Speaking As A Grandmaster, The Queen

Whatever happened thereafter, it had been more than connected to what had happened later.

Everything happens must be significant, especially when you live near someone who could even consider himself as the most dangerous man he has ever known. And under so circumstances, one cannot rely on anyone, nor can relax, because any distraction would be the last breath's.

In a life full of spilled blood, the man with the knife is the king. And whether if that only and important knife was made of people, who were the crown itself, who built the start of their their history and were the first of whom the king had victimized.

That heartless king had insensitively perforated the security of everything: the infrastructure of London, the British law, the security of the most secure places in Britain, and even got an international, smuggling ring across, just because he fancied proving himself, daring to challenge the junkie who lives, or, rather, lived once upon a time in one of my flats.

As for that very purpose, I am attending to recount the story of Sherlock's first life love, beginning with the very reason to the very conclusion of separation. I will let the details to write up later, working by his brilliant saying, "it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect." The only thing makes me my write these stories, is to leave the same startling effect, no matter if it was a meretricious, because all I need is to put the whole truth of everything right in front of you, but this time I will leave the central inferences, or as I have to call it, the details.

As I have mentioned, I quite understand the way the wise detective used to think, but when I say that he loved his life arch-enemy as much as anyone would love his only child and much more, I do respect his choice, but I do disagree with it as well, as there are always two features of interest. But it stays too insane to love an enemy, it might take most of the available opportunities to win. Sometimes we should keep our enemies close to us, but not closer than a friend, because any mistake or any misstep at that very sensitive matter, could make a murderous, massive failure of which is unstoppable and uncontrollable.

It was all a game, a board game. It was Sherlock's game of life, Sherlock's lifetime chess. John said once, on his blog, that he felt like a pawn of their game, which he was indeed! Imagine the board with: two kings, one bishop, one knight, two rooks, a queen and two pawns. The two kings are James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes, The king of the black Kingdom of evilness and the king of the white kingdom that is on the side of the angels. John and I were the two mighty pawns, whereas Mycroft, - who performs the British government - the capable but coward knight was on standstill, watching us and enjoying our frowns of how easily we could have been done, after a long term of manipulation by the arrogant enemy's queen with its forking network, and the resentment, uncooperative manner of the rooks, who needed, as well, the absence rather more than the safety of their king, our king, to be connected, and to present their real loyalty towards their kingdom. Wherever was the white bishop, which had been overwatching the legendary sacrifices for the sake of its life, it was planning to glory on its own, to lead its kingdom into a merciless letdown, by pretending the innocence while spying for the other kingdom, waiting for a further exchange of his own life rather than a treat or some protection.

After Mary's funeral, I did not see John as the much I used to do. I lost my only opponent at playing sudoku, that I turned to blame Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa, waiting for me, to serve him to decline my help; to keep his arrogance. "You care too much, don't you have things to spend time on. Go ask someone else. It itself goes over-my-head. Could you get out, please." He was saying at one of my visits.

"oh, Sherlock," I bowed, showing up my concern, "don't worry about it, I can gather you two again," and had not gotten yet the knowledge of his closely happening hateful plan.

"No, stop it, Mrs. Hudson, wasn't it the time for your herbal soothers." He raised his voice aloud.

"Oh dear, I abandoned them eight years ago," muttered I.

"Brilliant! The Game would never over, would it? That's gonna be the greatest game. How such an idiot was I!" He let out the words deliriously but on the very way of staidness of his, often like, while thinking and having about three nicotine patches on the arm, and putting the fingertip upon its parallel. 

"Brilliant? What, brilliant is what? You must be a bit tired, a cup of tea will do the job. I'll bring it with some biscuits of your favourite." that was my mouth saying, whereas my heart said, "and finally the cocky detective reveals his idiotism!" I was about to choose one of them to say, but I could not manage to do so, as the detective broke the whole chain of his depression, saying to me, "wanna join?"

"if it is one of your stupid cases, Sherlock, I won't join it," replied I.

"it is not at all, Mrs. Hudson. You can trust me. Could you sit down, please?" said he, staring at me just to make sure that I will not decline his offer. He sat up a chessboard on the table and sat down before me, thus, I set down myself equally on the opposite dining table's chair. "Do you know what a chessman worths, what do it do, or what can it do," he said, "Mrs. Hudson?"

He added my name at the end of his question with a sweet, charismatic, adorable voice, that I could not answer him meanly, but smilingly, "I think so, as I had a Grandmaster sitting right before me."

"Nobody is a Grandmaster, Mrs. Hudson. As long as there are the same chessmen on every board, whoever recalls the way to win, wins. It is strategic. In every game there are a few, trivial, possible number of steps to follow in order to win. As an example, if I attacked the center, by moving the G1 knight to the empty F3 square, what would you do then?" explicated he, and did the same as well.

"Oh, dear! I'll mirror your move, of course. It must make me the winner!"

We laughed and we laughed. I put my knight as I had explained. Later on that game, I found my king receiving checks from everywhere, that I had no choice but to receive the kiss of death (The Kiss of Death is an endgame checkmate involving the Queen and King. It occurs when the Queen creates an attack against the enemy king diagonally, and at the same time is diagonally supported by her own king. It is one of the many variations of how a typical Queen + King checkmate can occur in a Chess Endgame.). But somehow I tricked him, and kicked out his queen that our game ended with a draw.

His queen, after I kicked it out the game ended. Nobody had won, nobody could even continue. I am seeing now, the wisdom of his when choosing to fight against Moriarty not his network, so he could continue the game on until he defeat the king. He cannot defeat the king, literally, but he can exhaust him, and that was what he did. He got him tired, got the rid of Moriarty and left him with no choice but to withdraw from the battle, to commit his definite suicide.

But as the days went on, it reveals to us, it revealed the horrible, unexpected truth. Which it was, a king cannot be kicked out of a chessboard, only a draw or a defeat. May the days be weirder that no one's mind can even happens to accommodate the bitter facts of its existence. Or nobody can continue to live in with it, but the rescuer and only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes is the only who probably does.