A Study In Wedlock

"Great men are horrible. "

("Under Western Eyes", Joseph Conrad)

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Sir ACD does. Passages from the original works are in italics.

Prologue

2nd April 1887

"Holmes?"

I entered the crepuscular chamber with timid steps. Somebody had closed the window shutters, and the floor was littered with telegrams and congratulation messages. There were bouquets on every single piece of furniture. In the darkness, I could smell roses, carnations, lilies…Nevertheless, everything appeared to be wasted on the man outstretched on his bed in the corner, his arm covering his eyes against the faint daylight my arrival had caused.

"Holmes?"

No reply. Slowly, I stepped closer to the prone figure on the bed. He was in shirt and gaiters, his grey waistcoat buttoned all awry.

"Holmes, it is I, Watson. How are you faring? My worries would not abate…"

"What do you want", he said, sounding extremely exhausted and irritated at the same time. "You can see I desire to be left alone, can you not? Pray respect my request and vanish."

The chill welcome was no surprise, nonetheless I disrelished the offense it entailed.

"Holmes, this demeanour is unworthy of you. I am here with the sole intention of helping you!"

"And how can you hope to achieve this feat? I am not ill."

"But..I have been informed…"

"See for yourself. Place your hand on my forehead, on my cheeks. Am I feverish? Hardly so. My case drained me and I need to rest, that is all."

"You have driven yourself too hard as per usual, I suppose?" I berated him.

"Your accusation is justified perhaps…it has been hard. My research took up two months, during which I never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and sometimes kept to my task for five days at a stretch."

"My dear friend…!" I cried, horrified by his confession.

"So, can you comprehend I am tired? Return to England. I shall follow when I am better…"

I nodded although he was unable to see me, and was about to withdraw, when suddenly I caught sight of an open drawer close to the bed. I hesitated.

"Did not you plan on leaving, doctor?" the acerbic voice of my boswell asked.

He had done that again. Syringe and bottle could be distinguished in between other odds and ends in the open drawer.

"My dear Holmes…"

I wanted to re-approach the bed, but his unoccupied arm fiercely fended me off.

"Can't you hear what I'm saying? Leave! I beg of you! Leave!"

"But…" astounded and upset, I noted his voice had grown choked, unsteady as if…God Almighty.

Never before had I witnessed my friend weeping. All the same, when I gently forced the arm away from his face, tears tumbled down and dripped onto the pillow. I had not even known he was capable of such emotions, and prior to this moment, I had seen his heart on very rare occasions only.

"Why, whatever is wrong? Calm yourself, dear friend. All is well. You have succeeded where the police of three countries have failed, you will be celebrated all over Europe. Just look at all of those telegrams! The people love you!"

"And pray what is it to me if they love me? Perfect strangers for the most part…they applaud whilst I am – solitary!"

"Oh, is it like that? You're feeling solitary? Abandonned? Unloved? I'll tell you something, dear Holmes – " I regarded his glassy eyes fixedly, "maybe that you are not ill, but most certainly you're suffering from bipolar disorder in quite a serious form."

Holmes only snorted. "Bipolar disorder? You let yourself be carried away by your fascination with the Austrian specialists. Today, you find me in a state of weakness…but perhaps tomorrow already I shall be my old self again. I am not some sentimental idiot!"

"Of course not. I am just too well aware of the strict discipline you habitually exercise over yourself. It does not do, however, to constantly suppress your sentiments. It's just as well everything spills out now. You've worked, you have been optimistic and ambitious of achieving a high-stake aim. Now the reaction is upon you. Why are you always endeavouring to lighten your humour with the use of this poison? It is in vain. It would be better for you to talk a little."

"Talk? About what?"

"I don't know, old chap. It is you who knows what is on your mind."

"It is nothing in particular..." Holmes sighed. "In fact, I do not have anything to worry about, and that is what worries me. When I am trying to listen to my interior, there is just a great big void."

"You mean to say...?"

"Ah, I don't know, Watson. These thoughts invade me from time to time. I don't expect you to understand. After all, you are a man quite different from myself…appreciated and not scorned by your peers…you have lots of friends…and a most devoted wife…"

I frowned. "Holmes, you have chosen this lonely path for yourself. You could have married yourself all the time."

He smiled a little. "You're right there, no doubt. But in the end, you know I am not overly fond of women. And still…sometimes, I wished I was in your shoes…and I feel envy."

"I thought you were cherishing your lonesome existence?" I opposed, a little confused.

"Very much", he confirmed. "I need calm and silence in order to establish an atmosphere that allows me to concentrate my thoughts on my scientific problems. And it is true I detest the social gatherings attractive to a man of your kind. In spite of all, Watson – at our age, one cast's one's eyes into the future. I did so and divined…nothing."

"Oh no", I tried to ease him, "there are glories…successes that are sure to come…you still have the whole of your career ahead of you!"

He laughed a mirthless laughter. "And afterwards? And afterwards? Who will continue what I have instigated, who will inherit my talents or are they doomed to perish in the dust of the decades? Yes, if I had children, Watson…if only I had anyone!"

"Your anxieties are superfluous, my dear Holmes. You're young still…you still can have a lot of children if you so choose!"

"No, never!" He forcibly freed his arm from my grip and reinstalled it over his eyes. "I'm incapable of it! I shall never have a son! I shall never have anyone at all!"

His dry sobs penetrated my heart painfully. I made another effort to retract his arm, but without success. For the first time during our acquaintance, Holmes acted irrationally. I was positive he had never wanted a family, at least not for the family's sake. He felt lonely, and miserable, and that was all. Bipolar disorder, it was apparent. Compassionately, I touched his brow with tenderness.

"None of this, Holmes. You're not solitary", I whispered. "You do have a friend who cares for you a great deal…in the end, you always have me."