“Moriarty?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “They’ve arrested everyone in the gang except him. He managed to slip away. Once I left the country, there was no one left who could deal with him. I thought I had him cornered... I think you should go back to England, Watson.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous for you to stay with me now. Moriarty has lost everything—his entire organization is destroyed. If I know anything about him, he will be determined to get revenge. He mentioned it during our meeting, and I believe he meant it. I suggest you leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Holmes,” I said. “You may know Moriarty, but if you think I’m going to abandon you now, you don’t know me at all.”

Holmes smiled. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to go?”

“You’d be wasting your time, old friend.”

The next ten days were some of the most unforgettable of my life. We traveled through the Rhone Valley, then took a turn at Leukerbad. From there, we crossed the Gemmi Pass, still covered in snow, before moving on to Interlaken and finally reaching Meiringen. The scenery was breathtaking. I will always remember the stark, snow-covered peaks and the vibrant green of the spring valleys.

Holmes, too, was moved by the beauty, but he never seemed able to fully relax. The shadow of his enemy was always in his thoughts. In the peaceful Alpine villages and lonely mountain passes, he remained alert, constantly scanning every face we passed. He was convinced that no matter how far we traveled, we could never escape the danger that followed us.

Once, while we were hiking over the Gemmi Pass near Daubensee Lake, a large rock fell from the ridge above us. It crashed down onto the path behind us and then into the lake. If we had been just ten steps back, we would have been directly in its path.

Immediately, Holmes dashed up onto the ridge. From a high vantage point, he scanned the surroundings, searching for anyone who might have pushed the boulder.

Our guide tried to reassure him, saying that rock falls were common in this area at this time of year. Holmes remained unconvinced.

Despite his constant vigilance, Holmes never seemed gloomy. In fact, I had rarely seen him so hopeful and optimistic. One evening, he told me, “If I can just rid the world of Moriarty, I’d be happy to retire from crime fighting. Of course, if I were to die tonight, I’d still be content with my life’s work. London is safer now. Yet I would love to end my career by capturing or destroying the most dangerous man in Europe.”

On May 3, we arrived in Meiringen, a beautiful Swiss village nestled in a lush valley surrounded by towering mountains. The icy streams from these peaks fed the Aare River, which wound its way through the village.

We stayed at the Englischer Hof, a charming hotel run by an elderly man named Peter Steiler. He was a friendly and intelligent fellow who spoke excellent English, having worked at the Grosvenor Hotel in London for three years.

“While you’re here,” he suggested, “you must visit the hamlet of Rosenlaui. It’s the highest settlement in this valley, and the views are spectacular. You can stay at the inn there overnight and return here the next day. On the way up, you’ll pass the famous Reichenbach Falls. A small detour will take you to a great viewpoint. It’s a sight you shouldn’t miss!”

Following Steiler’s advice, we set off up the valley after lunch on May 4. The weather was perfect, with not a cloud in the sky. We followed a stream that fed into the Aare River, stopping occasionally to admire the Wetterhorn and other mountains, their snowy peaks shimmering in the late spring sunshine.

Soon, we reached the detour leading to the Reichenbach Falls. The path to the falls was a ledge cut into the mountainside, with a steep, rocky wall on one side and a sharp drop on the other. Standing above the roaring falls, I was filled with both fear and awe at its immense power.

The path around the falls allowed visitors to view them from different angles, but it ended abruptly halfway around, so we had to return the way we came.

As we were about to turn back, a Swiss boy came running toward us, waving a letter. He handed it to me. Shielding the letter from the mist, I read the message from our landlord, Peter Steiler.

The letter explained that a frail old English lady had arrived at the hotel shortly after we left. She had been staying in Davos Platz over the winter and was on her way to meet friends in Lucerne when she suddenly fell ill. She believed she had only a few hours left to live and requested to see an English doctor, refusing to see a Swiss one. Steiler apologized for the inconvenience but insisted that the lady was adamant about her request.

Feeling I had no choice but to help, I felt uneasy about leaving Holmes alone.

Holmes, however, insisted I go. “If it helps,” he said, “this young lad will stay with me as my guide. We’ll stay here for a while and then slowly make our way to Rosenlaui where you can rejoin us in the evening.”

I agreed and started to make my way back down the ledge to the main path. As I glanced back, I saw Holmes leaning against the rocky wall, arms folded, watching the rushing waters. Knowing what was to come, I cherish this memory, as it was one of the last peaceful moments we shared.

I was almost back on the main path when I heard the sound of pebbles crunching. I looked around and saw a man walking quickly on a path that went up to the falls. He was tall and dark, and he moved very fast. I was a bit surprised by how quickly he was going. But soon, I forgot about him and continued down the hill toward Meiringen.

It took me a little over an hour to get to the village. When I arrived, I saw Peter Steiler, the hotel owner, standing on the porch.

I asked him, “Is the woman getting worse?”

He looked confused and asked, “Who is getting worse?”

I felt a wave of worry. “You didn’t write this?” I showed him the letter I had. “There isn’t a sick Englishwoman staying here?”

“Certainly not!” he said loudly. Then he looked at the letter. “But this letter has our hotel’s seal on it. Ah! Wait a minute. It must have been written by that tall Englishman who arrived just after you left. He said …”

But I didn’t have time to listen to Steiler. Feeling very worried, I turned and ran back to the path I had just come from.

I ran as fast as I could, but it took me two more hours to get back to the falls. Holmes’s hiking stick was still leaning against the rock where I had left it. But there was no sign of Holmes. I shouted his name, but only my own voice echoed back from the cliffs.

Seeing the hiking stick made me feel very frightened. It meant that Holmes hadn’t gone to Rosenlaui. He had stayed on this narrow path, with a steep wall on one side and a drop on the other, until Moriarty found him. I was sure now that the figure I had seen coming down the hill had been Moriarty. The Swiss boy must have been Moriarty’s helper and left when Moriarty arrived.

What had happened next?

For a few minutes, I couldn’t think clearly—I was too shocked by what had happened. Slowly, I began to use the methods Holmes had taught me to figure things out. We hadn’t gone to the end of the path. The hiking stick marked the point where we had stood.

The constant spray from the falls kept the path damp and muddy. I could see two sets of footprints going to the end of the path, but no footprints coming back.

Near the end of the path, the soil was a muddy mess, and the ferns were crushed and torn. It was clear that a fierce struggle had happened right at the edge of the falls.

Feeling very worried, I walked back along the path. As I picked up Holmes’s hiking stick, I noticed a white piece of paper fluttering by my feet. It was a note from Holmes, pinned down by the stick. I picked it up and was shocked to see it was addressed to me. The handwriting was strong and clear, like it was written in his study.

Dear Watson,

I’m writing this with Professor Moriarty here with me. He’s been telling me how he followed us through Belgium, France, and Switzerland. He is very smart, though he uses his intelligence for evil. I’m glad that I can soon put an end to his threat, even though it may cause some pain, including yours, my friend.

I knew the letter from Peter Steiler was a trick, and I was glad to see you go on that false errand. This final showdown had to be just between Moriarty and me, and I didn’t want to put you in danger.

Please tell Inspector Patterson that the papers he needs to convict the gang are in Pigeonhole M inside a blue envelope marked “Moriarty.” I’ve taken care of my affairs and given my will to my brother, Mycroft. Send my best wishes to Mrs. Hudson.

Always your friend,

Sherlock Holmes

I cried a lot on the way back to Meiringen. I couldn’t stop thinking about the narrow path with the disturbed soil and crushed plants. I imagined Holmes and Moriarty fighting there, struggling with each other. If one of them had slipped on the muddy rocks, they both would have fallen into the swirling water below.

A few days later, I went back to London and gave the police the information about the Moriarty gang. They were all arrested and convicted. I also helped Mrs. Hudson restore 221B Baker Street. We decorated it the same way as before, to honor Sherlock Holmes. After the work was done, I visited Mrs. Hudson from time to time, and we would have tea together. We talked about Sherlock Holmes, who was the greatest and wisest man either of us had ever known.

The End