That morning of January 6, 1906, I was traveling in a hansom cab from my residence in Queen Anne Street to Baker Street, and this was a day that I would never forget. I still remember that meeting, in which Holmes insistently summoned me. It should be noted that in the last years of his career, Holmes and myself were separated for various reasons. It wasn´t just a matter of simple discussions. In this regard, my friend, who was more stubborn and conceited, as he got older, didn´t give up his great obsession of becoming a great writer. But Holmes is a lousy writer and continued with his fantasies of publishing crime essays and a book about the art of the investigation, which he didn´t even know how to start, or how to write it, and despite the fact that he apologized to me for criticizing my writing skills, I had the feeling that he envied that quality that I had in excess and he lacked so much. Even in the previous two years, 1904 and 1905, we went to France to fight another crime master, Arsène Lupin, who was practically the new Moriarty of the European continent. My friend defeated him. Nonetheless, I suffered the worst part, was hospitalized with a broken arm and received a stab very close to my heart. These events also made me reflect on my personal health and safety, forcing me to withdraw from that dangerous profession, which was the main reason for Sherlock Holmes' existence.

Along the way, I also remembered the last cases I recorded, which weren´t many, and I could rather say that this 20th century marked the decline of the best detective of all time. What a difference from the eighties, with more than twenty-nine documented cases! And the nineties, with more than nineteen published relevant cases! However, I remembered that since the year 1901, in addition to our separation (I could not even live with Holmes after the tragic death of my dear wife, Mary Morstan, knowing that due to the indiscretion of my detective friend, he is also responsible for that death, and I don´t know if I am going to publish the details of that case), I had barely written seven adventures: Priory School, The Three Garridebs, The Illustrious Client, The Blanched Soldier, The Creeping Man, The Mazarin Stone and The Three Gables.

Although I can´t publish the confrontations between Holmes and Lupin because these occurred in France, in cases that are the responsibility of the French police, and there is only one writer, authorized by the institutions of that beautiful land, to write and publish these sensational stories. I am referring to Mr. Maurice LeBlanc, who will also be considered as the biographer of Arsène Lupin.

Also, I was concerned that in recent years, Sherlock Holmes, somehow repeatedly betrayed and deceived by that damned woman, Irene Adler, whose real surname is Adair, had involved. Perhaps due to emotional stress, facing the day-to-day activities of his thankless profession, along with a growing level of disappointment and frustration. The truth is that the appreciated and rebellious Sherlock Holmes, in this last stage of his professional career, didn´t mind crossing the red line that criminals disrespect, and, as I warned in the story of The Illustrious Client, he hired ex-criminals as informants and was going to be tried for stealing a valuable object from the Baron Adelbert Gruner. I didn´t even know that he was using me to steal that book, and if I had, I would have refused to collaborate with him. But that is another story...

In short, in my hyperactive mind, which handles countless ideas in a disorderly manner, all kinds of thoughts crossed. From the joys and satisfactions for the opportunities received by participating in many investigations with Holmes and having the privilege of being his assistant and biographer, even praised and recognized by the fearsome Lupin, to the disappointments due to the fatal outcome that other investigations had, including: The Five Orange Pips and The Dancing Men; in which, unfortunately, our clients were killed. There are also other cases of kidnapping and murder, in which Holmes had a lot of evidence, but in some, he could not find the culprits, and in others, despite the fact that he presented his discoveries to Scotland Yard and the suspects were arrested, they were released by legal technicalities, or because their defense attorneys objected some of the circumstantial evidence.

At that time, I also remembered that Sherlock Holmes had become obsessed with two other cases. Of course, he asked me to write them.

The first is The Story of the Lost Special, in which a train, with a Central American politician and his bodyguard, practically disappeared into thin air. The tragedy occurred in June of the year 1890 and attracted great attention from the local and continental newspapers, because that man was carrying documents that compromised many rulers of Great Britain and Europe, and if he had revealed them, an inconceivable scandal would have been unleashed, and I don´t doubt that several politicians and nobles would have fallen into disgrace. Although Holmes was eager to participate in this investigation, he was very busy and was sidelined by Scotland Yard officials on this case. Nonetheless, rightly, he gave some warnings, explaining that this was an attempt and that they should go immediately to all the coal mines in the area, before the evidence was lost. He also recommended expanding the search to the auxiliary lines of Carnstock Iron Works, Big Ben Coal Mine and Perseverance Colliery.

On the one hand, I reiterate that my friend was too busy, from June to November of that year, in addition to the fact that there was negligence on the part of the investigators, who discarded the valuable recommendations of Holmes. Also, when he planned to go to the places where the train might have disappeared, at the end of November, there was an attempt to poison him, which I explained in The Adventure of the Dying Detective, and he was only able to visit the possible crime scenes, at the beginning of December 1890, indicating that all traces, in the abandoned mines, were eliminated and there was no way of knowing what happened. And on the other hand, the solution to this mystery came unexpectedly. The dangerous criminal who organized this operation was sentenced to death for another crime. Then, he confessed and published, in a letter, the improbable details of the disappearance of the train and the murder of the politician and his custodian, only omitting the names of his benefactors or the masterminds of this horrible crime. In this way, the truth of this case was known, but Holmes was disappointed because he could not solve it. In any case, he asked me to publish that case, without our names appearing, because it is an unusual event in the criminal literature.

While the second case, The Story of the Man with the Watches, was also posted anonymously by me. In this one, it was omitted that Sherlock Holmes was the last commissioned investigator. The tragedy occurred in March 1892, at a time, when my friend, after fighting Moriarty over the precipice, was abroad, working undercover as the explorer and detective Sigerson, and therefore, at first, he was unable to act, as he would have wished. Here, three passengers, two men and one woman, mysteriously disappeared from a train, while another, an American, known as the man with the watches, because he was found with six expensive watches, was discovered shot dead, and had no ticket neither identification documents. Furthermore, these watches weren´t stolen from him, being unknown the motive of the murder. After Holmes returned from the afterlife, in April 1894, he became obsessed with this case and annoyed may times the Scotland Yard inspectors to authorize him to participate, and let him review the respective file. However, this was one of those rare cases that surpassed the great powers of Sherlock Holmes. He was puzzled because he could not explain what happened nor did he know how that deceased boarded the train. Finally, as in the other tale, The Story of the Lost Special, he was frustrated because the case was solved, due to the confession of another person: the brother of the deceased, who also sent a public letter, giving all the details of this unusual and mysterious crime.

Briefly, he exposed that he was on that train, chasing his brother (a watch salesman, disguised as a woman) and his boss, Sparrow (a fearsome criminal). After an altercation, his brother took off his woman's disguise and the criminal shot at him, but he managed to dodge the bullet, which ended up killing his beloved brother. In addition to throwing the wallet with the dead man's documents, both jumped off the train.

Of course, Holmes asked me to publish this unique story, considering prudent to record both, in the annals of criminal history. Although I clarify that since I am not so orderly, I published first, The Story of the Man with the Watches, in July 1898, and later, The Story of the Lost Special, in August 1898.

As I explained on another occasion, I reiterate that there are cases that Sherlock Holmes hasn´t been able to solve and have disturbed him significantly, leaving him dejected for days or weeks. Even we don´t like to publish such failure stories, which I call narratives with a beginning and no (happy) ending, since the stories that show researchers' failures are disappointing to readers and fans, who are used to reading and enjoying the victories of Holmes and Watson.

Following my train of thought, I knew very well what Sherlock Holmes was going to deal. Almost eight years ago these two cases, that obsessed him and almost drove him mad, were published, but one was missing, and unlike the previous ones, in this, there was no criminal neither a star witness who confessed, so the investigation was still open, and it had not been possible to find a definitive solution. Obviously, there was also a great difference between these two cases and this complicated investigation, because in the absence of answers, which was a curse and a blessing, Sherlock Holmes continued to investigate and it seemed that his final conclusions were almost ready. How ironic! The great Sherlock Holmes, who made fun of Monsieur Lecoq, because he took months to solve a case, and also despised C. Auguste Dupin, two of the great detectives of modern literature, has been investigating an unknown murderer for many years, and maybe his approaches may not be conclusive.

I also remembered the story, The Mystery of Marie Rogêt by Edgar Allan Poe, who, in the fictional world of C. Auguste Dupin, reconstructed a real event that could not be resolved by the authorities: the unfortunate murder of Mary Cecilia Rogers. In this account, masterfully, the private investigator Dupin (at that time, the term detective wasn´t used) analyzed all the evidence of the case and approached to the best possible solution, concluding that a lover of this woman, possibly a sailor, was the culprit and not a gang. Certainly, there is criticism against Poe for not giving definitive answers, but I consider that his approach and reasoning were spectacular, competing with Holmesian techniques, and he arrived to the optimum, unable to go any further due to the absence of technology and some relevant witness.

Of course, I fervently hoped that my friend, Sherlock Holmes, would have done his best and clear up this case that has haunted him so much, approaching to a style like that posed in Marie Rogêt's situation, and not remaining in the limbo, as an unanswered or doubtful case.

Dejected and drowned by so many thoughts, in those moments, I also remembered that Holmes' perception of how the human brain works is incorrect. Once, he told me, justifying why he didn´t know that the Earth revolved around the Sun (please don´t laugh, this really upset me), that the brain is like a closet and information had to be eliminated for not filling up it with rubbish, and thus, make room for new knowledge. Certainly, the human brain doesn´t work in this way, and I believe that its storage and processing capacity goes beyond the limits that we could imagine.

Among so many ideas that competed to get my attention and increase my level of concern, it was difficult to evaluate my emotions, since both anxieties and intense desires came together in my mind. This was a moment that I had waited for several years, and in principle, I had hopes that I would be able to publish this story, which would have consolidated Holmes and me as the greatest investigative team of all time. To be sure that I was not dreaming, I repeated my prayers, in a silent voice (I would be ashamed if the driver heard them), took Holmes' telegram out of my right coat pocket, and read it again:

"Watson,

Come to Baker Street tomorrow, first hour in the morning.

About Jack the Ripper.

__Sherlock Holmes."

Arriving to my destination, I didn´t have to knock on the door. Despite the winter chill, the foolish Sherlock Holmes, heavily bundled up, opened it before I could ring the bell. Since his clothes were wet and he looked at me with a grim face, I knew that he had been outside for a while, waiting impatiently for me. Anticipating a reproach, I looked at my wristwatch and said:

-Good morning, Sherlock, it´s ten past seven in the morning.

-We are still in the first hour.

Without returning my greeting, he nodded his head. We quickly went up to his rooms and after closing his door, abruptly and violently, he stared at me and began to speak:

-Oh, Watson!

-I know you haven´t had breakfast, but we have differences in criteria. Since 1881, so we have known each other for twenty-five years, and… You still don´t understand that the first hour starts at six, not seven! How many times have I told you this, in these twenty-five years?

I kept quiet because when he becomes stubborn and unbearable, it is better to ignore him. Being somewhat puzzled by my lack of response, he continued the conversation:

-Watson, sit down!

-Don´t you think that I am so impolite to summon you so early and not invite you to breakfast?

Immediately after his call, Mrs. Hudson appeared and brought us a hearty breakfast, which seemed more like a lunch fit for a king.

-Holmes?

-Since when do you eat lamb?

-So, the poor Mrs. Hudson was preparing this delicacy last night?

Without saying a word, Sherlock Holmes nodded affirmatively, and although it was very early, he insisted that each one should enjoy a glass of port wine, my detective friend's favorite drink. It was as if this breakfast preceded or was the prelude to a special celebration.

The dishes were collected and we were more than satiated with this wonderful meal. Next, before my astonished gaze, Holmes placed and lit several candles on the table and other furniture.

-Oh, Watson!

-I know that I haven´t been very religious!

-But, as I get older, I am closer to death, I think more and more about the religion. Where we come from? What are we doing here? Where are we going?

-The world is like this because of so much evil and lack of love.

-We don´t deserve a life of so many injustices and hopefully we can promote to a better one...

-And returning to this unfair earthly world, of which I am fed up and stubborn, what Jack the Ripper and his accomplices did has no forgiveness in this life. In the next one, I don´t know...

-In memory of the victims of Jack the Ripper and his henchmen, we are going to dedicate a minute of silence to them...

So, it was! I lived through a stellar moment, when Holmes surprised me with his flexibility and changeable nature. Although I am a faithful Christian, I have always considered him as an atheist, Esoteric, Agnostic and a fan of the so-called occult sciences, but it seemed, for reasons that were not clear, that Sherlock Holmes, in his way to retire soon, was looking for an approach to the religion. I exclaimed:

-Good Heavens!

-Holmes, this suited you very well!

-Congratulations!

-Now, I understand your impatience...

Thereupon Holmes and I sat down in the living room. He remained resting comfortably on the sofa, while he smoked, and I was sitting, in an adjoining chair, eager to listen to his imminent presentation. After finishing his cigarette and leaving the residues in the ashtray, he got up, looked for his personal index, and also brought another volume, which I had never seen, and several folders with photographs and other documents. But, I knew well what those photographs were! Just thinking about these, I trembled and wanted to cry and roar, like a great lion, imploring justice for the victims.

The implacable Sherlock Holmes sat in the most comfortable chair. We were facing each other, separated by a small table, where all the belongings he had brought were left. Holmes began his long-awaited speech:

-Oh, Watson!

-I want you to write this case, word for word of everything I say, don´t leave behind any important details.

-You see, here is my index or personal file, next, this is the other volume, dedicated exclusively to Jack the Ripper.

-Yeah!

-Are you amazed Watson?

-I have been preparing that file for many years and you didn´t know it...

While he continued speaking, Holmes opened that book, and quickly scrolled through it, page by page, as if he were an expert musician, who moved his fingers to recreate marvelous symphonies. His movements were fast, and in a few seconds, the volume was closed again and placed on the table.

-Don´t worry Watson!

-I have been thinking about this all night...

-We are only going to concentrate on the important points, you can interrupt and refute, and then, I need you to help me prepare the final report for Scotland Yard.

-I am going to be as concise as possible, but, Watson, I have to give relevant details, expecting that the readers of your notes can have a broad vision of Jack the Ripper's case.

-This time, I ask you to write down and don´t trust your memory so much, which is not the same as before. Watson, here is the pen and plenty of paper...

I got a little upset because I remembered that he once called me as a man of poor memory, in front of a magistrate. Nonetheless, I suffer from an unknown neurological disease, which sometimes creates loopholes on my memory, makes my face look like a man of stone, and, on certain occasions, it is difficult for me to walk or sit upright. I was ready to write his statement, and he, aware of my willingness to help him, directly addressed the matter of interest.