Chapter 10 - My name is James

Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.

"Greetings, Sherlock Holmes," the older woman in a grey coat said, standing in front of a large unmarked van parked on the driveway in front of the house.

John drew his weapon without hesitation and pointed it at the woman behind the gate. She didn't even look surprised. Sherlock was also completely calm - he closed the dial and lowered his arm.

"Good Morning," Sherlock said in a strong voice. The older woman glanced briefly at John - at the barrel of his gun, and sighed.

"I believe that wecan avoid any unnecessary accidents," she said in a squeaky voice with a strong Scottish accent, "if you cooperate."

John glanced sideways at his friend, but his face was unreadable.

"I'm sure Sky wouldn't hurt a fly," Sherlock replied sarcastically. The woman just laughed humourlessly. John stayed in his position, holding his trigger finger at the ready.

"Sherlock?" John whispered nervously, still unsure of what was going on here.

"You are really good, Detective," the woman took a few steps toward both men and stopped just behind the gate, "unfortunately, too good for your own good."

Sherlock kept silent and waved his left hand, signalling John to lower the gun.

"I also know you are very intelligent. So now you'll both get into this van that's behind me - nicely and calmly - and nothing will happen to you."

John sneered, "And who are you to tell us what we should do? Sky's maid?" His eyes flew to the parked van and back to the woman in front of him, "Where is the van going to take us and why should we listen to you anyway?"

"Get in, I won't ask again."

"If Dr Sky wants to talk to us so much why won't he come in person?" Sherlock asked caustically.

The older woman sighed and responded with a tone as if talking to a small child: "Doctor Sky is busy. He's a doctor - he's doing his job."

John raised his gun again and was about to say something, but before he could open his mouth something sharp hit his neck. Tranquilizer dart – flew through his head before he fell limply to the ground.

"John!" Sherlock cried out, and made a step toward the older man who was lying motionless on the ground.

"Don't move," the woman ordered sharply.

Sherlock checked his friend's breathing. After he made sure he was unhurt, raising his head he squinted at the woman in front of him. She just waved her hand, gesturing toward the van. Sherlock knew she'd laid backup that was almost certain. The wisest thing at this time was to do exactly what she wanted. Therefore, he reluctantly stepped forward, opened the gate and walked out.

"Your friend will be alright - he'll sleep a little and then he might have some headache but that's it. I believe that we won't have to use the same methods on you, if I'm not mistaken?" She smiled sweetly as Sherlock passed her on his way to the waiting car. Then she extended her hand, palm upright and said coldly: "Give me your cell phone."

Sherlock did so. Then he stepped into the van where one of Sky's henchmen was waiting who skilfully tied his hands and ankles. Two other men jumped out and dragged John in. They tied him up as well, gagged both of them and then they searched them quickly – took John's cell phone, keys, their wallets and of course John's gun.

Without hesitation, they slammed the door of the van, leaving them both in the darkness without any windows or lights. Sherlock heard the driver start the engine and felt the car moving. Perhaps for the first time in his life he hoped his paranoid brother had placed some unfound tracking device on him - but the chances were small. What now? Sherlock looked desperately into the darkness where he knew his friend was lying.

John was still unconscious - and vulnerable, I cannot take any chances with him like this.

Jim woke up in the morning-at least he thought it was in the morning, there was no way to tell - and he couldn't remember his name.

It just wasn't there.

He spent perhaps a few hours after he woke up trying to recall at least the first letter of his name. How his mother called him to eat, how his father yelled at him when he'd fought at school.

But there was nothing.

And then he tried to remember other people from his past - his father, his brother ... the ... the first boy he murdered. And even though he could perfectly recall every detail of their faces, the tone of their voices, eye colour, teeth shape, dressing style ... he just could not assign a name to any of these people.

Jim broke into a cold sweat, became dizzy and felt his heart racing. For one petrifying moment, he sat in his cell, staring at the wall, trying to breathe regularly and not to let anyone watching him know how he felt. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palm of a hand - the tips of his fingers found two painful burned marks on the sides of his head. And he got a flashback.

Electroconvulsive therapy. Electroshocks! Every single day since - as ... as long as he's been here.

How could he just forget?

A nasogastric tube had been attached to his nose – of course, he refused to eat, they had been feeding him via a feeding tube. Then he ran his hands over his face. Someone had shaved him recently – with an electric shaver.

Jim still held his head high. Still unbroken. He slowly hugged his chest, feeling his protruding ribs under his fingers.

How long has he been here? A week? Two? A month?

The time seemed to stop. Stuck.

A fury rose in Jim for every missing memory. How does someone dare to mess around in my head? Stealing memories?!

No one has ever gotten into my Mind Palace! No one! Only he himself had access to it.

Jim inhaled and relaxed- he would go to his palace and find these lost memories. They must be somewhere in there. It did not take him long to get to his Mind Palace which was their old family house in Ireland. He walked through the creaky front door and looked around. It was empty.

He decided to go to his room where he stored all the important documents he just could not afford to forget. Many of them had to be signed by him. He searched in the first file and pulled out a couple of months old contract that he had signed together with someone from North Korea. And right there at the bottom of the page was a box with his name and signature.

My name is James.

Jim was relieved. That's right, that's my name. But then he paused.

Moriarty.

That's not my name, flashed through his head. It sounded so alien - it was definitely not his surname. Not really.

What is my name?!

Before he was able to look into other files and check other pages, Jim was suddenly jerked back to reality. He heard someone's footsteps behind the door. He had just a few seconds to try to calm down his quick breathing and his speeding heart. His head was spinning, he felt like throwing up, but he couldn't let anyone know he had been affected by those sessions. That was the most important thing –not to show any weakness!

Cole entered his cell, wearing a broad smile and carrying a pair of handcuffs in one hand and some kind of a stun baton in the other.

"Well, well, well! Look who's finally awake and coherent. I'm glad this time I won't be the only one enjoying our today's session - again," he grinned, walking towards Jim.

Jim frowned and tried to respond, but he just couldn't get any sound out - as if something was blocking his throat.

Cole's malicious eyes flashed devilishly, "No flippant remark today? Maybe we'll eventually teach you how to behave, you – the great Moriarty!" the younger man laughed, grabbing Jim by the collar and pulling him to his feet, setting off explosions of searing pain in the smaller man's wounded back.

Jim's stomach clenched, but on the outside he only smirked complacently, maintaining his dignity he walked down the long grey corridor to his torture.

He was already breaking. His mind was falling apart. My name is James ... and?

Sebbie, Sherlock, John, Mycroft! Someone! It should have never come this far. Move your lazy ass and get me out of here!

And quickly.

Sebastian was beginning to get very nervous. Their agent "Stork" secretly working in Holmes' proximity had not reported for three weeks and there was still no trace of Jim.

It was like that until yesterday when he suddenly got a message that a man, according to the description looking exactly like Jim's recently lost driver, had been interrogated and then released.

The only clue that could possibly lead him to his boss was the last person Jim talked to.

Peter Simmons.

Sebastian had to admit that the boy was quite good at hiding - it wasn't at all easy to find him. Even though he'd changed his name and moved to the London's suburbs, he still remained pretty findable.

He definitively had a finger in the pie, or at least he knew what had happened, but then again, Mycroft had interrogated him once and hadn't learned anything.

Well, it's not like Mycroft knows how to properly interrogate someone, Moran sneered.

Unlike him, Sebastian knew very well how it's done. After he had found Simmons hiding in one of his friend's apartment, he jumped him, knocked him unconscious and took him to an old abandoned factory that stood nearby and was destined for demolition. He tied him to a chair with strong ropes and after some thinking, he decided to blindfold him.

He sat on a chair positioned in front of his captive, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees -waiting.

It didn't take long and Peter began to regain consciousness. His fingers twitched and he moaned, waking himself up completely.

"Hello? Is anyone here? Where am I?" he asked in a shaking voice. Sebastian rose silently from his chair, which made a horrid scraping noise on the concrete floor and walked over to the tied up man.

He bent over and whispered in his ear: "I have questions, you have answers. Think of it as a deal. Now, I'll ask you a few things and if you answer me truthfully - nothing will happen to you. I'll let you go."

Peter swallowed and nodded quickly.

"But if you even think of withholding some information, then I promise you'll see the face of Hell today."

Sebastian grabbed him roughly by the hair, tilting his head back. Peter yelped in pain.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes - yeah, my God! I'll tell you everything!" Simmons yelled. Sebastian let go of him and went back to his chair.

"Right then, let's start with basics – your name is Peter Simmons and you had worked for about two months as a driver for a man named James Moriarty. Is that true? Nod your head if yes,"

Peter nodded slowly and Seb continued.

"You were the last one to talk to him before he was kidnapped. You've gotta admit, Pete, that's damn suspicious. And then you just disappeared," Sebastian tut-tutted in disagreement, "Bad idea."

"I-I drove him home from the office, he got out, went to his house and after that I left. That's all, I swear! I don't know anything!" Peter cried. Sebastian sighed loudly, got up and walked over to his car parked nearby where he had been heating up his in-car cigarette lighter. With one movement, he pulled it out and moved toward the tied up man.

"I'll ask you again - only because I'm in a good mood - where did you take him, because it was not to his house."

"I didn't - aaaaaaah!" Peter screamed in pain as Sebastian pressed the cigarette lighter to his neck. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Moran grabbed the sobbing man by the hair, pressed his face close to his again and whispered in his ear.

"Do you remember our deal? Because - boy - this is just me warming up."

"I-I took him to some underground garage. I don't remember the name-aaah! Fuck!" Simmons screamed again as Sebastian pressed the hot metal to his exposed skin. Peter's tears flowed from his eyes.

"It was somewhere near Kentish Town, I handed him over to some guys," the younger man sobbed.

Sebastian frowned, "Who did you hand him over?"

"Some guy. I don't know his real name - we used nicknames. He was such a tall guy with a black-aah! Shit, aah!"

"I want names, Peter. I want facts."

"He called himself Azrael. He told me that if I brought him boss' unconscious body – unharmed - he would pay me three hundred thousand quid," Peter replied shakily.

"Have I already told you how I used to go hunting with my dad and uncle? I liked to disembowel the animals. I like seeing blood, Pete. I miss it so much," Sebastian said in a soft voice.

"That's everything, God, I swear! They gave me some powder I had to give him to make him sleep," Peter paused and took a few unsteady breaths, "I put it in his coffee, he fell asleep and then I handed him over to them - I don't know anything else!" he shouted a little hysterically.

Sebastian nodded his head, even though the other man could not see it. Then he went over to his car to return the lighter.

"Why were you interrogated by Mycroft Holmes three weeks ago?"

There was silence for a moment. "I don't know any Holmes."

Moran laughed out loud. I just love these stubborn weaklings! Then he drew a knife from his coat pocket and, without warning, pierced Peter's palm. The knife got stuck in the wood, and dark red blood poured out of the wound. It took the other man several seconds, if not minutes, before he stopped screaming and cursing and was able to speak.

"I was spying for him, he wanted information..." Pete groaned, "He wanted to know about Moriarty. But I did not tell him anything."

"Wow, a triple agent! Who would've thought it?"

The younger man swallowed dryly. His sallow, sweaty skin indicated he was slowly going into shock - Sebastian had to hurry.

"Describe me exactly what Azrael looked like. I suppose it had to be him who contacted you."

Peter nodded, "A tall, pale, lean man, dark hair and eyes, well-dressed, high cheekbones, had a birthmark under his left eye."

"Why haven't you left the country? You could have flown anywhere with so much money."

Peter clenched his teeth, "The banknotes were fake! Counterfeit money! Kill him if you find him, fucker!"

Sebastian grinned, "Some deals just don't go your way, but I guess that's a business risk."

Then, without further delay, he pulled out his pistol and shot Peter in his head, got into his car and drove to one of the big garages in Kentish Town. He had a pretty good idea which one it was.

Doctor Sky was standing at the intersection when his assistant called him.

"Doctor Sky, subject 46 is ready for implantation," a quiet voice said on the phone.

Sky smiled, "I assume you were playing him subliminal messages while he slept?"

"As you wished. His mind is almost completely open."

"Great. I suppose he's not aware of it?"

"He doesn't seem to be," the younger man replied.

"I will arrive as soon as possible," the doctor paused for a moment, "Two more projects will arrive today. Put them in the cells and do nothing until I come, is that clear?"

"Of course."

"I feel like this is going to be another success!"

Hello everyone ;)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, tell me what you think!
Chapter 11 will be crucial.
See you next time! :))