Here it is…finally! The last chapter. I realise it's been a long time since I last updated, I apologise unreservedly! I'm now halfway through the second year of university, and I've tried to be good this year and really concentrate. I've just finished some essays and exams, lectures have just started up again but nothing too heavy so I thought I might as well finish this.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who has stuck by this; I will give you all virtual badges of Patience. I've liked writing this, especially the comments bit. So I hope you enjoy this last one!

Don't own, I will never own it. Oh well.

The blog of Dr John Watson

You'd think two grown men would be able to act maturely and behave with dignity. Not the Holmes brothers. I swear they have a mental age of five when it comes to interacting with each other. They're both so childish (yes, even you Mycroft.) Anyway, where was I?

The man walked up to us and started to speak.

"Well, you contacted me and asked for me to come here, Mr Holmes. God knows why I'm obeying your orders."

"I'm more than happy to clear that point up for you, Dr Sterndale," Sherlock said. Sterndale took out a cigar from a tin which was in his back pocket and lit it, before gazing sternly at Sherlock.

"I don't have a clue why you want to talk to me; I heard the great Sherlock Holmes wasn't very friendly with other people. What do you want?"

"You. And your involvement in Mark Tregennis' death."

At that point, I actually wished I had my gun with me because Sterndale's face showed such anger and hatred for Sherlock, I was sure he was going to attack him. He had even taken a step forward and clenched his fist, but caught himself before doing anything.

"I would stop right there If I were you, Holmes. I don't want to hurt you too badly."

"Don't flatter yourself. Hasn't it entered that brain of yours that I called you here, and not sent for the police?" I must say, Sherlock exuded such a strong sense of authority and power, Sterndale visibly wilted under it.

"Why haven't you called them?" He finally asked. "If this is some sort of mind game you're playing, you've picked the wrong man to mess with. Tell me what you mean, now."

"When you'll stop with the empty threats, which are frankly a bit ambitious of you, I will explain. My not calling the police is dependent on what you'll say next."

"What I'll say? Say about what?"

"The death of Tregennis."

Sterndale was starting to sweat profusely. "They say you're a genius, I reckon it's just guessing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before saying: "This isn't a game of Cluedo, Sterndale. I never guess. And I'm always right." I felt the need to silently add "almost" to that last sentence. Sherlock carried on, not before sending a "Don't ruin the moment"-look.

"It doesn't take a 'genius' to see something suspicious in your behaviour. Coming back from the airport, but letting your things go on to Africa? Those were just two factors against you."

"I came back-"

"Yes, yes, you've told me once before. You said it was your 'friendship' with the Tregennis family that brought you back. Sentiment," Sherlock said distastefully. "You came over to ask me how I was getting along with the case, and I refused to answer you properly. You then went to the vicarage, waited outside it for some time, and finally returned to your hotel."

"How do you know that?"

"I followed you."

"I didn't see you?"

I was lost. "Wait, you followed him after he came round here? How come I didn't notice?"

"You were absorbed in a book. The Hobbit, John, really? Can't you do better than that? Anyway, Sterndale. You spent a restless night at your cottage, too busy plotting, which early in the morning you proceeded to put into action. The first thing you did was stuff your pocket with gravel."

Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Sherlock with amazement.

"You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the vicarage. You wearing the same shows as you're wearing now, tennis shoes. At the vicarage you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under Tregennis' window. Dawn was just breaking. You took out the gravel from your pocket and threw it at the window." Sterndale sprang to his feet.

"Where the hell do you get this?! You're a stalker," he cried.

Sherlock smiled and carried on. "It took two, or possible three, handfuls before Tregennis came to the window. He was obviously startled, having a man like you underneath his window; and you call me a stalker! You went into the house, and to the lounge; you talked together for a short while, with you walking up and down the room. You said your goodbyes, and left, and you waited outside. You looked at your watch to make sure Tregennis would be dead, and you left. So, why did you do it? And don't try and lie to me, or I will get the police. Believe me, my questions are much less mundane."

Sterndale's face had turned ash grey as he listened to Sherlock talking. He shuffled his feet for a while before taking his mobile phone out his pocket, scrolling through it and handing it to Sherlock.

"That is why I did it."

I came close to Sherlock to see what it was, and saw a picture of Brenda Tregennis.

"Yes, Brenda," Sterndale said. "I have loved her for years, and I know she loved me as well. I wanted to marry her, but my wife refuses to divorce me. Brenda waited for years, somewhat content to be a mistress. I couldn't let people know about her of course, or my television career would be over. Roundhay knew about us, and he was the one who informed me of her death. My things had already gone through the airport, I wasn't going to waste any time trying to get them back, and I needed to come here. So I let them go to Africa. There you have it, Holmes, my motive." Sterndale fumbled in his pockets and brought a small packet. He then turned to me.

"Do you know what this is, Doctor Watson?" I looked at the label, but didn't recognise it. I shook my head.

"I was in North-East Africa filming and came across the Ababda tribe. They had a collection of powders and herbs that were healing ones, but also poisonous ones. You could barely tell the difference between one powder and the next! I asked if I could take some to experiment on, which they agreed eventually, giving me a few. One of the tribe elders explained to us what most of them did. It was difficult trying to get them through Customs, but the television company sorted it out." He opened the sachet a bit, and turned it upside down so the powder trickled down like snow onto the ground. It was a red-brown colour. Sterndale continued.

"The Tregennis brothers did know about my relationship with Brenda, and we were on friendly terms. I knew there was some trouble with money between the siblings, especially with Mark, but I was sure they made up. Mark was the only brother I wasn't keen on. He was sly and scheming, but I never really had an issue with him.

"A couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage after I came back from Africa, and I showed him some of the stuff I brought back. I showed him the powder, how if you burn it it stimulates the part of the brain which controls fear and it can cause madness and even death. I then had to leave the room to take a phone-call, and he soon left. I realised some of the powder had gone missing when I got back, and as I was trying to figure out what I did with it I remembered how Mark asked a lot of questions about the powder and its effects, how it was used and so on. But I never thought he would use it for any particular reason, I thought he was just being curious.

"It wasn't until I heard about Brenda and her brothers that it hit me that Mark used it against them. I was on my way to the airport, and I'm sure he was betting that I'd be too far away when the news would come to me. The police seemed to find no cause, and I knew then that the powder was at fault. I came round to see you, as you remember, just to know what you'd found out; you gave me nothing to go on. I was convinced Mark was the cause of their deaths; he wanted the family money, and if his siblings were declared insane, he would be the sole guardian of all their properties. He killed my beloved Brenda just for money! But what was I to do about it?

"I had no actual proof it was him. The powder wasn't recognised in this country. But I didn't believe that the law would deal with him properly. It was up to me what his punishment should be. He killed the one I love; the law meant nothing to me then, and nor does it now.

"You have already mentioned some of the things involved in my revenge on Mark. I set off early from the cottage, I gathered some gravel-phoning him would leave records for someone to connect me with his death-and threw it at his window. After I was let into the house, I told him I knew what he had done; he denied it for ages before admitting it, he was always weak. Although my knife probably had something to do with that. There was an open fireplace, and I let the damned powder I brought with me burn in the fire. I told him if he dared moved out of the room, I would stab him. He was paralysed. He knew he'd either be killed, or have to reveal to Roundhay what he had done to his siblings in order to explain why I was outside with a knife. I stayed around to make sure the bastard died.

"Now, you can do what you like with me, Holmes. Call the police, have me arrested; I don't care. I did what was right; no one has ever loved a woman as much as I loved Brenda."

Sherlock hadn't moved an inch during Sterndale's explanation, and only smiled to himself as if to confirm what he already knew. I was shocked, yet I felt sympathetic towards Sterndale having lost the love of his life because of a leech like Mark Tregennis. (I know it's bad to speak ill of the dead, but I thought he was a good man, and to do what he did…)

"What were you next plans, before I asked you to come here to explain your actions?" asked Sherlock.

"Go to Africa quietly. I have some work to finish, and I can go and clear my head away from all this tragedy."

"Then go."

Sterndale wasn't the only one to look aghast at Sherlock. Just let him go?

"I…what do you mean?" Sherlock just raised his eyebrows, until Sterndale got the message. He awkwardly stuck his hand out to Sherlock, who shook it, and just walked away.

"If I loved someone as much as Sterndale loved Brenda, I would have done the same thing," Sherlock noted. "I would kill someone if they murdered you, John."

"What, really?"

"Of course. Then I'd take the killer's brain and experiment to see if murder is a psychological thing."

"So you would kill my murderer just to look at his brain?"

"I bet it would be fascinating."

"I'm sure you and the brain would be very happy together. "

Anyway, that's that. It was a brilliant case, and it was nice that no one tried to kill us for a change (I'll ignore the whole business with Sherlock nearly gassing us to death). The reason why this is coming out now is that Sterndale will never be prosecuted. As those who have seen or read the news recently will be aware, he sadly passed away while he was in Africa. While I don't want to ruin his good name, I'm letting the world know what a distraught man did after the loss of the woman he loved.

…

COMMENTS

You let a murderer go?! Sherlock, John. I'm going to be having words with you.

Lestrade

What a strange, but ultimately kind thing to do, you two.

Mike Stamford

It's not that big of a deal, Lestrade. It wasn't even your division involved.

Sherlock Holmes

Perverting the course of justice, freak. I thought you'd know that.

Sally Donovan

And you and Anderson being sexually active in the Scotland Yard offices, a restaurant's toilets, an alley beside a crime scene, isn't that public indecency? Tut, tut.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock! I don't think any of us wanted to know that. I now have to look at them knowing what and where they did these things. Oh, the horror. I'm still having a word with you about this whole business.

Lestrade

Blame John for putting it on his blog! Stupid idea.

Sherlock Holmes

Look at the first entry of this blog, Sherlock. It was your idea. Numpty.

John Watson

Shut up.

Sherlock Holmes

Numpty, how cute.

Anonymous

SHUT UP!

John Watson

Shut up!

Sherlock Holmes

Alright, alright. I get the message.

Anonymous

Thank you. Anthea

Sherlock Holmes