I heard him leaving and assumed he was going back to Sam's. I breathed a sigh of relief. Much as I wanted his companionship, I could not allow him to be injured or killed on my account. To borrow words from a playwright: he was too much in the sun.

I was not. Black moods, dark games, and nighttime hunts - those were my kind. I knew from a young age that I would not find friendship easy and would never meet anyone who could tolerate me. Watson had not been included in those conclusions. How was I to know such a man existed?

Nevertheless, it was hard to be alone. For all my chasing of Addison across the channel, he had escaped me, and now I suspected he was back in London. Who else would orchestrate the attempt on my life?

I decided the matter must end, and I hurried to leave. I dressed and hurried towards those docks he lurked around like a tiger. He had no reason to change hideouts - it didn't matter if I knew where he was, since I would not go to Scotland Yard to fight my battles for me. I was going to make him suffer for his ally's mistake. He had almost killed the wrong man, and my anger was like a well-stoked blaze.

Think everyone has waited long enough, so I'm just posting them as I finish now. Sorry to subscribers who are annoyed with the volley of emails.