A/N: This is my first ever attempt at writing anything like this so please be kind. I must also warn you, I'm dyslectic and therefore my spelling will not be perfect.
Enough about me, Enjoy the story
"Sorry boys! I'm so changeable. It is a weakness with me I know, but it is my only weakness. Moriarty's insane voice echoes trough the silent room.
Moriarty's words feels like a punch in the ribs. John feels the hope that had filled him when Moriarty left leaving him. He exhales a deep sigh and looks up at Sherlock. Sherlock turns his head and looks at John and then turns his attention towards Moriarty
" You can't be allowed to continue, you just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has probably already crossed your mind." Moriarty continues
Sherlock's eyes once again finds John's and he nods at their silent agreement
" Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock says and slowly turns around, pointing his gun at Moriarty, then lowering it slowly so it's pointing at the bomb.
John hurtles himself forwards with all his power when he sees Sherlock pulling the trigger. Next second hell breaks loose. The sound of the explosion is deafening, and the force from the blast flungs both him and Sherlock backwards. John feels his hands grab onto Sherlock's waist and he pulls him towards the pool.
The sound of the explosion is muffled by the water. John's visions is blurry but he can still see the explosion going on above him. A sudden jolt of pain makes him aver of the bullet wound in his left leg, the water surrounding it is red of blood.
John drags himself out of the water and rolls onto his back. His lungs desperately gasping for air. The pain in his leg is shutting out everything and he doesn't hear the sirens coming from afar. He desperately tries to stay conscious and barley notices when the ambulance arrives. He sees the blurry outline of a medical worker as she attends his wound. He can hear them take care of Sherlock some distance away. The voices sound worried but he can't make out any words. He closes his eyes and slips into unconsciousness.
A slow beeping sound echoes into his mind. He can feel the hand holding his squeezing lightly as he starts to move around. His movements are restricted by the tightly tucked bedsheets around him. He opens his eyes but quickly closes them again. Next time he opens them more slowly, giving them time to adjust to the bright light. A familiar face is looking down at him.
"Hello" the man says, giving his hand another light squeeze. The room is bright with white walls. There's a window on the wall opposite him but the curtain's are shut.
"Where am I" he asks the strange man. His throat is sore and it hurts to talk.
"In the hospital" The man answers. "How are you feeling Sherlock?" the man asks in return. he looks anxious. His eyes flickering nervously towards the machines on the other side of the bed.
"My head hurts" he says, moving his hand towards his head, but the other man takes hold of his wrist and places his hand on the covers. "What happened?". He asks the man
The man in front of him takes a deep breath and swallows hard. " I..." he begins. He takes another deep breath and tries again. " When you fired I was supposed to pull you into the pool. I got shot in the leg and didn't have strength enough to make it all the way to the pool. We sort of fell into the water instead and you hit your head on the pool edge, fracturing your skull in the proses." The words sounds like something the man has learnt by heart. " Oh Sherlock I'm so very sorry" he continues. This time his words are filled with sorrow and concern.
Sherlock is still confused though, what pool is the man talking about. He doesn't remember any pool. "What pool?" he asks the man.
"You were going to the pool to give Moriarty the missile plans"
"Who's Moriarty? What missile plans?" why does the man ramble on about things he can't remember even hearing about. He gives the man an irritated look but the man looks back at him with confusion in his gaze.
"You do know who I am Sherlock?" he asks confused. His eyes fixed on the man in front of him.
"Off course I know who you are". Sherlock snaps in response. He doesn't have time for this kind of nonsense.
"Then tell me" the man demands.
"You're..." He begins but his word are failing him. He doesn't have any clue to who the man in front of desperately searches his brain for a name but finds nothing. He should know who this man is. The face is so familiar but he can't remember ever seeing it before. "You're..." he tries again. His brain still failing to find a matching name.
The door suddenly opens and a man walks in. Judging from his white coat he's one of the doctors. "Still here Dr Watson?" he ask the man besides the bed. " You really ought to get some rest".
"I'm fine" the man called Dr Watson answers. " But I don't think Sherlock is." he adds.
"Oh, how come?" The doctor asks.
"He doesn't remember me"
The doctor looks at Dr Watson, gives him a small nod and then starts walking towards the bed. he stops at the foot of the bed and pics up the journal hanging there. After a few seconds he says "Tell me Sherlock. What is your name, age, address, your brothers name and age, and who this man is. He gestures towards Dr Watson. His eyes still fixed on the journal.
"My name is Sherlock, I'm" he starts but the doctor stops him.
"Your full name" The doctor says.
"My name is Sherlock..." he starts answering but comes no further. He has no idea of who he is or how old he is. His brain is working hard, searching everywhere to find anything about who he is.
The doctor looks up and gestures towards him to continue. Sherlock stares blankly at the man called Dr Watson, wishing hard he would help him. He can feel the panic rising in his chest. It's hard to breath. How can he not know who he is. Why can't he remember anything.
"I don't remember" Sherlock says at last. His voice is weak, his hands are shaking.
The doctor gives min an understanding look and then turns to Dr Watson"Come with me" he says. The two men exit the room, leaving Sherlock alone.
Doctor Rogersen eyes are kind, but his face is blank. He has done this a hundred times, John can tell. He knows what the doctor is going to tell him before he has even started. He knows whats wrong with Sherlock but he doesn't want to believe it, he is not going to believe it. Not until the doctor tells him that this is the case and that John needs to accept this.
"Dr Watson" Rogersen begins. His voice is steady. "There is no easy way to say this. Sherlock's fractured skull has caused him amnesia." He eyes John carefully before continuing, as if making sure the man in front of him is listening. " I believe his amnesia is retrograde, meaning he can't remember his life before the accident. I can't be one hundred percent sure until we have run some tests but I doubt my diagnosis will change."
"OK." John says. He's breathing hard and his mouth is dry. "OK." he repeats again. His brain can't proses the words coming from Dr Rogersen's mouth.
"I must warn you Dr Watson." the doctor continues. "These things can be permanent. We have no way of knowing when or if his memory will return."
"OK."
The two man look at each other. John feels like his entire world has been turned upside down. He frustratedly drags his hand trough his hair, sighing deep.
The silence is broken by the beep from Dr Rogersen's pager. The man casts a quick glance at it and then clears his throat
"I'm have to leave now Dr Watson."He says, giving John a small pat on the shoulder. "There is tea in the visitors lounge if you want something. Might be some biscuits there to." He gives John one last concerned look before walking away.
John can't believe what he has just heard. 24 hours ago Dr Rogersen had sat down on his bed and told him that his leg injury hadn't been serious, no nerves or important veins had been hit, the bullet had brushed him, only leaving a scar. It was nothing to worry about. John had asked him about Sherlock and the doctor had told him about the fractured skull, about the operation to relieve pressure from the brain, and about how the healing proses was going to take some time. He had also told him that Sherlock was going to be alright, that there were no damaged brain tissue. He had told him Sherlock was going to be just fine.
John had been called to Sherlock's room when the doctors were about to wake him. John remembered the relief that had filled him when Sherlock had looked at him. And then the horror he had felt when Sherlock told him he didn't remember Moriarty or the missile plans. This was to much. John feels weak,. what is he going to tell Sherlock with out making this worse. He tries to move but his body doesn't respond to any of the commands he gives it. He just stands there in the hallway, for how long he doesn't know. When he finally had made up his mind about what he was going to tell Sherlock he heads back into the room.
John was not going to tell Sherlock anything about their kiss. The event in question had happened a week ago. He and Sherlock had been standing in an ally, panting after the long run.
"Next time you need to check if there are dogs before we enter the garden. " John told Sherlock, resting his hands on his knees.
"It was good exercise though." Sherlock said, giving John a meaningful look.
"Running for your life while being chased by a pack of bloodthirsty dogs is not god exercise. And don't give me that look."
Sherlock smirked at him in response and then started laughing, John soon joined in. When they'd calmed John had leaned forwards and gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the mouth. He didn't know if it was because of the adrenaline or the relief that he had escaped the dogs but he had acted without thinking,. Sherlock had looked surprised, but then he tool hold of john's chin kissed him back. His kiss was desperate, like this was something he had longed for for a long time. Sherlock pushed John back towards the wall, his strong hands holding him firmly in place. John's hands had found their way into Sherlock's curly hair. The kissed seemed to go on forever but when Sherlock broke away it felt like the kissed had been over in seconds.
They didn't say anything on their way home and they hadn't kissed each other again, but there had definitely been changes after the kiss. Sherlock had started hugging him and they had been cuddling on the sofa. John laying in Sherlock's lap and Sherlock absentmindedly playing with John's hair while they watched crap telly.
No, John wasn't going to tell him about that. Sherlock would have more than enough coping with the fact that he can't remember anything and telling him something like that would only make things more difficult. No, that will have to wait until later, when Sherlock was ready. And besides, he wasn't even sure if Sherlock still felt the same about him. His emotions towards John was probably just as forgotten as the rest of his memories.
He took a deep breath before entering the room. Sherlock looked much more calm than he had done when John had left him. John walked towards the chair places next to the bed. His leg was hurting but he ignored it. When he sat down Sherlock looked at him, but didn't say anything. His head was heavily bandaged and he looked weaker than he ever done before. John felt a jolt of guilt shooting through his stomach but he ignored it, now wasn't the time.
"Sherlock," he began,eyeing the man carefully."The reason you can't remember anything is because you've got amnesia." Sherlock didn't respond but John knew he was listening."The amnesia may be permanent." He continued. Sherlock was still not responding, his eyes fixed on the curtains in front of him.
Sherlock turned his gaze towards John." Who am I?" He asked, his face blank as always and his voice steady. Despite this John could still see the plea in Sherlock's eyes when the question was asked.
John took a deep breath and started telling Sherlock everything. He told Sherlock who he was, who John was and their flat share. He told Sherlock about DI Lestrade, Anderson, his work, Mycroft, Moriarty and the accident. Everything except their kiss.
Thank you very much for reading. Reviews are always welcome.
I'll try and update as fast as I can.
/Phin
