You have an inkling.

You. Wat­son.

He used to call you Wat­son. Wat­son never had inklings. That was Sherlock’s job.

He’d be Sher­lock, of course.

You hated it.

It’s not that you weren’t the world’s biggest Sher­lock Holmes fan – you were. You knew every line from every story.

But while he may have loved the idea of Sher­lock Holmes, he did not know the sto­ries as you did.

At the time, you found this oh so offen­sive. Now, you miss the ill-informed fun.

The funny thing is…

Now you’ve for­got­ten it all any­way. You can barely remem­ber how to spell Moriarty.

But you have an inkling.

He kept talk­ing about Mori­arty, before his… before he was killed.

He said Mori­arty would like your room. He did not like your room. He didn’t feel com­fort­able inside it. Yet, he said, Mori­arty wanted to stay.

Mori­arty. A real Moriarty.

Mori­arty, his evil per­son­al­ity. Mori­arty, his evil side. Mori­arty, his evil voice.

Mori­arty, his evil inner demon which he insisted must never be seen by the world.

But you have an inkling.

You didn’t tell the police or even The Detec­tive about Moriarty.

You don’t think Mori­arty was evil.

Oh, he was def­i­nitely a bad guy in the Sher­lock Holmes uni­verse. But this is real­ity, and Mori­arty didn’t get named Mori­arty on his own.

He named Mori­arty “Mori­arty.” He decided that this part of him­self must be wrong; must be evil.

He decided never to let Mori­arty see the light of day.

But you have an inkling.

You always thought that was a mistake.

Now, you’ll never know. Mori­arty will indeed never see the light of day, and nei­ther will Sherlock.

They’re gone.

But you still have an inkling.