I'm beginning to think I won't make it out of this fest alive. The work has been so tragic and so excellent thus far! This story paints such a lovely picture of the way a friendship changes and shifts and -- not quite fades or grows thinner, but just isn't the same -- as life moves forward. I really think this part:
But even in the Strangers’ Room our words were scant, those years. It was not Watson’s fault, not entirely, for I had little interest in the small doings of his household, and would turn the topic to past glories when I could. By the time I went to America, to serve my country in a different way than he once had served her, the damage was truly done. I could convince myself that Watson was a friend of the same sort as Harold Stackhurst was in Sussex before the War. Someone to talk to, now and then, but not an intimate. Not someone who would confide in me the reasons why his hat had taken on a layer of dust.
is my favourite, because of what it says not only about their friendship, but also because of the little hints of guilt over it on the part of Holmes. He does seem sorry it went the way it did. Hindsight, and all that.
You highlighted Watson's struggle with the deaths of his friends/wives/colleagues so well throughout the narrative that by the end when he finally broke I really felt the weight on him, and it was fascinating to see John's emotion and sadness looked upon and measured by Sherlock's mind, it was an excellent choice to write it the way that you did.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-10-16 11:54 am (UTC)But even in the Strangers’ Room our words were scant, those years. It was not Watson’s fault, not entirely, for I had little interest in the small doings of his household, and would turn the topic to past glories when I could. By the time I went to America, to serve my country in a different way than he once had served her, the damage was truly done. I could convince myself that Watson was a friend of the same sort as Harold Stackhurst was in Sussex before the War. Someone to talk to, now and then, but not an intimate. Not someone who would confide in me the reasons why his hat had taken on a layer of dust.
is my favourite, because of what it says not only about their friendship, but also because of the little hints of guilt over it on the part of Holmes. He does seem sorry it went the way it did. Hindsight, and all that.
You highlighted Watson's struggle with the deaths of his friends/wives/colleagues so well throughout the narrative that by the end when he finally broke I really felt the weight on him, and it was fascinating to see John's emotion and sadness looked upon and measured by Sherlock's mind, it was an excellent choice to write it the way that you did.
Wonderful story :)