Disclaimer: As mandatory with these things, I have to say upfront I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, the characters therein nor the places or plot events spoken of. That all belongs to Guy Ritchie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, their benefactors, etc. etc.
A/N: All is rolling along here rather nicely...
Second prompt-Memory.
He hears it again on the phonograph in a musician's shop down the street. Merely out to retrieve replacement strings for his Stradivarius, he tuts politely at the shopkeeper's newest acquisition. He hardly pays it any mind as the man lays down the needle and allows it to play quietly in the background. The man goes to fill the order, and he waits, not listening.
That is, he ignores it until…IT…starts playing again.
Suddenly, Holmes is back in that small room, dangling from that hook with excruciating pain wracking his body. He can see Moriarty standing at the mirror, singing along like some damned opera star while his subject of torment is screaming incessantly. He is dangling helplessly, the ceiling having no give and the emptiness of the room showing how alone he truly is with this monster. And that music, that piece…playing over his terrible hollering as he is pushed to and fro. The swinging, the screaming, the horror of it all. He had, at that point, expected a confrontation with the Napoleon of Crime, but nothing quite so sinister. That was cruelty in its finest form, when a man chooses torture for profit. Of course Sherlock did choose to go there, to make himself vulnerable…but he did NOT choose his fate. He could not shake the feeling of piercing anguish, and haunting syllables continue to pour into his ears as he processes his memories.
Many cannot claim they've seen a man react so strongly to a simple piece by Schubert, but the other patrons in the shop can see such a thing happening to Mr. Holmes. His face goes white before flushing scarlet. His shoulders shake, and the perspiration begins to crop up on his forehead. His dark eyes are riveted to the ground, hoping that if nobody looks him in the eye, they won't see the irrational fear streaking through the irises.
He must be clinical, he must be logical, he must NOT succumb to these mad stirrings.
Then, he starts to breathe again, and he does the next logical thing he can think of.
He throws the phonograph out the window, and lays down some money towards the costs of repairs straight after the action. Swiftly he writes down his address to deliver the strings to him at a later date before walking out of the shop still shaking. One day, he knows he must conquer this illogical state of being, but for today, it was enough to destroy it in some physical form.
Moriarty has shaken him, his memory still shakes him, but Holmes will have the upper hand, even at the expense of one phonograph.
A/N 2: I know I'd have some issues if I heard the song that played while I was strung up from the ceiling like a piece of meat, that's for sure...let me know what you think!