Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 61
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
Author's note: Time to say thank you.
Thanks to; LadyRavena, LePetitErik, supernaturalmad, eohippus, the ticking clock, and Mitaya, who have posted within the last few days. You encourage me to no end.
Burning Phoenix , briongloid fiodoir, Sky Writes, Ms. Chaos, The Labyrinths Scribe, you are awesome.
Ju Lara, Servant05, HoWi, stardotbrite, Altairra, ChelGallifreya221B613, klester1987, AJ Elfhawk, haveacreamteaonme, Thanks you your kind words.
waterbaby84, Lehiba, and Nos, thanks you for your comments.
Voldemort101 and brit14 for your encouraging words, recent posts, and for being my eyes and pointing out typos.
Thank you LePetitErik for going over the last few chapters to make sure every comma was in the right place, you're amazing!
Thanks for the conversations. It makes writing more interesting.
Lots of Love to you all.
Lastly, thanks as well to those who comment or PM me. I try to respond to all.
**There was a request made that was written into this chapter for one of you. I will not say more so that I will not give anything away. You know who you are:)
WARNING: Mature themes
"You don't throw away a whole life because it's banged up a little." ~Anonymous
Present Day
Sherlock blinked and tried to orient himself.
He was in 221B, on the couch. He looked around and saw John and Mycroft talking to him. His brain felt a little mottled, he had to take a minute to focus and clear away the cobwebs.
"… Sherlock, I said are you ok?" John looked at him now with alarmed eyes. He is waiting for an answer Sherlock realized.
"I'm fine John." The familiar response made John ridiculously happy and he grinned from ear to ear.
"You're certainly easy to please." Instead of getting offended, John's smile became wider.
"Now there's the sarcastic bastard that we all know and love," John responded.
He noticed Mycroft was very quiet with a troubled look on his face. John followed Sherlock's gaze, as he looked Mycroft up and down. He took in the paleness of Mycroft's features. His hair was disheveled. His sleeves rolled up; two cups were by his chair, and one bottle of water. Sherlock deduced that he had been absent a lot longer than one hour.
John continued to look at Mycroft. A somber expression replaced the smile on his face.
John spoke. "He wouldn't give up. Mycroft spoke to you the whole time. Five was it, no six hours straight. His only break was to take sips of water or tea."
Sherlock looked in his brother's eyes, and saw a raw pain that Mycroft did not even try to cover. Pain filled Sherlock at the sight.
"Sorry." Sherlock did not realize it was said out loud at first.
Sherlock cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Mycroft's, and asked, "John, can I have some tea?"
John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock to the pot of tea on the table before saying, "Um… sure, give me a sec."
John walked off toward the kitchen giving the brothers their privacy. John decided he would be slow about making the tea.
"Well, you certainly do have a flare for the dramatic," Mycroft said as something unidentified crossed his face.
His voice was rough from overuse. Mycroft took a few gulps of water and put the bottle on the floor next to the chair, and then looked back at Sherlock.
Sherlock frowned, and then looked at Mycroft with questioning eyes.
Mycroft answered Sherlock's unasked question.
"You were unresponsive for six hours twenty-five minutes. Would you like me to tell you how many second because I know," Mycroft's voice broke at the end, which he quickly covered by clearing his throat.
Sherlock was still and quiet for several minutes. He was slightly overwhelmed by the entire process and experiences.
Sherlock swallowed hard and turned to stare at the wall without saying a word.
Occasional shudders rolled through his body.
Mycroft kept his eyes on Sherlock and patiently waited for him, with him.
Sherlock remembered everything clearly now, not just bits and pieces or flashes of memories, but everything deleted.
Sherlock concentrated on regulating his breathing.
Finally, Sherlock spoke. He looked in Mycroft's direction but not directly at him.
"Over six hours Mycroft. We both know after the first ninety minutes, the chances of me recovering are very...unlikely. Duty may have made you attempt to breakthrough for half an hour more… maybe."
After a brief pause and several breaths, he shifted his gaze to his hands.
"I dare say if I had not… awakened, you would still be here talking, trying to reach me no matter how long." Sherlock ventured a look at Mycroft.
"Careful Mycroft, that's dangerously close to sentimental," Sherlock said.
"Well, no need to insult me," Mycroft retorted raising an eyebrow.
"It was not an insult Mycroft…, at least not this time, just a conclusion based on observation," Sherlock stated then smiled sadly.
Sherlock continued, "I know this because, I would never have given up on you either Mycroft."
Mycroft looked back confirming his brother's observations wordlessly.
"For people that say we abhor sentiment and dislike open displays of emotions; we certainly seem to trip over them quite often do we not brother? Are you still sure that caring is not an advantage, Mycroft?"
Sherlock brushed at some imaginary lint on his trouser legs, not quite looking at Mycroft.
"Indeed," Mycroft whispered.
"I think I've had enough tea," Mycroft left going to the bathroom to relieve himself. His driver was outside the flat.
"Well, I'll be off Lock," Mycroft stopped and looked Sherlock in the eyes.
Sherlock realized that Mycroft did not notice that he had called him by his childhood name, "Lock".
Sherlock deduced that Mycroft must really have been shaken although, Mycroft was not the kind of man who was easily moved.
Mycroft paused.
"Sherlock you mumbled during the first hour, you spoke out loud. It was as if you were reliving the memories, and we were your witnesses. That was the plan, still; I'm sorry."
Mycroft, sighed, "We'll talk tomorrow… or the next day… or the next, whenever you're ready Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere. Sherlock, I will be there when you're ready. John and I have heard enough to know that you need to talk, and we need to listen."
"You do know that I care for you, and I'll be there if ever you should need me, don't you?" Mycroft waited for an answer.
"Yes, I know Mycroft," Sherlock responded, "I've always known."
Mycroft blinked back tears and tried to recover quickly.
"Well you're not a complete moron then," he said standing while retrieving his umbrella and coat. He did not bother to put his jacket on but instead carried it in his hand.
"Not completely," Sherlock said with a small smirk. This confession both surprised and amused Mycroft to no end.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow while smiling, a real smile, then continued to prepare to leave.
When Mycroft had made a quick phone call and assured himself that he had everything needed, he walked to the door, then paused looking over his shoulders at Sherlock and said, "Talk to him Sherlock."
Mycroft nodded then disappeared down the stairs.