Sometimes I remember that Sherlock Holmes was on that Tarmac, about to be exiled on New Years Day and I die a little inside. Imagine the acute sense of hopelessness he would have felt on New Years Eve. Everyone else gets their new beginning. And he was hours away from his end. Could he hear fireworks from his cell? Did he even know what time it was in solitary confinement? He only got to spend one New Year with just him and John alone, the way it should be. I bet the sound of Auld Lang Syne on the violin was echoing around his head.
