Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 133
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
For all those of you, who have taken the time to review and comment, thank you.
**To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you.
*Thank you for your responses, keep them coming.
If there is anyone out the that is fluent in french can you please check the grammar of the above statement? I wanted to say conclusion to the problem, conclusion of the problem, or the problems conclusion. Whichever is the most appropriate and correct to end a statement. Thanks.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
Edgar Allan Poe, creep
Present Day
Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock and frowned. She stood behind the chair quietly with one hand on his shoulder. He was by all appearance more calm now. She looked around the room. Several agents and Scotland Yarders were in the flat. Lestrade was animated and going from one phone call to another. Donovan came briefly then left after a short talk with DI Lestrade. She was to meet Myers to track down a lead. She gave a concerned glance in Sherlock's direction but said nothing and left.
Mycroft, Anthea, and Thomas were talking in a corner by themselves. Anthea's fingers were flying across her phone screen. Mrs. Hudson wondered if the young woman slept the phone. The voice volume was moderate with loud periods. The teakettle was continuously a boil. Teacups were everywhere.
Everyone had two goals. They were to get John back and keep Sherlock out of harm's way.
Previously, Sherlock looked Mrs. Hudson over, trying to deduce her and make sure that she was really uninjured. When he was convinced that she indeed was uninjured, he withdrew into his mind. He occasionally would come out to gaze straight ahead, then retreat into his mind again. It was obvious to anyone that knew him, that even when he retreated, it did not mean that he was not aware of what was happening. Even though he did not acknowledge it, it in fact was the opposite. He became almost too aware of what was happening. He became in a sense, hypersensitive to information.
He was not only trying to process what happened in a way that was not overwhelming, but also trying to work out how to proceed with the information.
Sherlock continued to sit quietly in the corner. Appearance wise, he looked a proper mess. The Consultant Detective was normally meticulous about his appearance. Anyone looking at him now that did not know him, would never have guessed that small fact. He sat in his chair with small amounts of dried blood still on his face and with unruly hair. He had only changed and put on a fresh suit due to a threat from Mycroft, and it was obvious looking at his clothing that he had dressed in a hurry.
He put his coat back on over his suit after dressing, despite the fact that he was indoors. Mycroft, sensing that he had pushed his little brother as far as he could without him totally losing control, demanded nothing additional of him after he changed his suit. No one commented further on his appearance.
It was understood that his full attention was on one subject, Doctor John H. Watson.
Food, medical care, pain, his own personal needs was suddenly disregarded. He drank bottled water but nothing else, not even tea. He considered everything else unimportant at the moment. Sherlock made this perfectly clear to everyone in the room.
Mycroft would glance occasionally at him, as would everyone.
Mrs. Hudson frowned as she returned her gaze to Sherlock. At least, she thought, he no longer had to be physically restrained. It had taken five agents to physically restrain Sherlock and stop him from leaving the site of his abduction. Mycroft had given them instructions to not to hurt his brother. He was sure some of his brother's injuries were aggravated. However, in the elder Holmes mind, a hurt brother was better than a dead one.
Several of Mycroft's agents, thanks to Sherlock, had bruises of their own.
Agent Thomas glanced at the detective several times without slowing down what he was doing. He rubbed his bruised jaw. Still, He held no anger, only a desire to find Doctor Watson and be supportive of Holmes.
Sherlock stared straight ahead at the chair that John would often sit in. His mood had shifted from explosive, to irrational, to irate as he argued with his brother, to now withdrawn and quiet.
Earlier in the day, it started out as a rare sight. Both Holmes brothers rarely showed any emotion, and certainly never in front of other people. However, as the disagreement continued, Sherlock's body became animated and his voice lost its usual slightly bored, intellectual tone.
Mycroft to his credit appeared perfectly calm at first. Those who knew Mycroft however knew that the smile he was exhibiting was his dangerous one. In the end, he raised his voice and ended the second argument with a threat.
Sherlock's plan to try to convince Mycroft to using him as a decoy, did not go over well.
Sherlock insisted that it would work to draw the kidnappers out of hiding. Mycroft had disagreed, and the argument ended when he had threatened to, lock Sherlock in his room and sit outside the door with a key, personally. When Sherlock pointed out that his door did not have a lock, Mycroft with the same dangerous smile said that he could have one installed in less than fifteen minutes if he mentioned the subject again.
Mycroft told Sherlock, in no uncertain terms that he would not risk losing him. Everyone in the room had given both brothers a wide birth while not slowing their activity and Sherlock eventual had grown quiet.
He knew his brother well enough to know that Mycroft had not made an idle threat.
That is how Sherlock came to sit now in a chair, his chair; while facing another chair, John's chair. Not saying a word or acknowledging anything happening around him.
Sherlock who had briefly opened his eyes now closed them.
Mrs. Hudson, despite her appearance of being delicate, and soft spoken; had another side few people were privy to. She was completely loyal and deceptively strong. Especially when it came to her boys as she called them.
In truth, Mrs. Hudson wanted to have a good cry.
She had snuck off to the bathroom earlier, but she was sure to reapply her makeup and put drops in her eyes. Sherlock needed strength right now. He had been her strength more times than she could mention, and so had John.
Mrs. Hudson knew that Sherlock was very strong, one of the strongest men she knew in all honesty. However, a part of her morbidly wondered, how many times Sherlock could stand at the very edge of sanity, without falling off.
A massive map of London was attached to the wall, with tacks in different locations. Paper and folders sprawled over the kitchen table. Coffee and teacups were scattered around the kitchen as well.
Mycroft had his coat off and was talking to Anthea and Thomas. Lestrade put one hand over the phone while barking off orders to a young detective who ran to a computer to look up information. New information was called in from Donovan and Myers. Lestrade joined the smaller group. They conversed; suddenly Lestrade and Mycroft looked at Sherlock who still had his eyes closed, then they resumed talking. Mrs. Hudson noticed.
Mycroft again glanced at Sherlock.
He had always kept a tight grip, an iron fist around his emotions. He was not foolish enough to believe that he had none, of course. However, he had divorced himself from them, and at a young age had encouraged Sherlock to do the same.
Mycroft believed that they were a liability, a weakness. Emotions were something to be controlled. He noticed with surprise that John's abduction not only affected Sherlock, it had affected him as well. He quickly tried to dismiss it as being perfectly… logical.
John was important to Sherlock; it only stands to reason that therefore John would be necessary to him as well.
Mycroft ignored the fact that that did not explain why he was fighting these same emotions along with his brother.
Mrs. Hudson left Sherlock to walk across the room and put her hand on Lestrade's arm, gaining his attention before speaking.
"No word yet Greg?" Mrs. Hudson looked hopefully at Lestrade.
"No Mrs. H. Sorry," Lestrade shook his head slightly and exhaled a breath. "At least not about John."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she glanced back at Sherlock who had his eye still closed and his hands were in the prayer position palms together right under his chin. She then glanced back to Lestrade.
Lestrade nodded discreetly then they both walked over to Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson put one hand on one shoulder; Lestrade put a hand on the other.
Neither said a word.
No words were necessary.
No words could have been enough.