Sherlock story
Deleted Memories.
Authors note: This is my first fan fiction so please review and comment. I will add chapters every several days.
Thanks everyone for reading and a special thanks to everyone who comments.
This story occurs eight months post Reichenbach. John has been aware that Sherlock was alive for two months
"We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and
survival."~Winston Churchill
Present day
It had been six months since Sherlock had come back to him. It took another month for his name to be cleared legally, and still another month for him to find the last thread of Moriarty's web as he had come to call it. And, two weeks ago, he almost lost him again.
John pondered all these things as he walked toward the kitchen, wondering which tea Sherlock would be willing to drink today.
John's hair was still wet from the shower; a drop of bath water hit his blue and white jumper as the phone buzzed.
"I'll get it," he said needlessly. Sherlock sat staring out the window, fully dress despite the fact that it was not yet, seven.
John shook slightly as he hung up the phone. His back was turned to Sherlock.
"Lestrade." It wasn't a question.
"Yes." John hoped Sherlock had not noticed the hitch in his voice and the slight hesitation as he hung up the phone.
Sherlock sighed tiredly.
As he turned, he noticed his roommate sitting in "his chair" fingers together as though he was whispering a prayer. John smiled at the familiarity of it. At least some things had not changed.
His smile disappeared when his thoughts returned to the phone call.
John turned around feet glued, unable to move from his position next to the phone.
To anyone else, Sherlock would seem composed, peaceful. But, John knew him. The bruises around his face were healing well. Not as noticeable now. The cuts and bruises scattered about the rest of him were in different stages of healing, and would take longer. Some wounds were obvious, some more "personal".
John remembered.
He remembered the hurried text from Sherlock, the frantic call to Lestrade. Being told to "stay put, too dangerous", Yards would search the warehouses near the Thames.
Like hell.
In the end, it was John who found his broken body. It was John who called Lestrade. It was John who listened to Sherlock's ragged whispers of information and instructions. Information so important, he was willing to give his last breaths to convey it.
It was John who looked into his closing eyes, who feared that he was losing his best friend… again.
For five days, Sherlock went in and out of consciousness, on the sixth day his first words, whispered in a raspy voice, shocked John, "Call Mycroft."
"Hello… um… Mycroft… how did I get this number… oh, Sherlock gave it to me … Mycroft, are you there… um yes …. He's at Saint Catherine, he said to tell you he needs you… so are you sending someone… oh, coming yourself…. Right then , see you soon."