The door banged open, invading Sherlock's mind. He cracked his eyes open and groaned. He felt like he had after John's bachelor party.
"Sherlock!" John yelled, much too loudly.
He heard his friend cross the room toward him, but he was too busy trying to work out why he felt the way he did. Only, his mind was sluggish, groggy. He blinked. Morning and the light was far too bright. A moment later fingers appeared in front of him as John snapped twice.
"Sherlock," John insisted.
The detective swung his hand out to push his friend's fingers away, but completely missed as John stood up.
"Jesus, Sherlock, are you on again?"
"No, John," he replied, trying to stand up and finding that nearly impossible as he flopped back in the chair. What the hell happened? "I'm not on anything."
"Yeah, right. And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"I really don't care what you believe," he snapped, rubbing his face with his hands in an effort to shake off whatever this was.
Drugged. Must have been, but by who? And why?
"Come on then," John said, grabbing his arm and pulling him from the chair.
Sherlock stumbled and then angrily pushed his friend away.
"I haven't taken anything," he yelled. "At least, not willingly."
"Sorry?"
His friend paused, eyeing him.
"Just…shut up and give me a minute, would you?"
He flopped back down in his chair. John sat down across from him. He could feel his friend's eyes on him, but he ignored that, going over the events of last night.
"I was here, in the flat, bored after having solved that art theft case. I…" his mind was still groggy, but he was coming out of it, His sharply honed skills shaking off the effects of whatever he'd been given. "I checked the blog…phoned Lestrade…checked the paper…then I…sent you a text, then another. I stopped by your flat, broke in-"
"What? You broke into our flat?"
"You weren't answering my texts, how else was I supposed to find out where you were?"
John sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Fine. What'd you do after that?"
"I…" Sherlock trailed off, his mind coming up blank. Completely blank. Not like when he'd been drugged by the woman and he still retained the memories, a bit blurred around the edges at first. Or when he used and his memories were blurred out, but still there. This time there was nothing there, no, that wasn't right, there was an absence. A loss of memory. Something that should've been there, but wasn't. "I don't know."
"Well, obviously you figured out where we were. Probably went rifling through our drawers," John grumbled in irritation.
"Sorry?" he asked, eyeing his friend.
"You were there, weren't you? Completely ignoring the fact that we were on a date, our anniversary date."
"I was there?"
John glanced at him, seeming to catch the look Sherlock wore.
"You don't remember?"
"After breaking into your flat my memory ceases, not resuming until you woke me just a few minutes ago."
"But…you were fine at the restaurant. At least you seemed fine."
"What happened at the restaurant?" he asked, thinking that he must have been slipped something there.
"You showed up, complaining about how bored you were, grabbed a chair from another table and joined us, ignoring the fact that we were one a date-"
"You're being redundant. What did I say? What did I do?" Sherlock insisted.
John sighed.
"I don't know," his friend said."You just sat down, looking around the restaurant, analyzing people, and then…it seemed like something caught your eye."
Sherlock perked at this.
"What?"
"I'm not sure. You nodded at the tables near the windows and asked who's that? I looked, but I wasn't sure who you were referring to. Then you got up, said you had a date, walked over to a table and sat down."
"A date?"
Sherlock tried to recall any of the events John spoke of, but they simply weren't there. Did this date having anything to do with it?
"I assumed it was a case," John shrugged.
"Who was sitting at the table?"
"A woman, posh, very attractive. The way she smiled at you when she looked up…I almost thought it was a date for a moment."
So, he'd sat down at a table with a woman, posh, attractive…John really needed to work on his deductive skills.
"Did you catch our exchange?" he asked.
"We were too far off to hear anything."
That let that out.
"What did you see?"
John shrugged.
"You sat down and then you two appeared to be staring at each other. You had that look you get when you do that thing-"
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"It's called observing, John."
"Yeah, well she appeared to be doing the same thing to you."
Wait. What? He sat forward.
"Sorry?"
"That was Mary's take on it. Then you chatted for a very brief time at the end of which she stood up, abruptly, as if she was in a hurry. Then you attempted to pay her bill."
"I what?"
Pay her bill? Why would he pay her bill? That…his mind told him there wasn't enough information to make any deduction as to whether he would've attempted to pay her bill.
"That's what it looked like. You pulled out your card, there appeared to be a bit of an augment and then you left."
"What did she do after I left?"
"She just stood there for a few minutes and then she walked out after the waiter handed her card back."
Sherlock went over the events John described. He had absolutely no knowledge of them. Not even a whisper. He hadn't been drugged. It was different. Whatever happened to him must have started in that restaurant. He had to find that woman. He stood up and walked toward his room.
"Where're you going?" John called.
"I'm going to have a bath, then we're going to lunch," he replied without turning around.
His lost memory revolved around that woman and he was determined to find her. She either had a hand in what happened to him or she knew who was responsible. He wanted answers and one way or another he'd get them out of her.
The alarm blared, forcing Rose's eyes open. She sat up and sighed. She resisted the urge to flop back down in the bed and pull the covers over her face. She'd given Sherlock the assumption…well, he assumed and she hadn't corrected him, that most of her days were spent hunting down aliens. When, in fact, most of her days were spent making sure the few…very few aliens who slipped through the rift were adjusting, not running into trouble, being their go between, that sort of thing. It was whole lot of dress up and pretense.
It was enough to drive her round the bed, but there wasn't anyone else and she felt partly responsible. She knew it wasn't really her fault, but using the dimension cannon caused a shift in the rift on this world. It only lasted for a week, but during that time aliens had been pulled through. Fourteen that she found. Ten of which were friendly and she helped them, most could pass for human with a few morning touch ups, but a few well, they had to go into hiding, which wasn't easy in a universe where aliens seemed to ignore Earth.
Last night had been brilliant. Dropping the pretence, being herself for once. Sometimes she felt as if the real Rose Tyler was disappearing, being devoured by the many disguises.
She took those thoughts and locked them away with the others as she climbed out of bed and headed for the bath. There wasn't time for such thoughts. She had to oversee a meeting this afternoon with some posh bloke called Mycroft who wanted to do business with one of her friends, something to do with her friend's tech business. Communication Satellites, she recalled.
Sherlock waited impatiently while the manager brought up the camera footage from last night. The manager and two of the wait staff were fans of John's blog so he'd had to sit through fifteen minutes of gushing and a trivial round of questions and answers until he'd finally gotten fed up enough to point out the importance of his request.
"This has to do with a case then?" the manager asked as he drew up the feed.
"Yes," Sherlock answered.
"No," John replied.
The manager glanced at them.
"It's not a case with the police," the detective explained. "It's more of a…personal nature."
"He's looking for a woman," John said.
The manager's brow rose.
"For a case," Sherlock interjected.
He shot John a glare to which his friend simply smiled. John was still upset about Sherlock interrupting his evening and the detective knew this was his friend's attempt at payback. He was being childish.
"Well…that's odd," the manager said.
"Odd?" Sherlock asked, leaning down.
"The camera feed. The entire night's worth. It's been erased."
"Erased? What about the other cameras?"
"It's gone. All of it."
"I was right," he exclaimed, standing up and catching John's confused look. "Erasing the camera footage. She was covering her tracks. Making sure I couldn't see her. Oh. She's good."
John rolled his eyes at those words, reminding him of another woman Sherlock had taken a liking to. That's all they needed. Another Irene Adler. At that moment his friend abruptly turned and headed out of the room, leaving John to chase after him.
"Where are you going now?" John asked.
"I believe a visit with Mycroft is in order," Sherlock replied, hurrying out of the restaurant.
Rose climbed into the backseat of the posh black sedan. She usually drove herself around, liking to be the one in control of the vehicle just in cases something happened, but it wouldn't do for the head of a tech company and his PA to drive themselves to Mycroft's office.
She wasn't really Trevor's PA, but one of the agreements of allowing Jax to work for Trevor's company was that he was never seen by any government official and she sat in on all government meetings. He knew too much to allow anyone to become suspicious of him. When she made the arrangements she didn't realized how potentially dangerous this meeting could be, especially for her.
Mycroft Holmes. Of course he had to be Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. She'd really botched this. It's fine. It's fine. She told herself. As long as she kept her head down everything would work out. PAs were hardly noticed and if he deduced anything, well, there was always a bit of that memory dust left, although altering Mycroft's memory would only give her one option. Run.
She took her fear and anxiety and locked them away. They'd do her more harm than good at the moment. The sedan stopped outside her friend's flat. Trevor climbed in the back, wearing a three piece suit and sandals, sporting his usual grin. She shook her head and smiled.
"You have an appointment, NOW?" Sherlock asked, irritated that his friend was going to run off for some appointment when they were in the middle of a case.
"Yes, but like I said I'll text you after and catch up," John said.
It was just a checkup.
"Can't Mary take care of it?"
John was sporting his usual can't you think of someone other than yourself look. One Sherlock promptly ignored.
"We do these things together," John replied.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"She's not even ill."
"No but there are vaccinations and Mary would feel better if I were there."
Another eye roll.
"This is important," the detective insisted.
"Not more important than my child, Sherlock," John replied.
"Fine," the detective snapped, climbing in the cab and closing the door.
"I'll text you when I'm finished," John said as the cab drove off.
Everything was going well. Trevor and Mycroft were talking. She stood next to Mycroft's PA, who hadn't been introduced. Seemed Mycroft didn't pay much attention to people below his station. Pompous sod. That was good though because he hadn't given Rose much notice.
She feigned being busy with her phone. Something that Mycroft's assistant never stopped at. Rose, on the other hand, was completely focused on the meeting. Everything seemed to be on the up and up, no talk of weapons, something she'd been worried about. Just the satellite.
Mycroft and Trevor stood up, shaking hands, the meeting coming to a close when the door burst open and the one man out of all the men in London she was trying to avoid walked through the door. Bollocks!
Strode was a more accurate term to describe the way Sherlock entered the room. As if he was exactly where he ought to be and everyone in the room better pay attention.
"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted in a disdainful way, the man's eyes taking on a sharp, irritated look.
"Was it you?" Sherlock asked in an accusing tone.
"I'm sorry?"
"Did you do this to me?"
"I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Mycroft said and then eyed his brother. "If you'll give me a moment to wrap up my meeting I'll give you my complete attention."
Sherlock seemed annoyed by the idea of waiting, but he took a step back and allowed Mycroft to show Trevor toward the door. Unfortunately, Rose could see the detective gazing around the room in that bored manner, his eyes roving closer to her. Crap! He wouldn't remember her of course, at least he shouldn't, but then again he was Sherlock Holmes and she really couldn't put anything past him, not after her meeting with him last night. He was more than clever and if anyone could overcome the effects of the memory dust, he would be the one.
She turned to hurry to the door, but in her haste she misjudged where Mycroft's PA was standing and ran directly into her, knocking the woman to the floor. Bollocks!
Sherlock scanned the room impatiently. Finding out the camera feed had been erased gave him the idea of Mycroft's involvement. It would be just like his brother to do something like that. The woman must have some involvement with his brother.
Maybe he finally found something on Mycroft. Something to do with that woman. She might've told Mycroft. His brother would've had him picked up and given him something, some form of amnesia pill or injection, something to erase the entire night. The more Sherlock thought about it the more it seemed plausible. His eyes wondered over to his brother and that business associate.
A scuffle at the other end of the room drew his attention. The blonde woman he noticed upon entering seemed to have tripped and run into Anthea, Mycroft's PA, knocking her to the floor.
"I'm so sorry," the blonde apologized, reaching down and helping Anthea up.
"Next time watch where you're going," Anthea snapped.
"Um…right," the woman replied, seeming to bite back a comment. "Sorry."
Sherlock gazed over the woman. Mid to late twenties. Posh. Long sleeve blouse and black pencil skirt, heels, glasses. Deducing that she was obviously the business partner's PA he dismissed her.
"Anthea, if you would see to my appointment this evening," Mycroft instructed as he drew up to them.
Anthea fell back into obedience, but Sherlock could see a glint of lingering anger as she quickly walked out the door. The other woman, the blonde stepped out the door with Mycroft's associate.
John hurried up the steps and into the building that housed Mycroft's offices. After receiving Mary's text that the appointment was moved to tomorrow he came straight over. He opened the door, but paused as two people hurried toward him. A man in a business suit and sandals and a blonde woman who looked a bit like the one from last night.
He opened the door wider for them. She caught his gaze and gave him a smile and that's when he realized she didn't look like the woman from last night. She was the woman from last night. The one at the table with Sherlock.
He had two choices. Follow the woman or find his friend. He knew what Sherlock would do. He released the door and followed them down the street. The man walked over to a sedan parked by the curb. He climbed in and a moment later the car drove off.
The woman, on the other hand, continued down the street. John followed her, keeping back a few paces so as not to alert her of his presence. She turned down an alley. He followed a few moments later, but found the area empty. He glanced around the alley. No doors, no windows. She was just gone. How the hell was that even possible?
Standard Disclaimer.
Thank you to all my brilliant readers!
Reviews are always welcome. :)