Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 163
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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"Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own
sunshine."~Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Day of the Press Conference- Evening
Present Day
He hung up the phone with the former newspaper reporter. What was her name, Kitty Riley?
It all started innocently enough. It was a text.
Someone contacted him several weeks ago telling him to contact the woman. Someone who told him that she would be interested in bringing down and humiliating Holmes.
Sherlock Holmes was practically untouchable now. A real hero according to all the papers. Maybe, taking him down was more difficult at the moment but humiliation, that was easier. He smiled wickedly. The smile quickly left as doubt and guilt occupied its space.
Frowning, he looked at the reports. He would be dismissed from his job if they knew what he was doing. If they knew.
He took a gulp of the dark scented liquid and grimaced as it burned its way down his throat.
He stared at the plastic cup in his hand and frowned. His eyes traveled to the table. His eyes slowly looked around at the untidiness of the empty house then landed on the table.
He stared at the newspaper on the table with irritation and sighed.
He then looked at the documents. He eyed the video and audio tapes on the table. He both found and sneaked them out of the last site that Holmes was taken too after being kidnapped.
The audio taken seemed to have been made the day of his abduction and the audio device was even still running. The video seemed to have been made at a different site a different day. Anderson suspected it was about the time when he had received his minor injuries.
He was originally going to turn them in, eventually. He was just a little curious.
A small part of Anderson was repulsed by the memory.
He found the audio tape device by mistake partially hidden behind a long desk on the floor. It was close to a blanket stained with blood. Finding the audio had caused him to search more carefully. He found in another room on the lower floor, close to the entrance, a video in a bag. It was close to the body of a deceased soldier.
The video was found in the bag with other devices that appeared as if they were used for torture. On the video, it looked as if he was in some sort of warehouse. There was a female in the video; as well as people who appeared to be soldiers.
So, Holmes had suffered more than most people know, a lot more. He heard the audio of him with soldiers and someone named Veselý. The things that were done to him. He wondered what Holmes would do to keep the information from going public. He personally wondered how Holmes was standing upright the day that he saw him. Anderson smiled. His smile quickly left and was replaced with a frown.
He reached for the bottle and refilled the cup.
He took another gulp of the brown liquid. It always burns he noticed vaguely no matter how much was drunk.
Anderson swallowed hard. A small voice inside him told him that he regretted Holmes suffering in such horrible ways.
He shook his head violently fighting the voice and said aloud, "I'm not sorry he suffered! I wish that I was there to witness it instead of listening to a tape or watching a video!"
"Speaking of videos..." he looked at the brown package again.
Why did he not tell the newspaper reporter about the tapes? Why did he not inform the voice that texted him? He frowned more.
Because you knew it was wrong, the small voice inside answered.
"I hate Sherlock," Anderson spoke out loud to the room.
Anderson frowned.
Something on the inside, it was small but it was still there fighting corrected him. The voice said he was feeling guilty for what he did to Sherlock. The voice said that he really did not want Holmes to suffer again and that he was glad that he had recovered. The voice said that he was jealous of the attention and the praise that Holmes was receiving. That he was jealous of his brilliant mind. That he was jealous of Sally Donovan seemingly sudden support of him. That he was not really angry with Holmes but at himself.
Anderson cursed.
He thought of Sally Donovan. She used to be his Sally. He felt a tear fall and angrily wiped it away. She had changed her attitude toward him. It was all Holmes fault! She would not even allow him to gossip about Holmes anymore. She actually called Holmes a hero, the Twat. Then she insulted him by saying that he needed help. She said that she would help him stop drinking.
He did not have a problem with drinking alcohol.
He could stop anytime he wanted to stop.
Anger boiled in him now. He slammed his fist down on the small kitchen table rattling the table. He quickly took a large gulp of alcohol.
Anderson cursed everyone and everything. He cursed his wife for overreacting. He cursed Donovan for betraying him. He cursed the idiots that failed to see that he was better than Holmes in every way.
Finally, he cursed Holmes.
Because, it was easier to curse Holmes and direct his anger at him, than try to look in the mirror. To face the mistakes that he had made, then start the painful but necessary process of self-examination and change.
He silenced the annoying voice in his head that seemed to be telling him lately to stop. He shook his head violently. He took a gulp of the soothing brown liquid in the glass.
His eyes glanced at the newspapers again. He frowned as he took it up and read the title for the sixth time. The paper declared Holmes the Modest Marvel. He growled as he threw the newspaper across the floor that declared Sherlock Holmes and company a hero.
Again.
The great Sherlock Holmes needed to be taken down a peg or two. If he could not get to him directly, maybe Doctor Watson was the key. He would think, he had time. He now emptied the glass and poured himself another drink.
Anderson rubbed his forehead as he took a deep breath to calm down. He looked at his mobile phone that was placed on the cluttered table.
So, Anderson thought, someone else did not like Holmes. What a surprise, he thought to himself sarcastically.
He took another swallow of the liquid fire. It burned its way down his throat as it simultaneously burned away his heart. Whoever was giving him the information promised to help him make Sherlock Holmes life miserable.
He looked at the documents, audio tape and video again. He knew that the government agents had claimed that all evidence found in the warehouse was the government's property and to be turned over to them.
Fear suddenly put its hand on Anderson. He had a moment of doubt.
Did he not hear rumors of Sherlock Holmes knowing someone important in the government. Someone who protected him? He frowned as he tried to remember the rumors. He shrugged, probably just gossip. No one is that powerful.
The voice inside spoke to Anderson again. The voice told Anderson to tell someone, to stop. It said that it was not too late to do the right thing.
He stilled the voice with another swallow.
He breathed in heavily with his eyes closed for a few minutes then opened them.
"No!" He growled out loud.
He blinked a few times as he dried wiped his face. He looked at his phone.
Whoever was guiding him kept referring to Sherlock as sexy. Anderson chuckled. Who on earth would think that Sherlock was sexy?
Anderson briefly glared toward the empty bedrooms. The house was so quiet. It was lonely without the kids around. He swallowed hard as another tear escaped. This time he let it fall.
It's not too late to stop, the voice was pleading now.
Anderson swallowed hard then froze for a minute. He looked back toward the bedrooms again then to the bottle. Time seemed to stand still.
He considered for a moment. He could go to Lestrade. He could tell him everything and turn everything over to him. There would be repercussions but he knew him well enough to know that Lestrade would help him and he would not lose his job. He would probably demand that he stop drinking or some such nonsense.
Or
Everything was still and silent for a few minutes. He came to a decision, as every human must make a choice every day. He had to choose whether to do what is right or whether to do what is wrong.
There was the briefest of hesitations, then Anderson poured the dark liquid in his cup, filling it. He did not realize that he was pouring out the last bit of his conscious and his humanity.
Anderson never noticed as the voice finally went…
… Silent.
*A/N: A Twat has two meanings. The one used here is used to insult a person who has upset you. Originally, it referred to a female body part, but is not strictly used in that way anymore. Let us leave it at that.*
**Next Chapter is the last chapter. I will put up 3 additional optional chapters after. More information by on next post.**
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