinal confrontation, but that Moriarty had allowed him to leave a few last wordsbehind.But it ended with a postscript that had not been in the original:My dear Watson [it said], you will honour my passing most of all ifyou stick fast to the powers of observation.No matter what the world wants,leave me dead.I returned to London, and was able to briefly counterbalance my lossof Holmes by reliving the joy and sorrow of the last few months of my wifeMary's life, explaining my somewhat older face to her and others as the resultof shock at the death of Holmes.The next year, right on schedule, Marconi didindeed invent the wireless.Exhortations for more Holmes adventures continued topour in, but I ignored them all, although the lack of him in my life was soprofound that I was sorely tempted to relent, recanting my observations made atReichenbach.Nothing would have pleased me more than to hear again the voice ofthe best and wisest man I had ever known.In late June of 1907, I read in The Times about the detection ofintelligent wireless signals coming from the direction of the star Altair.Onthat day, the rest of the world celebrated, but I do confess I shed a tear anddrank a special toast to my good friend, the late Mr.Sherlock Holmes.THE ENDA brief essay about this storyOther short stories by Robert J.SawyerA profile of Rob from Tangent concentrating on his short-fiction careerBack to the Robert J.Sawyer main page (www.sfwriter.com)
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