Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Introduction Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story however is my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.

** Thank you ; waterbaby84, socalrose, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, eohippus, Nietzsches and Voldemort101 who PM me. Cyber hugs for all!**

Author's note: This story stands alone. However, the character and relationship developments are from Deleted Memories. The first few chapters are an introduction.

**For those of you who read the end of Deleted Memories, this version has some changes and also have added and extended material. T rated but some future chapters may be M.

**A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review. It is encouraging as well as helpful.

Enjoy.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

~ Lao Tzu

15 Minutes Earlier

Sherlock and Lestrade limped along. John was becoming increasingly lethargic but his speed was good as long as he was held. Sherlock, not for the first time, asked Lestrade to take John and leave him.

"I'm right behind you… we tried, there isn't enough… time." Sherlock tried again as he now limped along. He was starting to shake slightly.

"Then we need to hurry." Lestrade struggled and was heaving heavily as he tried to help the two men. Sweat plaster Lestrade's shirt to his body.

Sherlock bit his lower lip now. He did not want to say it aloud, but he himself was becoming dizzy and knew that if he passed out, Lestrade would not leave either one of them.

They would all die.

Sherlock's mind tried to come up with a way, an angle he had not considered but found none. If he had known where the alternate escape was located in the building, they could use that escape route. It was probably under some kind of bomb shelter. However, he did not know its location and the one person who knew where it was, was dead.

He would not ask Lestrade to leave him again.

Sherlock had known Lestrade even longer than John. Back when Mycroft helped him to get clean from his pass drug problem and Lestrade helped him by promising him access to cases if he stayed clean. Lestrade would not leave him. At least not if he had a choice.

That was when Sherlock saw it. His mind calculated the possibilities that it would work, against the time that was left before the explosion. Sherlock looked grim.

"I'm sorry Lestrade… give me just… a second." He looked quickly and sat John on the desk. Sherlock sat beside John.

"Just for a few seconds," Lestrade said sternly. The DI walked close by and tried to catch his breath.

"John…" Sherlock put his hands on John's face and turned it toward him. "… You with me?" Sherlock breathed in heavily filling his lungs with air. Since he was not moving; his breathing started to even out and speaking became much easier.

"S… OK… Sher…," John slurred. He tried to smile as he fought to stay awake. John was swaying slightly even though he was seated on the metal desk.

Sherlock bit his lip concerned. "You're going to be alright John." There was a slight pause.

"Um John…, thank you for…" Sherlock cleared his throat. There was too much to say. There was not enough time.

"Hum," John smiled sleepily. "My Sher-ok," John said as he smiled.

"I suppose you're right, John." He smiled as he looked intently at his friend, the person who first somehow climbed around his self-constructed barricade and defenses.

"Your Sherlock… Always"

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and almost chuckled. Even though John occasionally drank, he realized that he had never witnessed him drunk. He wondered if this was what John would be like if he became drunk.

Sherlock sighed.

"Lestrade I saw something in the corner. If you get it for me, I could use it as a crutch so that we could go faster." Lestrade nodded and moved quickly to the dimly lit corner.

"Sherlock I don't see what you're talking about?" Lestrade looked around the dimly lit room to the opposite corner. His back was turned to the two men.

A loud thud followed by a click was heard.

Lestrade turned around quickly and felt his body move toward the door.

He ran up to the locked door and pounded through the glass. He was able to only see Sherlock's face through the filthy glass.

"Sherlock," He pounded on the door, "How do I open it?" Lestrade was frantic. He yelled so that Sherlock would be able to hear through the thick glass and metal.

"You can't. Go take John. Now." Sherlock yelled back.

Lestrade froze. "You did this on purpose," He whispered. Sherlock could not hear, but he saw in Lestrade's eyes the moment that realization came to the DI.

"Damn you," Lestrade whispered to himself as he fought back tears.

"Sherlock," he said loudly.

"Leave now… you should make it with only the two of you," Sherlock yelled.

Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eyes and did not hide his tears.

"No sentimental gestures Lestrade… you know how I detest them. Go now." Sherlock hesitated, "Take care of John."

Lestrade was frozen to the spot.

Sherlock yelled, "Go! Now Man!" He used his best-annoyed voice.

Sherlock's voice shook Lestrade out of his haze. Lestrade nodded once and went to John. He was reclining on the desk. He slapped John's face hard enough to get his attention. He picked him up and put his arm around his shoulder.

John looked at Lestrade then frowned. "Where… Sherl?" He slurred.

Lestrade bit his lower lip, "John I need you to listen," John stuck out his tongue wetting his lips as he concentrated. He looked like a five year old.

"Sherlock wants you to run very fast." Lestrade hesitated hating himself for the lie. "He'll meet you outside."

"Hum, K," John said concentrating.

Lestrade looked back at the glass, Sherlock was not there; he apparently did not want John to see him.

Lestrade took John under the arms and yelled, "Go!"

John took it as a challenge. They ran for their lives, Lestrade did not look back again. He did not have the strength to. If he had, he would have seen a face looking at them through a small dirty window with one hand pressed to the glass.

Mycroft sat in the passenger seat with his hands on his umbrella, his grip was so tight on his umbrella that his knuckles were white. "Faster," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sir, it's to maximum speed already," The driver glanced nervously at Mr. Holmes as he willed the Mercedes to go faster. A clenched hand came to Mycroft's closed mouth as his thoughts went to his brother.

He watched them disappear through a set of doors. Sherlock slide down the wall. He sat against the wall as he used it for support. He no longer tried to hide the pain in his leg and allowed a groan. He started to feel dizzier now.

He thought of his two friends running for their lives. Sherlock grimaced from the pain as he glanced at his watch.

"They're going to make it," he whispered weakly.

They are going to make it, his mind repeated.

"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."~ John 15:13 NLT

Current Day and Time.

Choices. He had just made his impossible choice. In the end, there was no choice. They would live. John would live. If this was the last gift he gave him, so be it.

He was trembling slightly now all over, his lips suddenly became dry. He licked his lips to wet them. He thought of those he cared about one by one. It was a short list, he noted with some amusement. There was Irene, and Molly. There was Lestrade. Lestrade would feel guilty, Sherlock was regretful of that but it was unavoidable. John would take care of Mrs. Hudson.

His thoughts lingered on Mycroft. His lips started to tremble.

He laughed sadly, as he thought about how cross Mycroft was going to be. Not only was he showing emotion he was about to die. "Sorry Mycroft," Sherlock whispered as the throbbing pain became worse. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth together hissing as a wave of pain washed over him. In a few minutes, the pain subsided and he opened his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing.

He shakily looked around. He never noticed how empty the space was.

He choked back what he thought sounded to his own ears suspiciously like a sob.

"I thought I was ready," Sherlock whispered breathlessly, "I don't want to die… I need more time…" He swallowed hard as he noticed his limbs shaking more.

"I need more time." He laughed weakly as tears rebelled and rolled down his eyes. He decided that he would not try to stop them. What did it matter? No one was around to witness him falling apart. He kept nervously biting his trembling lower lip.

"Dying is not quite as dull as you thought, is it Mr. Holmes?" He whispered while smirking to himself. He fought to stay awake.

Lestrade was covered with sweat as he ran and half-dragged John along. John was running fast but a bit off-balance. Lestrade had to concentrate on keeping them balance and upright but at least he did not have to worry about speed.

A few minutes passed.

Sherlock had slid down the wall. He was too tired even to lay against it. He lay on the cold concrete floor now. He blinked more often. He would take longer to open his eyes. He was also becoming increasingly drowsy.

Mycroft could see the building in the distance now. Other police units, agents, and ambulances should be arriving soon. He had managed to beat them there. His heart was racing impossibly fast.

He had a grim look on his face as he glanced at his watch.

Sherlock was going in and out of consciousness. The scientist in him was curious about the process of death and cataloged his symptom during his more lucid periods. The man in him was terrified. He no longer felt pain and was starting to hallucinate. "Visual and auditory hallucinations," Sherlock slurred with what was supposed to be a smirk.

He thought he heard footsteps and voices. John's voice?

John.

He tried to keep his mind off his situation. "Well," he thought, "There are more pleasant places to be." He could no longer keep his eyes open anyway.

His eyes rolled under his lids and he barely moved weaken fingers. He entered his mind palace, and closed the doors for the last time. This time it wasn't to retrieve information or catalog data he was on a mission.

He heard the familiar soft violin music that played constantly in the background. He smiled at the familiarity and comfort of it. Sherlock's shoes tapped as he walked briskly through the marbled halls. He let his hands stroke the beautiful oak doors but he did not slow down his quick pace. It was three doors down. He had to get there.

Paintings on the walls of this palace were painted with the quality of the master artists. He looked at each one.

Each canvas passed was the painting of someone of significance in Sherlock's life. His hand stroked each picture without slowing his pace.

One painting was of his mother. There were paintings of Molly, of Irene, and one was of Lestrade. The next painting passed was of Mrs. Hudson. The last seemed to be specially framed and slightly apart from the rest. It was of Mycroft. Sherlock's left hand touched and lingered on his brother's painting.

There was no painting of John on the walls.

Sherlock delayed leaving Mycroft's painting. The palace seemed to shake in a gentle rhythm. He glanced up. He was not afraid but he had to hurry. He smiled at Mycroft's painting and chuckled sadly. He stood at Mycroft's painting, hesitating again for the briefest of a moment. He took a deep breath and walked away.

Lestrade and John made it out the building but Lestrade did not slow his pace down. He knew that he had to get a safe distance away. He grunted from the effort, he could feel John pulling heavier on him now. John would collapse soon.

In the back of his mind, Lestrade heard the wail of sirens coming from a distance. He saw a black car in front of them by at least a mile. None of that mattered now.

There was no time!

Mycroft barely allowed the car to stop before opening the door and running out. He saw collapsed bodies on the ground a good distance from the building. They were heaving heavily. He was relieved that they had made it out in time. His relief was short lived as he got closer and realized that there were two bodies not three.

John was on the ground with his eyes closed. Mycroft got close and asked one word, "Sherlock?" Lestrade had tear-stained eyes. Lestrade looked wordlessly toward the building.

Mycroft stiffen, he had never seen Lestrade cry. Mycroft twirled in a half circle his coat spreading like a cape as he deduced. "No," he whispered as his eyes widen and he looked toward the building.

Cars were pulling up as Anthea and Thomas and several agents were getting out. The ambulance was pulling up as well. The police was close.

Mycroft dropped his umbrella and ran toward the building.

Thomas noticed Holmes out of the corner of his eye. Thomas heart dropped, as he instantly knew what happened. Whether it costs him his job or not, he had to stop him. Thomas did not notice when he started to run. Thomas heard the tapping of heels and realized that Anthea was also running in an attempt to stop their boss.

Thomas noticed as he ran gaining, that this was the second time he had ever seen the normally composed Mycroft Holmes run, both times it was to save his brother.

The mind palace swaying was getting worse. He ignored it. It did not matter he had made it. Sherlock was where he wanted to be. He was safe.

Sherlock turned the handle and allowed tears to silently roll down his eyes freely now. As he entered the beautiful room he smiled, he was there.

He was always there.

Sherlock looked at his smiling face and his own smile widened.

Mycroft was still a distance from the door. He ignored the multiple shout from several agents behind him to stop. One word drove him forward. "Sherlock."

In both worlds, Sherlock extended a hand.

In both worlds, one word was spoken from Sherlock's lips.

"John."

The force of rapidly expanding air drove Mycroft backwards. He felt pain in his shoulder and side as his body connected with concrete and air was forcefully expelled from his lungs.

The ground trembled. A deafening thunderous sound pierced the air as the building disintegrated. The building collapsed in and on itself, as bellows of gray and black smoke rose and broke away from the building. People ran, taking shelter as wreckage, soot, and fragments rained to the ground.