Author's note: Thank you for the reviews and follows! I appreciate your interest in this story. Here is Chapter 2.
And, I just realized that in my Author's note on the first chapter, it said set from/around the episode The Reichenbach Fall-it was a mistake. Sorry about that :p. I fixed it, and it should say from/around The Great Game.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.
Chapter 2
Suddenly, vivid images swim through my head, and I'm there, staring out blankly into space, looking like an idiot. Of course, there's no one there that can see me, excluding the ever patient soul that is Mr. Hooper.
I must have stood there like that long enough to worry someone, because Mr. Hooper puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he asks, and the concern there is so genuine that I'm at a loss at what to say back.
"I'm-I-" I take a deep breath(ghosts have no need to breathe-but old habits die hard.) "I had some of my memories come back."
"Ah. All good then?"
I smile. "Yeah. Fine. All good. Superb." I rattle off, but I think Mr. Hooper sees how discomforted I actually am. He squeezes my shoulder comfortingly. I don't quite like how discerning Mr. Hooper is sometimes. I dislike the feeling of being read like an open book.
I shuffle away a few paces to collect my thoughts. This time, my memory had a conversation, and shed some light on the who the little boy was-is from my last memory.
In the memory, I don't look younger than I look now, so it must have been in the same year that I died. I'm sitting on a park bench with the little boy from my last memory, eating vanilla ice cream.
"So, it's your birthday this week." I say, smiling and nudging the boy in the ribs. "What do you wish for?"
The boy squirms away from my elbow, ice cream precariously held in one small hand.
"Those are s'posed to be a secret! Mummy told me."
"Oh, come on. Just between you and me."
He shakes his head adamantly.
"Oh fine. Have it your way then." I cross my arms and deliberately look away. I take a bite of my ice cream.
There is silence for a few minutes as we stare in different directions at people walking or jogging by, and eat our ice cream.
"I won't tell you, Bailey." The little boy says, as if trying to make his resolve stronger by restating it.
"Hm." I say, taking another bite. "That's fine with me, as long as it's fine with you, Jamie."
"I'm still not telling you! Stop doing that!"
"I'm not doing anything." I say calmly, but I recognize that look on my face-it's the look that I have when I'm trying to hold back laughter.
"I'll tell you something else, then, if you stop doing that." Jamie says, looking triumphant. I give up.
"Tell me." I say seriously, but I'm smiling.
"And if you promise to keep it a secret."
"Cross my heart." I say.
He leans in, and whispers, "I like Addy from my class." He pulls back and blushes. I take a large bite out of my ice cream. I swallow, looking perplexed.
"Addy. From your class."
"Yeah."
For some reason, I look confused. "She new?"
"Nope. She's been around for a whooole month now." He says, smiling, an adorable dreamy look on his face. "She's shy, though, so everybody ignores her."
The little boy's face scrunches up in consternation. "Do you think that Addy would like to come to my birthday party?" His eyes widen. "Do you think you can ask her, Bailey? Pleeease?"
I can see I'm almost about to tell the boy to do it himself, and that it would be a good experience, but the look on the boy's face decides it for me.
"'kay. I'll do it." I say. "Although she may not say yes…"
"She'll come." he says, brimming confidence and smiling brightly. "I'll tell mum that she'll be coming over." He hops off the bench as someone approaches-probably his brother, from the resemblance. "Thanks, Bailey!"
I wave goodbye to the little boy and teenager.
I should be happy I'm making progress in remembering my life, but instead, I'm feeling…uncomfortable. The reason why I was so unconcerned with the fact that I was dead, was because I didn't remember the life I had. Now I feel like I actually lost something by dying. Now that I remember-even if it's a little, tiny bit, I now feel like I've failed a promise. I'm no longer carefree in my state of being dead. I have things I have left undone.
I shove aside my thoughts about my memories for the moment, as it grows more and more painful the more I think about it, and go over to Sherlock Holmes, who is making odd gestures in the air, with eyes closed. He bats away something with his right hand, and then, his other hand makes as if to pull something from that side. Then, his hands still abruptly, and they press together under his chin. I wonder if it's the mind palace again, or if he has other strange habits. It's the first time I've seen him flail around like that.
I glance over at Mr. Hooper. He is looking intently at what Molly is assisting Sherlock with. Really, while being a ghost, there's not much we can do except watch.
Watch and remember… I squeeze my eyes shut as my newly recovered memory flashes through my head again. I push it back. I thought that remembering would be a more happy occurrence. Apparently, I was quite wrong.
I force my mind to return to studying the Consulting detective before me, when his eyes snap open, and he stares right at me. I jump a little, but I remember that I'm invisible to all living humans. Sure enough, he turns his head, and looks towards Molly, who is busily doing exactly what he requested.
I wish I were an expert on the looks people give each other, because the one Sherlock Holmes gives Molly is quite unreadable. Perhaps he's doing that deducing thing, or perhaps it could pass as checking her out, but you never know with that bloke.
He returns his gaze back to his notebook as Molly turns his way, and he scribbles something down. I peek over his shoulder to see, but there's nothing written there but random words that possibly no one but Sherlock Holmes knows the significance of.
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Sherlock Holmes breaks the silence in the lab.
"Oh. Oh!" He hops up energetically, a smile splitting his face. He rubs his hands together in what can only be called glee. "Clever. Very clever."
"What did you find?" Molly asks, her tired eyes now alight with curiosity. The man now paces back and forth, flipping his mobile in his hands, and chuckling. He doesn't pause to answer Molly's question, but continues pacing as he fires off a few texts.
"Sherlock?"
"Not clever enough, though. Could have continued on in his wicked ways, but just one mistake is all it takes to undo it."
"What mistake? Sherlock?"
The only answer Molly gets is "The deodorant, John!"
The door shuts, and Molly stares after it for a few seconds, and looks down.
"It's Molly." She mutters, but Sherlock Holmes is long gone. Mr. Hooper glowers at the door that Mr. Holmes just exited.
"Don't let him get you down, love." He says softly to her. I hope that Molly Hooper hears it.
To be honest, I don't really like him. Jim, Molly's boyfriend. I don't have any right to like or dislike any of Molly Hooper's acquaintances, but I have my opinions. He was, or seemed, as Molly said, 'nice'. But nice in such a way that made me uncomfortable. Sometimes, the niceness seemed overdone. But I didn't think he would be a bad person.
I stand and stare out the window of Molly's flat, overlooking the street. Today, I didn't go out for a walk, as is my habit when Molly brings over her boyfriend, as I want to distract myself from my memories if only just for the night. Mr. Hooper sits on the chair situated near the window, listening to his daughter and her boyfriend's conversations.
"Molly, darling," Jim drawls, snuggled on the couch next to her, Glee playing in the background. "What's the matter?"
Molly sighs. "It's..him."
"Him? You mean Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yeah."
Jim chuckles. "What did he do this time?"
"He was being himself." Molly mumbles into his chest. "Not anything out of the ordinary, really."
"Really? You can talk to me, Molly."
"He called me John."
"Ohhh…that's painful." Mr. Hooper frowns at the tinge of sarcasm that is in Jim's voice.
"I mean," Molly goes on, "Would it hurt to see who you're talking to before telling them something? But he's just like that, isn't he? I suppose it's just silly being bothered by what he says-especially when he's on a case. He can be quite snappish when he's onto something. Gets him frustrated when he doesn't get the answers quickly enough."
Jim makes no reply.
"I'm sorry." Molly says, sighing. "I just ranted about him again, didn't I?"
"No worries, darling. But you should be careful-I'm getting curious about this Sherlock Holmes you always talk about."
I can almost feel Molly blushing.
We should have guessed what would happen when Jim's curiosity got the better of him.
Author's note: Although I said that I would update as soon as possible, it wasn't as soon as I expected. I had to figure out some plot points. And also, I apologize for the slowness of the chapters. It will pick up pace soon(I hope!), and next chapter, we'll get to see that…you know…that awkward scene in the Great Game…so that should be fun.
As always, your reviews, follows, faves will be appreciated.
