AN: Yes, I know, my notes are always too damn long, but I'll try keeping it short.
Thank you all for reading so far, I'm really happy with the response I got for my very first fanfiction :)
Special thanks this week to Godiva9 for alerting, all of you who do and did anything to show me what you think and that you like my idea, make me really, really happy :]
Disclaimer (because I forgot before xD): I don't own Sherlock, I'd love to tho. Don't own the song either, everything belongs to their rightful owners.
Here we go with chapter 14 and the song is "Remember Me" by Hoobastank.
Summary: Sherlock has woken up, but doesn't recognize John. How will they cope?
Chapter 14 – Remember Me:
"What?"
"Who are you?"
John stumbled backwards, trying to steady himself against the wall. A nurse was beside him and held him upright while she took him outside to sit down on a chair in the hallway. The nurse quickly got him a glass of water that he almost dropped from the shock before she went into the room again.
John just sat there, his face as if it was made of stone, staring at the ground.
-He doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember me. He doesn't know who I am, what we've been through. He doesn't know anything... . I know I should've been prepared for this or at least have expected this, but... . It seems like as if I don't... .-
His mind elsewhere, John took a sip of the water and he didn't realize someone coming closer to sit down next to him. He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Whoa, easy, man. Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to check in. What's wrong?"
Now John turned and raised his head to look at Greg. "He woke up. All those injuries and the many beatings to his head and he woke up again. No doctor would believe me when I said he'd come back, but he did, Greg."
"But shouldn't you be, you know, happy?"
Now John put the glass of water down to grab Greg by his shoulders.
"He doesn't remember me, Greg! He won't remember you and Mycroft either!
"So this is our flat?" Sherlock stepped inside, hesitating. He took a look around, trying to memorize all the important things and file them away in his supposed-to-be mind palace.
"Yeah, my bedroom is upstairs, yours is right behind that door." John felt awkward, seeing Sherlock right in front of him without being read like an open book. "I'm gonna make some tea."
He went into the kitchen and Sherlock stood there, looking after him.
"Who was that older woman downstairs?"
"Mrs. Hudson. She's the landlady."
"She seems lovely."
"That she is." John forced a smile as he turned around to hand Sherlock his mug.
"Thank you, John." He smirked.
-God, how I have missed that smile and those eyes...-
John couldn't help but smile back, no matter how awkward it might seem to him.
"You're welcome, Sherlock."
Still unsure, Sherlock slowly walked over to the couch and sat down. John followed him, but made sure to keep his distance to not overwhelm Sherlock. It surely was hard enough as it was and rushing things would only make it worse.
They both drank their tea in silence before Sherlock got up to wash their cups.
"Sherlock, you don't need-"
"I got this, John. I may not know everything, but I'm perfectly capable of doing the dishes, thank you very much. Now, where's the washing-up liquid?"
"I-in the c-closet... uhm,... b-below the s-sink-" John had problems answering. It was so unusual that it scared him more than he cared to admit. He had been a goddamn soldier! He just had to be patient.
-Right, as if that was my strength.- He covered his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes, sighing.
"Are you alright, John?" John looked up and Sherlock's eyes showed concern. Even though he didn't know who John was, Sherlock trusted him and he was worried about his former best friend.
"I'm fine, Sherlock. It's just..." His voice trailed off and he looked down again, not wanting to see this look on his flatmate's face. But he dared to look up again as the cushion of the sofa sunk down.
"Tell me, I want to help." Sherlock looked at him with that piercing gaze -No, he hasn't forgotten that one.- and John forced himself to hold that gaze.
"It's just..." John sighed again.
"Dufficult?" Sherlock suggested. "With me not knowing who you are and most likely I may be acting completely out of character." John looked away. Spot on.-
"John, look at me." He still kept his gaze onto the now so interesting carpet.
"John, please." Sherlock lifted his right hand to place it beneath John's chin and turned his head so he had to look Sherlock in the eyes. They were full of regret and sorrow.
"I'm sorry I don't remember you, John. I wish I would, I wish I could."
"It's not your fault, Sherlock. I mean, you tend to like deleting things unimportant for your cases from your mind palace, but-"
"My what?"
"Your mind palace. You go there if you're searching for specific case-related information that you saved on your hard drive up there." He tipped his forefinger against Sherlock's forehead. "You told me at the very beginning that you only put stuff on your hard drive that are actually useful, complaining about how normal people fill their brains with all kinds of stuff so they can't get to the important things." John smiled at the memory and Sherlock listened, interested.
"You file everything you allow to stay on that hard drive of yours away in your mind palace. I never really understood how it works, but you never told me. I just accepted the fact that you somehow really have a hard drive up there where you order things and delete everything that doesn't seem useful to you."
"Tell me more, John."
He looked at him. "About what?"
"About me and about those people at the hospital."
"You are a consulting detective. Don't look at me like that. You are the only one in the world as you invented the job. You loved the riddles, the puzzles behind the cases of Scotland Yard since they come to you when they are out of their depth which is according to you always. And we chased the bad guys all around London. You anticipated where they'd go because you memorized a plan of London on your hard drive." John looked down smiling as Sherlock's hands were now folded across his lap.
"And you would rattle down your deductions in front of everybody so fast, no one was able to catch up. You always said your brain was working so fast, it was hard for you to even catch a thought and your brain just wouldn't shut up."
Sherlock hadn't moved but now he looked at John again as he asked him "Who were those people in the room with us as the hospital?"
John looked up, but he still avoided Sherlock's gaze.
"The one in the suit, that was Mycroft. He's your brother."
Sherlock's face fell. -A brother...- "How do we get along?"
John let out a small chuckle before stopping himself, hoping Sherlock hadn't heard it. But if he had, he didn't act upon it.
"Well, to be honest, after I'd first met him, I was told he was your arch enemy." Sherlock looked shocked. "Yeah, that was my reaction exactly. He tends to 'poke his nose in our business which is not of his concern' according to you but he just cares about you, Sherlock. He even proclaims doing it constantly which would be proven by the cameras he's got installed in our flat." At this, Sherlock sat completely stiff, only moving his eyes to look around.
"No, don't worry. I told him to remove them all for your own sake. Mycroft understood and he sent his men to do as I pleased." Sherlock released a sigh of relief and relaxed visibly next to John.
John smiled again. "He keeps telling eveyone he owns a 'minor position in the British government' while I tend to believe your version of him being the British government. He first got my attention by letting all the telephones ring when I walked past them and when I finally picked one up, he moved the CCTV cameras so they didn't catch me anymore. Then, a black car pulled up and he ordered me to get in. And he offered me money to keep him updated about you. At that point, I didn't know he was your brother. Anyways, I refused and you where angry at me, saying we could have needed the money." John laughed a little and Sherlock started giggling. It felt like after their first case. -How I have missed his laugh.-
"The other ones, who were they?"
"The other man with the short greyish hair that was D.I. Gregory Lestrade. He consults you on cases."
"So he's with the police."
"Exactly. And the girl with the ponytail, that's Molly Hooper. She works at the morgue and..."
John stopped himself. Should he tell him? -Maybe it's too much.-
"John? What is it?"
"It's just... I'm not sure if I should tell you. I'm scared it could be too much. Maybe we should leave it at that, at least for now." He tried to get up, but pale, long, slender fingers curled around his wrist, pulling him down on the sofa again.
"Tell me, John. I want to know and you've been honest with me up to this point, right?" Sherlock turned his face to search for confirmation in his eyes, but John looked down and nodded slightly.
"There we go. So why do you want to hide something from me?"
John looked at him and his eyes filled with tears. "I just don't want you to feel obliged to do something if I tell you."
Sherlock put his arms around John, pulling him into a close but awkward hug ans whispered "Why don't you let me decide, John. I know you just want to protect me, but I'm fine given the circumstances and I will be if you tell me. It's alright."
John relaxed a bit and whispered into Sherlock's shoulder "Molly, she's got a thing for you."
"I believe that's nothing I couldn't live with. I'm glad you told me though, John. Thank you for being so concerned and still so honest with me."
-I still feel there would be no use in lying to you. You're Sherlock, I could never lie to you.-
"You should get some rest. This was after all a pretty exciting day for you." John smiled and pulled back. "Hop away, get some sleep. I'll be upstairs if you need me."
Sherlock nodded and padded to his room, closing the door firmly behins him after calling a quick "Goodnight, John". He sat down on the bed and let his thoughts wander.
I stand here face to face
With someone that I used to know
-Someone I am supposed to know.-
He used to look at me and laugh
But now he claims
That he's known me for so very long
But I remember being no one
-I can't remember. I don't know who he is, no matter how hard I try and no matter how much I want to remember and know...-
John was still sitting on the sofa, thinking.
I wanted to be just like you
So perfect, so untouchable
-I wanted to be more like you, Sherlock.-
Now you want me to be with you
-No, be there for you without being with you.-
Someone who used to have it all
Do you remember now
-Please, Sherlock. Please remember me...-
John went upstairs, listening to the silence of the flat interrupted by the noises of the still very busy city. Soon after not hearing anything from Sherlock downstairs, John fell asleep.
Sherlock jolted awake, jumping out of his bed, eyes wide open and ready to hit someone if necessary. He looked around, alarmed before he realized where the noise came from. He slowly opened the door and quietly made his way upstairs to John's room to see what was going on.
As Sherlock opened the door a little, he peaked his head inside, carefully, but except for John who was in his bed, there was nobody else around.
He looked at John thrashing around in his bed, kicking and screaming "No, Sherlock!".
Sherlock shuffled closer to the bed, unsure of what to do. He came to stand next to the bed, slowly sitting down and trying to keep John lying still on the bed.
He leaned closer, whispering "Shh, John. It's alright. I'm here. It's all fine, John.". He felt John relax to the sound of his voice before he opened his eyes.
"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" He shot up into a sitting position, quickly checking Sherlock for any injuries with his eyes. "Oh my God, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?"
The questions just flooded out of his mouth while his eyes still roamed over Sherlock's body, scanning for any visible injuries.
"No, John." Sherlock almost whispered, his right hand still lingering on John's left shoulder. "I heard noises and when I came up here, you were screaming, thrashing around in your bed, obviously fast asleep. What was wrong, John?"
John looked him in the eyes, unsure of what to say.
"Tell me, John. And please tell me the truth."
John sighed and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his thumbs before pinching the bridge of his nose as he answered.
"I was a soldier. When we first met, you simply asked if it was Afghanistan or Iraq. Since I've been invalided home, I had those nightmares resulting from the PTSD I suffer from." Sherlock shot him a questioning glance. "Posttraumatic stress disorder. It's..."
He looked down, embarrassed. "It's a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any events that result in psychological trauma. For me, it was being shot during war. I often dream of the war, of those men dying in my arms while I try to save their lives, of me getting shot in the middle of the desert."
Sherlock had taken his hand from John's shoulder to let it rest in his lap. John's skin tingled where he had felt the warmth of Sherlock's hand seep through his clothes to be absorbed by his body, spreading and filling it with warmth.
But now Sherlock shifted closer, wrapping his arms around John. "Why were you calling my name then, John? I wasn't in Afghanistan, at least as far as I know." He chuckled.
John blushed in Sherlock's arms, but it was dark enough and he rested his head on his flatmate's shoulder so Sherlock wouldn't see it.
"No, you weren't. But people with PTSD tend to project people onto those dreams, those fears... special people."
"In which way special?" His voice was quiet, soothing.
"Well... it's people... one usually cares about."
Sherlock pulled back to look at John, well as best as he could given the non-existent light flooding the room. "You care about me?"
John was glad the lights were off as he felt himself turn crimson.
"I do, Sherlock. Even if you don't remember me or anything we've been through." He looked into the darkness where Sherlock's eyes were supposed to be. "Because I remember. I remember the way you deduced me, the way you solved the cases we took, the little bickerings you had with your brother, the insults and the deductions you threw at Donovan and Anderson – don't ask, you'll meet them again soon enough – I can recall all those crazy experiments you got the kitchen table covered with, all the body parts next to the rest of our take-away in the fridge and all those bullets you'd been able to shoot at the smiley on the wall before I got to hide the gun."
Sherlock wanted to get up an leave but John stopped him. "It doesn't matter if you remember me or not, at least not to me." He pulled him into another hug. "I know who you were, but I don't care. I'm only glad you're back." John cradled Sherlock and gently stroked his cheeks.
"What are we, John? I mean, what were we before I fell into the coma?"
He stayed silent, stopping the stroking so Sherlock gently cupped John's chin to meet his eyes in the dark. "John? Tell me and please, just don't lie to me."
John wanted to leave now, but Sherlock returned the favour of not letting go.
"John? I just want to know. How do you feel?"
"We were flatmates, nothing more. No matter how often people thought otherwise. You didn't care about what others thought and I kept denying it."
It was only one single word, short and small, but this thing whispered into his hear sent a shiver down John's spine. "Why?"
John's voice was shaking when he asked "W-Why w-what?"
"Why did you deny it, John?"
-What? Is this the Sherlock from before the incident?-
"Because..." Johnn didn't dare answer, sure he hadn't thought this through.
They were siting close now – too close – John felt Sherlock's breath on his skin.
"Sherlock, listen. I-"
But he was cut off by Sherlock's soft lips on his.
"Isn't that what you wanted, John? Though the forehead could have been a good start. Still..." Sherlock murmured against John's lips.
"Stop talking." John pulled him down for another kiss, slowly lying down on the bed with Sherlock on top of him, never breaking the contact.
His hands slid down Sherlock's chest below the fabric of his shirt. The skin was soft and warm, giving him goosebumps. Sherlock shivered from the touch before staying completely still.
"Did you hear that?"
"What? I didn't hear anything."
Sherlock jumped off the bed, slowly sneaking downstairs. John went right behind him, gun at the ready.
"Be careful."
As Sherlock wanted to answer, he heard a loud thump behind him. He turned around and suddenly he felt pain before everything went black.
AN: Yeah, another one, sorry. Gonna make it real short tho.
This'll be wrapped up with one chapter and an epilogue. I hope you enjoyed it so far and I'm so not sorry for the cliffhanger :D
Lots of love, have a nice rest-weekend and hopefully a wonderful week that'll be less stressfull than mine, but I'm not gonna complain.
See you next weekend, xoxo