It struck me that he was looking even paler and thinner than usual.
"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely," he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; "I have been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my closing your shutters?"
The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall, and flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.
"You are afraid of something?" I asked.
"Well, I am."
"Of what?"
"Of air-guns."

If those one hundred (and one!) words look familiar, it's because they are a direct quote from "The Final Problem", which I have been leading up to for some time now. Please imagine the Watson of "Call for the Doctor" going off to Europe and eventually to the Reichenbach Falls, only to come home and find himself some time afterward needing to tell the story, and sufficiently constrained by his bargain with Moriarty not to publish The Valley of Fear that he had to invent or adapt the conversation introducing the Napoleon of Crime to his readers.

I am sad to come to the end of this tale – and not quite so sad to find myself freed of the necessity of coming up with yet another title using the word "Call" (or at least the sound of the word!). But I can't tell the story better than Conan Doyle did.

I may, eventually, come back and write a sequel to this, but for now, there are other wips waiting. Thank you all for sticking with this story through all 22,100 words!

Beta Thanks to Jane Turenne, who has patiently read through my first drafts and suggested many a title. Also thanks to Protector of the Gray Fortress and KCS, for letting me borrow Alfie.