Author's note: Please notice that this is all fictional - I don't have real medical knowledge about amnesia, so take this in case of doubt as fantasy. Also, I hope you excuse possible language misstakes - I'm from germany, I try my best, but mistakes happen ;) I'm not sure where I'll finally end with this story, but I hope you enjoy reading it and leave a review, that would be great :) But know, let's start:
Sherlock: Lost Mind
Chapter One
As I woke up this morning I had no idea how the things would change. It was early, and Sherlock wasn't awake yet. I put on my clothes and took a look into the fridge - where I found nothing eatable, just a severed leg, once again. So I decided to go to the supermarket and buy some food. I was just a few minutes back at 221b, but still I had no chance to eat because now the door bell rang, and Mrs. Hudson came upstairs with a young man, thin and pale, who looked around unsecure. I glanced at him and then just asked: "Client?"
He nodded. Okay, time for Sherlock to get up. I pointed at the chair in our living room and said: "Please, sit down."
"Sorry, are you Mr. Holmes?", the client asked.
"No. But I'm his colleague. Friend." The man gave me this special glance and I sighed. Why did everyone always think that Sherlock and I were a couple - 'cause we were not! "Wait a moment."
I went to Sherlock's bedroom and knocked. "Sherlock! We've got a client. Maybe an interesting case." That was just what we needed. Both of us. The last week had been hell. Sherlock had been bored, and bored means annoying. Terribly annoying.
"Who are you?" The voice that replied was the one of my friend, but it sounded strange. Terrified. Afraid.
"Sherlock... is everything alright?"
The answer was a loud gasping and sobbing. Enough for me. I opened the door. "Sherlock, what is it?" Then I swallowed and looked at the strange situation.
There he was, Sherlock Holmes, sitting in the corner of the room, and stared into my face with fear. "Who are you?", he asked again. His curly hair was disheveled and his face was pale as paper.
"Okay, Sherlock, what is it?", I wanted to know and frowned. "Some sort of experiment? Listen, we've got a client, and I don't..."
"What is this all about - Sherlock, who's Sherlock? Me? I don't know, I don't know anything, and I don't know who you are and where I am - and who I am..." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. I swallowed again. Dear lord, this time it really doesn't seem to be a joke. Something had happened, and now it seemed like Sherlock Holmes, the man who always saw and knew everything, had lost his memory.
