Title: The Lost
Rating: PG-13

Warning: Amnesia, and Drug use.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, and I do not make any money from this fanwork.
Summary: AU, NOT SLASH, John is an amnesiac who has been abandoned by society and left to live of the streets, enter a young foolish but genius addict named Sherlock Holmes. When John saves Sherlock from an angry dealer, he is unwittingly plunged into the madman's world.

I can't believe we are the only people here, the weather is, well it'd not perfect but its fine. Just a slight chill to the wind, but what do you expect from November? I can see the heavy swell from the top of the cliff, and as we walk down the long winding concrete path, I know today is going to be great. Holly is giggling and grinning from ear to ear as we carry our boards down to the sea, this is the first time we've had the chance to surf since I went to Afghanistan. My wetsuit under my clothes is uncomfortably tight, and I wonder briefly if I should have waited, gone and bought a suit better fitted to my larger war bought muscles. No I think I wanted to be out in that surf, I wanted to be with Holly again, who cares if it's a little tight, as soon as I'm in the water it will be as if I'm bare, free as the fish.

As we reach the bottom of the cliff, I spot we're not alone, an orange split bay VW Camper is parked at the bottom of the cliff road. Clearly tourists, no one from here brings a vehicle down, the odd coastguard or RNLI Landrover, and maybe a whelk tractor, but the hippy bus is a no no. The tide comes in so quickly it's easy to get stuck. I smile and think back to my first day here. On a break from Bart's, Holly offered to take a group of us to her folk's house. She said she'd teach us to surf, and we didn't believe her. Surfing was done in California wasn't it? Surely not North Wales? I had been so wrong, the beauty of the Llyn coast, and the surfing around this headland, the devils arse, had seeped into my very soul.

Holly waves at the couple disembarking from the van, and hurry's down towards them, leaving me in her wake. When I get there, she's talking excitedly to them. The man is older than us, he must be mid-40's, but lean and fit. His hair just greying his cut short just above his ears, and his tanned skin is almost red in the early morning chill. His companion is much younger, I think younger than Holly and I, maybe mid-20's, but she is holding his hand like a lover. Her long chestnut hair clashes with the bright yellow wetsuit she's wearing. Their boards are well used, but carefully maintained and a curious glance into their bus shows the casual habits of a regular surfer.

Holly is stripping her clothes off; she has never had any sense of embarrassment, revealing her orange wetsuit. She laughs as I stare at her, her wetsuit is loose on her, and she laughs that without my encouragement she's not been working out like before. I tease her that I'll change that, and we chase each other off the path and down to the sea. Laughing like children, we abandon our coats and clothes and bags on the sand, and wait for the other couple to follow us down. They've never surfed here before, and are glad of Holly's expert advice regarding the rocks and swell.

For a moment the four of us stand in the early morning light listening to the crashing waves, and staring out of the walls of water. The chill breeze tugs at our cheeks and hair, and I can't help but shiver. Then suddenly the girls, instant best friends, plunge forward into the surf, their heads plunging under the crashing waves, as they push themselves and their boards forward. I hesitate for a moment, smiling at Holly's shrill of delight, before looking at my new companion and running forward myself. For an instant I am transported into a different world where politics and medicine and war mean nothing, before the swell hits me and I start paddling madly.

I wake up as I always do covered in sweat and filth. For a moment I look around the dirty room, stunned and then the smell and horror of where I am comes back to me. I lose the dream entirely unable to remember names or places or even the basis of the dream. Just that I was dreaming of happiness and cleanliness and then the doors of my mind close down again. I stretch and move my heavy blanket off me. The others in the room burp and snore in their sleep, but I am awake. It is early in the morning so I will move on.

For nearly two years I've lived on the streets, making what money I can, and sleeping in the cleanest places I can find. I have two sets of clothes, the set I am wearing and the set I will put on, carefully taking off this outfit and using the last of yesterdays acquired money to clean it at the nearest laundry. They others call me Doc, I am as fastidious as I can be about being clean, washing as fully as possible every day in public restrooms, cleaning my clothes as often as possible, and so when they are sick they come to me, and I do what I can. They call me Doc, because I can't tell them my name, they laugh at me telling me I should be a Doctor, or a medic, and sometimes I think I should be a soldier, so willing to fight to protect my 'patients'. The truth is though I maybe, I maybe any one of those things, I may have a name a home a family, but I don't know. In truth I don't know anything. My earliest memory is two years old; the only life I can remember is this. So I shuffle on, carefully collecting my few poor belongings, and leaning heavily on my cane, walk into the early morning light, the sound of rushing water and screaming receding into my battered memories.

Yeah I know I've started another non-connected AU fic, whilst working on ALL the others, sorry.

Jason xx