August 1901-

I arrived home at Baker Street, walked into the main hallway, and placed my bags down only to be almost knocked over as Holmes ran down the staircase and out onto the street. At once I turned and followed him. Why? Why do I do these things? What is this power that Holmes has to make me so incapable to make a rational decision? I saw him run down the street and turn the corner. I know all of Holmes many short cuts so I had little trouble following him. He ran into, what appeared at least on the outside, to be a rather derelict building. This was not far from the truth as the inside held little but decaying furniture and a few drunks sleeping off their indulgences. I caught up to Holmes as he was leaning against a damp wall in a barren room. He first words to me were, "why did you not take the First avenue alleyway? It would have been quicker." The fact, the very knowledge, that Holmes knew I was following him and neither signaled this nor slowed down should have been my first indication to leave right there and then. But as my own hand had shown time and time again in this journal, I am not a man who knows when to leave. I waited next to him curious as to who we were following. Holmes then darted from the room and up a flight of stairs. I followed in due haste. We continued this made race up and downstairs, into back alleys and through deserted warehouses. As we rounded yet another corner Holmes suddenly turned back towards me, grabbed my arm and pushed me into the metal seat of a chair at a small table. The table was located at a café we had just hurried past. Once I was seated Holmes threw himself into the opposite chair and pulled his hat lower on his face. I lowered my own head out of the sheer instinct that we were not to be seen. A few minutes later Holmes raised his head and I did the same. He pushed back his hat and smiled at me. I asked him what we had been chasing and he said, "Just a ghost. Nothing that can hurt us anymore." I found it very cryptic. Before I could enquire further the waiter arrived with a bottle of red wine. Holmes asked the waiter why, since we had not ordered it, he was bringing us the wine. The waiter said it was from a lady who had also left a card. It read "would it not be easier to simply meet me at our room in the Savoy?-Irene."

Fearing poison, Holmes insisted we leave the bottle untouched. He did, however, quell any fear he may have had about touching the lady herself. In short order he made his hurried goodbyes and we went our separate ways. I returned to Baker Street while Holmes went to the arms of Irene. By the time I returned to Baker Street I was tired, angry and frustrated. It was with this tangle of emotions that I prepared for bed, leaving my suitcase just as I had carried it in. As with most times that I am overtired, I could not sleep. After tossing about for much of the night I finally relented and got out of bed. I curled up with a new novel that had arrived from my local bookseller while I was away. I also poured myself a brandy in the hopes of drinking myself into slumber. It was in the early morning light that I heard a slight knock and Holmes swept into the room. His hair was even wilder than usual and his clothes had the look of having been put on in a hurry. He paced around babbling at me about various inconsequential things. Many of them were about Irene. How lovely she is, how he had misjudged her in the past and how happy he was to see her again. He stopped his pacing for a moment and eyed me up and down before proclaiming, "ah but as you have lost your fair maiden I expect that you think I am silly for my words. I apologize." And then, before I could get my wits about me, he left. I was flabbergasted. Did my heartbreak show? At least with Irene now back, for good perhaps, in Holmes heart I can settle down to my life as it once was. I shall concentrate on my practice. I shall leave the distractions to others.