Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter fifteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Present day

Anderson noticed the bruises on Sherlock's wrists when he bent to get his magnifier.

Anderson smiled.

Anderson had been the 'Golden Boy' of the Yards until Sherlock came along. Now resentment, jealousy and guilt at his part in Sherlock's false arrest worked against him, adding fuel to the fire that came out in the form of fury.

Some part of Anderson knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the desire to finally get to the great Sherlock Holmes, silenced the small voice inside that screamed at him to; Stop!

"So," Anderson began, "I heard the big hero had a bit of a run-in with some terrorist. What's the matter freak, did they throw you a party or something," he said the word something slowly as the smile spread wider on his face.

Sherlock ignored him and walked out the room peeling the gloves from his hands. John followed behind invading Anderson's personal space as he looked in his eyes giving warning.

The two officers gave space for them to pass, hearing the exchange not quite sure what to do. One left thinking that it was best to get the Inspector.

Sherlock threw the gloves away and turned to walk.

Anderson, enraged and embarrassed that Sherlock had ignored him; grabbed at Sherlock, whipping him around.

"Don't ignore me, or, do I need whips and chains to get your attention!"

Anderson honestly had not meant to do it, but as he grabbed Sherlock's arm to spin him around toward him; Sherlock tripped on the Biohazard bin by the door.

Sherlock's normally quick reflexes failed him because of the stiffness and soreness from his injuries. As he fell, he did manage to pivot away from his abdomen and ribs.

However, his shoulder took the brunt of the fall.

The air was knocked out of Sherlock and the fall did nothing good for his ribs, the pivot however prevented him from re-fracturing his healing bones.

John was calling his name. It would probably be a good idea to answer, Sherlock thought.

"Fine, John." He managed to say breathlessly, while stifling a groan as John and an officer helped him up. The same officer handed a napkin to Sherlock, he accepted confused. He turned and looked at John for an explanation.

"Your lip Sherlock, you must have hit it, it's split and bleeding a little."John clarified.

As Anderson looked around, a few officers and Donovan had made their way to the back, wondering what the commotion was about.

Anderson had meant to embarrass Sherlock, but now angry eyes looked at him. Donovan met his eyes, then quickly looked away. Was that revulsion he saw?

Bitterness now joined his anger.

John after helping Sherlock up looked at Anderson. His hands without him consciously realizing it, balled into fist.

John walked toward Anderson. As he pulled back to strike him, Sherlock managed to step close enough to hold his arm, firmly.

"John I'm finished here." Sherlock said while looking into John's eyes. One hand was holding John's wrist firmly, one hand was wrapped around his abdomen.

John closed his eyes, counted to ten… slowly, sighed then lowered his fist.

Looking Anderson in the eyes, he said before he turned to walk away, "You were very small today, and very wrong!"

They turned to leave.

"WAIT," Anderson call, "I was wrong."

Sherlock and John paused. Sherlock eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It was handcuffs, not whips and chains. It seems that Sherlock is not the only one that is a bit of a freak is he Doctor Watson. Loss a bit of control when you slammed the hand cuffs on Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned as his narrowed eyes met Anderson's grin. He did try, he thought. He hoped Lestrade would understand.

As Anderson looked into Sherlock eyes, his smile faded. It occurred to him too late that he had misjudged both the situation, and the man.

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