Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter four
Author's note: I will be moving back and forth in time. I will clearly prompt in hopes that this prevents confusion. Please point out if this is confusing. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review. I consider everything said. Thanks.
"Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest meaning provides steel to our bones."~ Grace Freeman
18 days ago
Sherlock gasped and weakly tried to lean away from the danger.
Strong hands held him in place. "Wow mate, take it easy."
Sherlock blinked rapidly trying to orient himself. "Mmm…. John?" No danger, just John. John was safe, John had found him. Sherlock eyes closed.
"Sherlock… SHERLOCK…," John said as he gently shook his shoulders.
Sherlock's eyes flew open, body jerking.
Pain exploded throughout his body, he groaned then looked at John frowning.
"Sorry," John said smiling apologetically.
A quick phone call was made. John then busied himself, his instincts as a doctor took over. He assessed Sherlock's pulse and frowned. John assessed and cataloged the injuries. He noticed that there were multiple cuts and lacerations, small and large, but mostly superficial.
Some were oozing, some had crusted dried blood. Blood was seeping through Sherlock's torn shirt and torn dress pants. He had a head wound with dried blood.
Old wound, John thought. Possible broken ribs he added silently.
"What did they do to you?" John mumbled quietly to himself.
What trouble John the most was the pool of blood starting to accumulate under Sherlock's right side.
John took off his coat and jumper. He tore strips of cloth. He went about the business of keeping Sherlock alive.
Sherlock's eyes closed to slits. His eyes were growing heavy again.
"Sherlock … listen carefully … you have to stay awake." John said as he tapped his cheeks.
Sherlock observed the urgency in John's voice and pleading in his eyes. He knew he had to obey, at least he had to try.
Sherlock shivered slightly. When did John put his coat around him, Sherlock wondered.
"You'll… catch your… death," Sherlock stated simply.
"It's not my death I'm worried about you git." John's retort causing a small chuckle from Sherlock. This turned into a cough that threaten to choke him. Sherlock briefly struggled to catch his breath.
John noticed the droplets of blood on Sherlock's lips and cheeks that were produced while coughing, but said nothing.
Definitely broken ribs, John decided. He elevated Sherlock's head more.
It hit him then, like waves of an ocean. Sherlock's senses were assaulted by smells, sounds, pain… and memories.
He groaned.
Sherlock blinked back tears. He was not sure if it was caused by the pain that shot through him as John pressed hard against the wound in his abdomen, or the memories that threaten to tear his mind apart.
"I'm sorry Sherlock but I have to stop the bleeding, I know it hurts."
"Yes," Sherlock said simply.
There was no time. He would lock the memories away. Delete them later when all the useful information was extracted. He had done it before.
"John," Sherlock frown at how uncooperative his tongue was becoming. His breathing was becoming more labored as well.
"It's OK Sherlock, Lestrade is close, and the ambulance is almost here."
Sherlock tried again, "J-John..., Listen!"
He held John's hand weakly, He had to be quick he was fading, he felt it. Sherlock's mind was betraying him. It was becoming more difficult to think. He had to get the information to Lestrade, to Mycroft.
The silence was broken by footsteps, and voices; orders were heard in the background. Lights bounced against the concrete, "Over there," someone shouted.
"Here!" John shouted back. John did not stop working, but nodded turning his attention back to Sherlock. John looked Sherlock in the eyes, to indicate that he was listening.
Sherlock spoke. He spoke in a slow, deliberate voice to John, struggling to be clear. He took frequent breaks to catch his breath.
"Nidal Ayyad..., 3 bombs..., three landmarks..., storage locker..., 7 Whitehaven..., Luton..., Bedfordshire ..., warehouse..., cyanide..., gas..., tell..., Lestrade..., tell..., M..."
Sherlock stopped, forgetting what he was about to say. It was something important. He was starting to shiver more. He was so tired, maybe if he slept for just a little while he would remember.
Sherlock's eyes shut.
Something dragged him from his comfortable darkness.
"Stay Awake Sherlock!" John lightly tapped his cheeks.
"Sorry," Sherlock slurred.
"Ambulance is here, medic's right behind." Lestrade knelt next to John.
"How can I help?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock wondered when Lestrade had arrived.
"Press here, don't let up no matter what he says," John instructed.
That caused more moaning that turned to coughing. Sherlock licked his lips and sucked in air in-between spasms. His teeth were chattering now. Lestrade's coat had found its way on top of him. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew that shock was setting in.
Others were around him now. He ignored them all. He looked at John, he thought one of them might disappear if he looked away.
John's voice elevated.
Why were hands trying to pull John away from him? Sherlock panicked and tried to speak, "Jo…," he slurred.
He could not form the word.
The pull of the darkness was excessively strong now, he looked at John and saw the fear he felt mirrored on John's face. He saw the tears in John's eyes.
Then, he saw nothing.