A/N: I've been sitting on this idea for a few weeks, trying to work out some details in my mind for the future of the plot. I am satisfied enough to post it, obviously. I hope you enjoy it.
A/N: If any one knows who the photographer is from the cover image, please let me know. I found the pic on Google image search and want to give the photographer appropriate credit.
Disclaimer: Sherlock is the beautiful and brilliant re-envisioning by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, from the exploits of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's character Sherlock Holmes. "The Hunting of the Snark" is a creation of Lewis Carroll (Charles Dodgson). I own nothing.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
-The Hunting of the Snark, Lewis Carroll
Prologue:
"You have to make him forget me." John didn't turn around. His eyes followed the tubes and wires leading from Sherlock's body to the machines around the room as they monitored his breathing, heart rate, and brain activity. The respirator flexed, forcing air into his lungs. The unnatural inflation of his chest made John's stomach turn.
The doctor presiding over Sherlock's case confirmed that Sherlock was out of danger. Medically, he could begin the recovery process as early as the end of the week. They were still concerned about the swelling of his brain from the concussion he received after the fall, but they had assured John that they would be watchful for any lasting brain damage.
"Mycroft, promise me."
The detective's brother pursed his lips, wondering where John was going with this. "There is nothing I can do that will convince him of that, John. I presume you are aware of how he considers you."
A small smile quirked the corner of John's mouth. But it faltered, his lips drawing a line across his face. "In order to keep him safe, he can't think of me. He cannot try to find me. The only way for that to work is to make him believe that I never was."
"It would break him, John."
He shook his head, thinking of the possible torture this could cause to that great mind. It would be worth it, if it would keep him alive. "Yes. I know. But you have to convince him, Mycroft. His life will depend on it."
"Very well." Mycroft nodded solemnly. "Have you everything you require?"
He thought of the storage locker outside of the city. "I will have."
"I expect you to return to him when this is accomplished, John. And apologize."
"I've a feeling an apology will not be enough." John turned around then. "Keep him secure, Mycroft. If I return and find any damage has come to him, I will not forgive you. Not like I did after your slip with Moriarty."
Mycroft tipped his head, his grief evident on his face. Mycroft apparently had not forgiven himself for that, still. "You have my word."
John took in that expression, a small part of him satisfied by Mycroft's recognition of guilt. It was his fault his brother lay in that hospital bed, the head injury requiring a medically induced coma.
"Take care of him."
John left the room then, not turning around. As the door slowly closed, Mycroft knew that if he were to step into the hall, John would already have vanished from sight.
A/N: Well, that's just the prologue. Chapter One will be up in a few days, probably. I just need to tweak a few things. I always just need to tweak a few things it seems... Anyway, I always want to know what my readers think-so, please review!