Author's note: Gosh, i'm so chuffed that people are enjoying this. Thank you guys, you put the biggest smile on my face and make me want to write all the more! I'm a bit nervous about this chapter it's... been difficult to decide upon. I do hope you enjoy, and as always, review, alert and favourite!
"What was the music you heard?"
"I don't know, I recognised it sort of but didn't know the name. It was on the piano."
"Have I played it in the flat?"
"Maybe... i'm not exactly the 'listen-to-classical-music-constantly type, unlike you."
From the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock smirk slightly as he paced back and forth, clearly thinking. There was about thirty seconds of silence, during which John twitched nervously, then.
"You said about birds..."
"Yeah, um... birds chirping, like the morning chorus."
"How many?"
"How the bloody hell would I know that? Sherlock, seriously, I know you mean well but..."
"Be quiet, i'm thinking."
Another period of silence. John sighed, put his face in his hands for a moment. He was tired. After the nightmare, he had been incapable of sleeping, all the questions Sherlock was now asking going around his head. It had been the same for the past week, and the limited amount of sleep was telling on him.
"A steel window and a face..." Sherlock seemed to be speaking to himself this time.
"The same face. Just... looming out of the darkness again and again. A man's face."
A frown showed on Sherlock's face. John sighed, got to his feet.
"There's no point to this Sherlock..."
"Yes there is, we can use this information."
"What information? You've asked me these questions repeatedly, and i've told you the same thing. There's nothing there that's concrete, for all we know this is just stuff from before we met or..."
"There has to be a link here!" Sherlock's voice was raised in frustration.
"The truth here is that you want there to be a link so that you can solve this. Sorry to be a disappointment, but I can't just switch the memories back on, and trying to push me into remembering isn't going to help that!"
There was a pause. John turned away from him. Sherlock realised that he had been doing what he'd been attempting to avoid, pushing him.
"... i'm sorry. I know that this is frustrating but... it is for me too. I don't like seeing you this way."
John gave a faint laugh.
"I don't like being this way." He glanced round. "What are we going to do?"
"That is a very good question." Sherlock sighed.
XOX
Just what were they going to do? Sherlock pondered that over the next few days. The problem was that whether he liked it or not, John was right. Pushing in an attempt to get the memories to come would do nothing; they would come in time. This was incredibly frustrating.
He started taking on small cases again, mainly to ease this sense of frustration and boredom that was starting to dawn. If he stayed around the flat for too long, he took it out on John, or the other way around, and this was not healthy.
John, meanwhile, focused on getting better and getting used to his surroundings again. There were so many things he didn't remember, people whom he had to get to know again. Lestrade came round the day after John had come home. If it hadn't been for the man coming and talking to him in the hospital, John wouldn't have recognised him. Sherlock's description of their dealings with the Inspector sounded like... fantasy, yet John could tell it was true.
Five days after John had left hospital, he left the flat. Partly because he hated just being inside the flat all the time, and partly because Sherlock hadn't thought of restocking the shelves. They were actually running out of beans.
It was in the middle of the supermarket that he spotted him. Only in profile, and for a split second before he disappeared down a neighbouring aisle, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
No... it couldn't be...
He was imagining things, still highly strung with the lack of sleep and everything. Yes, that was it.
He paid for the items and left the store. Now he just wanted to get back to Baker Street.
Out on the high street, he didn't slow his pace. The street was full of people, but he still felt vulnerable out there. He chanced half a glance over his shoulder.
Shit... The man he'd seen inside had just left the store too, and was headed the same way. He was certain it was the same man, he was wearing the same jacket, had the same dark blonde hair, the pale skin...
It's the man from my nightmare... from my memories...
John tried to think rationally, but panic was choking him. He kept walking. It was five minutes walk back to the flat, once there he could take a moment, work out what was going on.
He turned onto the next street, chanced another glance over his shoulder when he was around fifty metres along the street. The man was still behind him, and John's panic was starting to be replaced by anger, and along with it, confusion. In the back of his mind, memories were starting to shift, to come back. He could hear... gunfire? Yes, gunfire, faintly.
Part of him wanted to break into a run, to get back to the flat as quickly as possible, but a voice in the back of his mind was telling him not to run. He didn't break his pace, didn't slow down or speed up. There was one more street before Baker Street, just one more.
He turned the corner, and stopped. Two men were waiting around the corner, leaning against the wall. Upon spotting John, the taller of the two nudged his companion, and both of them straightened up, just as the blonde man turned the corner. The sidestreet they were on was deserted, apart from the four of them.
"It's OK John, don't try to run." The man behind him was the one who had spoken. John had indeed at that moment been considering making a run for it. He glanced back.
"Who are you? What is this?" John's voice was trembling. In the back of his mind, again, came the sound of gunfire and... shouting, in some strange language. He felt the blonde man's hand on his shoulder, and instantly shrugged away, moved so that he had all three of them in his sight.
"Easy, easy." The blonde man spoke in a similar manner to the way a horse trainer would do to coax a nervous horse. "There's no need for any unpleasantness."
"I remember you..." John's voice was faint. "I know i've seen you before."
For a moment, the blonde guy seemed a little surprised. Then he gave a faint smile.
"I should have known Jim wouldn't want to wait to get things started." He gave a sigh. "How much do you remember?"
"What the hell does that-"
"Just answer the question, John."
John hesitated. The men on either side of the blonde guy moved closer. No need for unpleasantness my ass...
"Just you." He lied. Something was telling him not to tell the entire truth. The man's expression seemed to relax, he gave a nod.
"I'm afraid that won't last long." He said softly. He raised a hand and the two men either side of him moved forward towards John. John didn't have time to react before they got hold of him.
XOX
Sherlock was sat in Molly's lab. His laptop was on the table in front of him, and his eyes focused on the screen. Molly came over to him, giving him a slightly puzzled look.
"Do you need help with anything?" She asked tentatively.
"I'm fine."
"OK." After a second. "How's um..."
"John." Sherlock supplied the name in a dull tone of voice. "He's fine."
"Oh... it's just, Greg told me a little about..."
Sherlock looked up at that, and Molly blushed.
"What did he say?"
"Just that... he was concerned. That John looked badly beaten up, and can't... remember things. We're his friends too Sherlock, we want him to be alright."
"Yes, you're so much of a friend that you don't remember his name." Sherlock answered curtly. There was a brief silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly look away, a hurt expression on her face. He could hear, in the back of his mind, John reprimanding him with a 'Not good, Sherlock'.
"I didn't mean that." He murmured. "I know that you're concerned."
"Is what you're doing to do with him?"
"Yes." Sherlock leant back in his chair. "He is starting to remember bits and pieces. He mentioned music and the sound of birds. I've been attempting to piece it together but..." He tailed off. He hated to admit it, but he was at a loss. After a moment, Molly sat down beside him.
"Did he... say what music it was?"
"A piano piece, a familiar one. He didn't remember the name."
"I wish I should help. Really I do." Molly said softly. Sherlock glanced toward her, and could tell she was being completely sincere. He gave a nod of thanks.
"I'm going to go and get a cup of coffee, shall I get you something?"
"No, I... i'll probably head home shortly."
"Alright." Molly got to her feet and walked to the door, closing it behind her. Sherlock glanced at his computer screen for a moment, then turned away from it, took his phone out of his shirt pocket, about to ring Baker Street. He'd been gone longer then he had intended...
A beep from his laptop made him pause. It was the sound it made when he had email. He cast a glance at the screen again, thinking it would just be Lestrade asking what was going on, or some prospective client.
Sherlock paused. JM. Jim Moriarty... Of course, it would be sent from one of those websites where fake email addresses could be written in. The subject heading read Re: Your little friend. Sherlock clicked it.
A link to a video on Youtube was there, along with two sentences of writing.
Show this to the good Doctor, to see his reaction.
You might want to check on him, by the way. JM.
Sherlock clicked the link, and the sound of piano music filled the room. He glanced at the name of the song, and despite himself, half-smiled. Normand Corbeil - Painful Memories (Heavy Rain OST). How ironic.
His smile faded as his eyes raked the second sentence again. You might want to check on him, by the way. Sherlock picked up his phone, and dialled John's number quickly.
It rang three times before it was picked up.
"Hello?" Mrs Hudson's voice. Sherlock relaxed a little; he was at home then.
"Mrs Hudson, could I speak to John?"
"Oh, Sherlock. Well, I would say yes, but John's in the bathroom. He doesn't sound very well, poor thing."
"He's ill?"
"Yes, I don't know... Oh John, are you alright? It's Sherlock on the phone, he wants to talk to you."
There was a pause, presumably while John took the phone. Then...
"Sherlock." John's voice was a gasp. Sherlock could almost see him, grey-faced and sweaty.
"John, what's going on?"
"You're going to want to come back here." John mumbled. "I've got a hell of a story for you. I know what happened while I was away."
"What do you mean? John, why..."
"I was tortured. Sherlock, I was tortured and r...raped. Know how I know that? Because the bastard involved with it just paid me a fucking visit."
Author's Note: … God, I feel mean. Next one's going to be graphic, i'm afraid.
Also, the piece of piano music: .com/watch?v=za5hzta5VpM
