Sherlock story

Deleted Memories, Chapter sixteen

Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy

Present day

Anderson tried to shake his head to clear the fog, but he could not move. He had been slammed against the wall by Sherlock who had his elbow on his throat, squeezing; not hard enough to choke, just hard enough to make a point.

When Sherlock spoke, he was inches from Anderson's face and looked down. Anderson had forgotten how tall the freak was. Sherlock's tone was low and dangerous, as if they were having a private conversation.

"Anderson, I don't care what you say to me or about me, but I would ask you to please; extend all courtesy due to Dr. Watson."

Sherlock's eyes traveled up and down Anderson quickly before he spoke again. "I know you started drinking early this morning, and no, the mouthwash doesn't mask the smell completely. Your wife has finally had enough and left you, my sympathies, for her that is. Moreover, she took the kids, you are a decent father at least; I hope that works out. Finally, you're sleeping alone these days." He glanced at Donovan, then back. "Good for her. Still no reason to be rude, do you agree?"

"What the bloody hell is going on!" Lestrade yelled. The back area was now crowded with curious officers, and one unfamiliar female detective.

"Nothing Detective Inspector, just a misunderstanding," Sherlock said as he backed away.

Suddenly freed, Anderson caught himself before he slid to the floor.

"By the way," Sherlock whispered to Anderson, "if you ever lay your hands on me again, I… will… break … them."

"Alright, back to work," Lestrade, said as he came up to Sherlock and John, "Anderson my office this afternoon!" Everyone mumbled and discussed the events as they returned to their assignments. Most agreed that it was certainly more exciting with Sherlock alive. Only Donovan stayed.

Strangely, no one offered to help Anderson as he sulked away rubbing his head.

Now that the adrenaline subsided, Sherlock closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness and pain ran through him. Maybe he did hit the floor a little harder than he originally thought. He placed an outstretched arm on the wall leaning for support, while catching his breath.

"You okay mate?" John asked as he discretely tried to look him over.

Sherlock started to say fine, but stopped himself; this was John after all. He instead spoke the truth.

"A little pain, maybe more than a little, just needed to catch my breath. I think we can go now. I might need help but I'd rather try to make it myself, more dignified… Oh, and I need to see Mrs. Green, Katie's mother, immediately; can you arrange it Lestrade?"

John and Lestrade eyebrows creased, as they looked at each other; shocked. When Sherlock did honesty, he did it all the way.

"Ah, Lestrade will you help Sherlock to the car?" At Sherlock's questioning look he pointed to his neck. "I know how much you love that bloody scarf. It must have slipped off during… your talk with Anderson." John explained.

Sherlock nodded and started walking gingerly back to the car. He held the wall as he walked with Lestrade by his side.

John sighed and turned the corner heading back toward the dorm. His eyes swept the floor as he went along.

"Looking for this," a voice startled him. Smiling, the female detective held out her hand and in it was a blue cashmere scarf.

"Thanks," John said as he took the scarf from her hand. John's fingers briefly brushed against her fingers. John cleared his throat. He decided he liked her smile, it seemed sincere, real. He smiled in return.

Her brown chestnut colored eyes held his for a minute before it dropped to the ground, "Well I'd better be getting back," she said as she walked away.

"Thanks, Um," he called out unable to think of her name.

"Mary," she said without turning. "By the way, Anderson is an arse."

John decided he definitely liked Mary.

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