I know I'm a bit late on this update. My dad passed away suddenly February 13th and I just didn't have it in me to write. His memorial was beautiful, and though I am still grieving his loss, writing is one of my very best coping skills. So I'm right back in the saddle now. This update just poured out of me! Sorry to those of you also reading "Heartbeats". I know you're waiting on an update. It's coming up next! Promise! Probably tomorrow or the next day. We're winding up for the climax here in this fic! I'm so excited for you all to read this chapter! Please continue to review and leave your support for me! I need it to fuel my fire! Enjoy this next chapter! It's been a long time coming! :)

Persistence of Memory

Chapter Ten

The Reunion

Sherlock stared at Irene in disbelief.

"You... Are you certain?" he asked, not quite wanting to believe this news. John was alive? How could that possibly be? He'd seen the body, checked the records, the autopsy, and even watched John's death himself. It didn't seem like it could possibly be real. After a brief moment, a split second, Irene's answer was cut immediately short.

"The blip on the tape!" Sherlock exclaimed. Irene furrowed her brows and Mycroft raised one. Sherlock immediately surged forward into an explanation. "Moriarty placed it there on purpose. He turned the chair away from me and the blip was just a tiny bit of evidence he left there in hopes that I would figure it out. He switched John with a man identical to John in height, skin tone, hair color, everything. He was so meticulous he had every detail right. He burned another man alive and changed all of John's medical records. Cheated the system and has had John hostage this entire time."

Irene nodded.

"It is worse than that, Sherlock..." she cautioned quietly. Sherlock looked at her sharply and folded his arms across his chest.

"What exactly do you mean?" Sherlock inquired, leaning closer and searching her face for clues. Irene closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I believe... John has... Amnesia. He... He doesn't really quite remember you." Irene admitted her tone gravely serious. Sherlock didn't move for what seemed like ages, his whole body incredibly stiff. He straightened up and squared his shoulders.

"Where can I find him?" Sherlock's voice was slightly hoarse and incredibly low. Mycroft cleared his throat, catching the pair's attention.

"Sherlock, if the records are changed, we cannot simply stroll up to him and say 'Hello, we're here to rescue you.'. Even more so if what Miss Adler says is true. Amnesia is a delicate situation and must be handled with the utmost care." Mycroft interjected. "He will not remember you, and you will be a kidnapper." Sherlock snorted.

"I have more faith in John than that. He has those memories, deep inside him. I will simply have to bring them out to the forefront of his mind." Sherlock stated firmly. "I will approach him and remind him of my existence, gauge the situation, and act accordingly."

Mycroft shook his head.

"Sherlock, one wrong move and Moriarty may dispose of John. We have to act carefully. Passively."

"No!" Sherlock snapped. "I am not going to be passive about this! I will retrieve John! And you will stay out of my way!"

Sherlock shook his hands a little and gripped them into tight fists as he regained his composure, breathing heavy. Irene swallowed uneasily and sighed.

"I... I have an appointment with him. Tomorrow afternoon, three o'clock. I've been acting as his therapist. You could... Come to the office and act as a patient. You can see him, and if he shows any recognition toward you, then you could act more aggressively and take him by force if you must. At least then you will know if there is hope of him regaining his memory. If not... You could... Take Mycroft's approach." Her eyes moved to the elder Holmes, " Act... Passive. And wait for proper opportunity to take him when it won't be noticed." Irene's eyes were determined and her lips pulled into a tight frown. Sherlock sighed a bit and turned to face Mycroft, who seemed to be mulling it over, judging by the pensive and thoughtful look on his face.

"All right. Sherlock, we shall go with Miss Adler's plan then. However my men will be stationed all around. If something should go wrong, they will simply go in and... eliminate... Any complications." Mycroft said pointedly, nodding toward Irene who seemed to shudder a little. Sherlock nodded and with a wave of Mycroft's hand, Irene was released. She grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled his arm toward her, while pulling a pen from between her breasts. She pushed his sleeve out of the way and scrawled the address on Sherlock's forearm.

"Three o'clock. Don't be late." She said, and then, as quickly as she could manage, she fled the scene. Sherlock gazed down at the address as Mycroft's men moved past him and out of the room. The two brothers were left alone.

"Prepare yourself for the worst, Sherlock. You must be ready to deal with the possibility that John will not remember you. Not even in the slightest..." Mycroft urged. Sherlock wasn't listening.

John is alive...

Irene was into a cab as soon as she made it outside and quickly made it home. The building was dark and ominous. She took a deep breath and made her way inside her flat, finding Sebastian Moran in her parlor, right where she'd left him. She took a deep and shaky breath, as he rose from the sofa to greet her.

"Miss Adler. I trust you made the appointment?" Sebastian asked, his tone laced with threat. Irene nodded weakly, letting him pat her on the shoulder. It made her skin crawl to feel his touch in the slightest.

"Please Sebastian... Let her go." Irene pleaded under her breath. Sebastian tsked and shook his head.

"No no, Irene. I'm afraid I can't do that until the job is done." Sebastian explained. Irene looked at her feet, and then met Sebastian's cold gaze.

"When Jim finds out you double crossed him, you'll be dead within a week." she said in a hushed tone. "I should go to him right now."

Sebastian shook his head and lit a cigarette while Irene wrinkled her nose disapprovingly of him smoking in her home.

"But you won't... Because you've got too much heart. You want John away from Jim just as badly as I do..." Sebastian said in a somewhat husky tone, flicking his ash on her carpet and smearing it in with the toe of his designer boot.

"If you knew that then why did you take Kate!" Irene snapped, feeling her blood run cold when Sebastian's lips turned up into a smirk.

"Call it... insurance." Sebastian said, chuckling darkly, before brushing past her. "I'll be seeing you."

Irene glared at Sebastian's retreating back until it disappeared through the front door. Once she was alone her knees buckled and she fought against sobs that were pushing their way up her throat and tears that were welling in her eyes.

Sherlock's eyes moved over the sign in front of the building before he looked up at the tall structure, mapping any escape routes he might need to use before heading up the steps and into the building. It was five minutes to three and he was feeling a nervousness he'd never experienced before. It was nearly overwhelming and he had to fight with himself to keep his breathing steady. As he entered the building, Irene was waiting to greet him. She looked composed and plain in comparison to the previous encounters he'd had with her and he wasn't sure whether it was refreshing or disappointing. She smiled weakly.

"He should be here any moment." Irene said without formal greeting. Sherlock was unaware of why his cheeks were burning and Irene smiled a little at the redness rising there. "You really missed him didn't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer, merely shrugging off the inquiry, knowing it was rhetorical anyway. Irene looked at him a bit longer, before he gaze was drawn away. The front door was opening yet again. Irene gave a more professional smile, and Sherlock stood rigid, keeping his back to the door.

"Mister Moriarty, glad you could make it." Irene greeted. Sherlock's eyes widened and immediately assumed foul play. He whipped around, expecting to see Jim standing there in a pressed suit with a smug smirk, but instead he was met with a sight that took the air right out of his lungs. There before him in a comfortably worn jumper, was John. Yes he'd changed. He had a beard, but it suited him. And the glasses he wore were so endearing.

John looked at him quizzically and Sherlock stared back. Sherlock couldn't help but exhale John's name ever so softly at the sight of him. So long he'd thought him dead, and relief and warmth swam through every inch of him. Sherlock felt incredibly vulnerable and human. However, his elation was dashed almost immediately.

"You!" John exclaimed, eyes widening. "Irene this! This is the man! The one..."

Sherlock was caught off guard as John swung madly at him and caught him with a strong and skilled blow to the jaw, knocking him unconscious. The last thing Sherlock heard before he lost consciousness was a sickening accusation.

"He's the one who hurt us... Jim and I! Call the police! Call them..."

And then blackness. Hope dashed in an instant.

John felt as if he'd seen his nightmares walking the earth when he looked at Sherlock. He was still shaking when the police and ambulance arrived. Irene had tried to comfort him but he pushed her away. He wanted Jim here. He pulled out his phone after giving his statement to the police and called Jim. Jim picked up on the third ring.

"John darling? You almost never call. What's the matter?" Jim asked, his tone showing his surprise. John let out a shuddering breath.

"Jim... I saw him. I... I punched him!" John stammered. "The man... The man who broke in... He was in my... when I arrived for my appointment. He was here!"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line and John began to worry about his lover, who finally responded, his voice strained.

"Stay there. I'm coming to you. Do not move." Jim instructed firmly, and then the line disconnected. John collapsed into the nearest chair, still in shock. He took in the whole moment bit by bit. The look on that... man's face. The way he'd said his name as if they were old friends. That man was ill... Incredibly ill. John thought to himself as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

It took Jim fifteen minutes to arrive, and as he did, the police were finally leaving. John was meant to go down to the station to finish filing charges, but he didn't want to move. Not when Jim had instructed him so firmly to stay put. When his eyes fell on Jim walking toward him he was up in a flash and into his lover's arms. Jim embraced him tightly.

"Oh John... I'm so sorry..." Jim soothed softly, rubbing his back. John sighed and took in the smell of Jim, so familiar and comforting.

"I'm fine... I just... I'm sorry for dragging you away." John replied softly, pulling back from the embrace to look Jim in the eyes. Jim shook his head and reached up, petting John's hair, cheeks, and shoulder. John opened his mouth to say more, but Jim shushed him, then kissed him.

Jim's fingers were so desperate as he clung to John's shoulders, and then stroked them against his face again. He kissed him again and again, panic causing his heart to race. Sherlock had found John. He'd been double crossed. Irene and likely Sebastian. They were trying to bring his world down around him. A raging fire began to burn in his gut. He would not let them win so easily...

"Quickly John. We have to get home... pack our things... We have to go. We have to go now..."

When Sherlock came to he was in Mycroft's office, laid out across the sofa with an ice pack wedge against his swollen jaw. Mycroft was standing over him with a nurse at his side, a look of sincere worry on his face. Sherlock grunted a little as he sat up, and Mycroft and the nurse backed up. The ice pack clattered to the floor as he leaned forward.

"John... Where... Where's John?" Sherlock wheezed. "How long have I been unconscious...?"

Mycroft sighed in a way that Sherlock had only heard twice before in his life and Sherlock was on his feet in an instant.

"WHERE IS HE!" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft held up a hand and urged Sherlock to sit back down.

"You've been out for four hours... We apprehended John and Moriarty as they tried to flee the country... John is being detained. It appears he has been sufficiently brain washed... for lack of a better term." Mycroft explained. "I do not think it wise for you to see him..."

Sherlock growled lowly and grabbed his brother by the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Take. Me. To. John."

Mycroft didn't seem phased in the least and pried his brothers hands off his suit with ease.

"Fine." came a clipped reply. "Follow me."

Sherlock followed Mycroft out of his office and outside where one of Mycroft's government vehicles was waiting. The ride was long, and painfully quiet. They arrived at a secured sanitarium just outside of the city limits. It was tucked away from the world and heavily guarded. Whether to keep people in or out, Sherlock could only wonder. Large wrought iron gates opened up before them and they made their way in. The building looked like a prison from the outside and inside it looked like a hospital. It was eerily quiet as they entered. Mycroft swiped his government ID on a keypad as they walked through every door, the halls twisting and turning. Sherlock committed them to memory. Mycroft stopped in front of a secured door with a small panel of glass in it. Sherlock gazed through and saw John inside, wearing scrubs and pacing back and forth.

"I wouldn't recommend going in there. He is quiet... unhinged. All of the blood work done on Doctor Watson has showed he has an experimental drug that Baskerville was perfecting. It's a drug that weakens the mind, induces an amnesia-like state, and makes the mind very easy to mold through stimuli. Essentially, it's meant for brainwashing..." Mycroft advised, already preparing to open the door with his ID, knowing he was being ignored. Sherlock felt sick to his stomach. The thought of John being poisoned and changed by Moriarty brought a new wave of rage that threatened to make Sherlock collapse. The door lock clicked out of place and Sherlock went immediately in, Mycroft following right behind him.

As they entered, John flexed his fingers and looked up at Sherlock with cold and unforgiving eyes. The familiar warmth of the doctor had been tucked away to another part of John's mind and all that was left was an angry, wounded animal.

"John..." Sherlock greeted. "Do you remember me? I'm your friend... Sherlock Holmes..."

John snorted.

"You are no friend of mine... Where is Jim? What have you lot done with my husband?" John snarled, lunging at Sherlock. Sherlock stepped aside.

"Jim is where he needs to be. In jail. You are not well John. You're suffering from a drug induced amnesia. Whatever lies Jim has told you, however real they may feel, they are not." Sherlock insisted, his tone cold and controlled. John gritted his teeth and glared at the other man. "It wasn't real John. It's a lie. You need to believe me. He wasn't your husband. You're a doctor. Doctor John Watson. You are my friend, my partner. We solve crimes together... Jim is our enemy."

"You can't tell me... You can't... You just can't expect me to not... Not love him. You just come barging into my life, kidnap me... Detain me against my will... And now... You're expecting me to accept that it wasn't real? Well... Let me clue you in on something Mister Holmes..." John's terse tone and the neglect to using Sherlock's first name forced the dark haired man to take a step back both out of hurt and apprehension.

"I can't just turn what I feel off. Maybe you don't understand that because you don't have a single bone in your body that feels. But I love Jim. I love him with all my heart. My feelings aren't going to just go away because you say they're a lie. People... Real people... Don't work like that."

Sherlock could feel his throat constricting with a certain sense of heartbreak. His hopes of getting John back so easily were dashed, like brittle clay pots along jagged rocks. He felt like crumbling. John's eyes remained hard, even as he saw how incredibly harmed Sherlock was by his words. The man deserved it, in John's opinion. He'd kidnapped him, dragged him away from the only person on this earth he knew he loved, and expected him to just believe all this? John sat down on the bed heavily. The audacity this man had, to slander his lover, his husband, claim him to be a lie. Proof or no proof, John was furious, and hurt as well. Sherlock looked to the security camera up in the corner of the room, nodding to Mycroft's people that he was ready to leave the room, and the door buzzed open.

"You can't keep me here forever Holmes! This is illegal!" John reminded loudly as Sherlock left the room. Sherlock paused in the doorway briefly, wanting to turn around and shake some sense into his doctor, but he refrained, and took another few steps, letting the door slam shut and lock itself again behind him. Sherlock couldn't bear to stay there. He needed to get out and go to his familiar warm flat for a while. Though it was much emptier without John in it, he would rather be alone than face John in the shape the doctor was in. Mycroft made no attempt to stop Sherlock and simply stood by as his brother left.

He could feel it in his bones. He needed to intervene in this before it was too late. Sherlock was going to drive John to anger, or worse, madness. He quietly made his way across the room, planning out how he would handle John. John was delicate right now, trapped, panicking, probably feeling that PTSD despite Moriarty's brainwashing and drug treatments. The soldier in him had pushed its way through the haze without John's consent. This was a good sign. The real John, all those memories, they were still in there and John was close enough to them that he had a chance of remembering. It would just take time.

Time that Sherlock didn't want to waste. He wanted John well, and Mycroft could tell that it would be a while before John would be right as rain.

Mycroft's shoes clicked lightly against the plain, linoleum floor as he approached, stopping at the end of the bed. Instead of looking at Mycroft, John went about gazing at the window, and the sky outside.

"John... I do apologize for my brother's insensitivity. He just happens to be very... emotionally involved in your situation, and is hurting. Though he won't admit to that. I assure you, everything he is doing is because he cares." Mycroft states calmly, watching John's lips twitch into a tight frown.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" John spat, drawing an unimpressed sigh from Mycroft. John turned his head toward the elder Holmes and met his gaze, seeing certain solemnness in his eyes. Mycroft took a moment to clear his throat and contemplate what to say next, stepping over to sit on the edge of the bed beside John. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed out the window also.

"Sherlock loves you." Mycroft stated, his tone flat and somewhat bored. "Perhaps in a way that he is not yet prepared to deal with. Though he will always be married to his work, he has become devoted... to you, John Watson. Whether you can say the same for Moriarty or not, I do not know. The man you love poisoned you for a very long time, caused you to suffer from a peculiar case of Stockholm syndrome and chemically induced amnesia, however feelings are feelings. I will not say that what you feel isn't real. I will say, it is a lie. You are... Ill. Until the chemical is out of your system, you will remain here. However, if at the end of your treatment and detox you wish to go to him... I will see to it that you are not stopped."

John relaxed a bit, but not completely, his eyes flicking over to gaze at Mycroft. Mycroft felt John's eyes on him and turned his head to face the man's gaze.

"Why are you doing this...?" John asked quietly, his fingers twitching a bit before curling up into fists reflexively. Mycroft smiled softly, a light chuckle leaving him as he nodded and looked away.

"Believe it or not John, Sherlock is not the only one who cares a great deal for you." Mycroft whispered, his voice taking on a very sad and serious tone. "There are many others who would be devastated to lose you a second time."

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