Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Introduction Chapter 6
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 ; ShiverandShamy, Puky2012, Prothoe, christistina, briongloid fiodoir, socalrose, Voldemort101, and hjohn302 for your review of chapter 4, and 5. Thank you waterbaby84, Burning Phoenix, Jenna Yemowa, Peacefreakx3, eohippus, Nietzsches and for your review and PMs. Cyber hugs to all! **
Author's note: Thank you to the 495 readers of this story so far. Thank you for your support, you mean more than you know! Do not forget to leave a comment or review. :)
T rated but some future chapters may be M.
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Enjoy.
Lots of Love, Zacha
"Love is not love until love's vulnerable"~ Theodore Roethke quotes
Current Day
John sat in Lestrade's kitchen by a table. The DI looked almost depressed. He was not sure what to tell him. He had to leave soon to get back to Mycroft.
John had been with Lestrade for an hour. Mycroft was doing better. He still did not want to leave for long. He did not trust Mycroft to eat or drink properly when he was distracted.
When he left Mycroft, he had a Mac on his lap. He was typing. He had a phone in one ear at the same time. He was keeping busy. He did occupy an important position in the government. The flurry of activity was both necessary and an effective means of distraction for the elder Holmes. Anthea was there with him. Other agents went in and out of the room.
He turned his attention back to Lestrade. He did not look like he had slept peacefully. He was not sure that the mentioning of this fact would be helpful or do more harm.
He made a decision and spoke.
"Greg. How are you sleeping? Not that any of us are sleeping well." John put his hand on his arm to encourage Lestrade to look at him. Greg would have periods where he would stare at the wall, unmoving.
"Um?" Greg Lestrade smiled apologetically at John, "Sorry, mind's wondered at bit."
"No worries mate." John frowned and hesitated. "I'm worried about you."
Lestrade chuckled darkly, "It would appear that I'm fine, John." He took a sip of beer.
"I didn't mean physically." Lestrade frowned and looked at John. He gave him his full attention.
"A bit early for that isn't it? I've never known you to drink this early," he hesitated again, "… or this much." John smiled to take the sting out of his words. Lestrade looked in John's eyes and did not see judgment just a mutual understanding that came from a shared pain.
Lestrade hesitated for a moment.
"I can see his eyes John." John looked at Lestrade. He waited patiently for him to clarify. "When we left him behind that locked door. He was giving the tough guy act, but for a second John, I saw … fear."
He took another sip. "Every time I close my eyes I see those eyes of his. Trying to be brave but scared just like the rest of us would be."
"You were a bit, shall we use the word, wobbly." Lestrade despite everything smiled at the memory. He stopped smiling as the memory turned to Sherlock. "We stopped to rest. He kept telling me to leave him and take you. I could tell that he was exhausted and hurting something fierce, but he never complained." Lestrade took another sip and looked at his mug as his fingers traced the edge of the glass.
He looked at John now. "You know how he tries to hide pain."
John nodded as he tried to smile. He did not trust his voice at the moment.
"He told me something about getting something in the corner he could lean on to go faster."
"John, I have known him for so long, back when he was a snot nose kid, a brilliant prodigy.
"How could I not see what he was planning? I know how he is." Lestrade took another sip.
"I should have known what he was planning John, I should have known." Lestrade frowned.
"Greg, how could you have known, it's not your fault. I feel guilt too Greg." John confessed a little brokenly.
"Why?" Lestrade asked.
"Same reason as you." John looked at Greg, "We're alive."
There was a brief silence. Lestrade smiled and John looked at him.
"What?"
"Just thinking of some of the less colorful titles he's had over the years." Lestrade looked at John.
"A psychopath, or a sociopath, that's what they called him. I use to think the same when I first met him, except, there was something else there. He would yell at people calling them all idiots. He would call other police officers dull, idiots, and morons. That mind of his could tear you apart in a second. Some people thought he was some sort of a freak. It's almost like he didn't know how to relate to another human being. But, no one could deny how brilliant he is, was." He took another sip and laughed.
"As you know John, he had a pass drug problem. I know that he still struggled some time but I don't think he had relapsed for years." He looked at John for confirmation.
"He came close twice but no. As you know, I found something in his room once. When his mum, well, you know. I came home early. He had the drugs on his bed staring at it. He did not fight when I took it away. I was cursing up a storm and calling him every unpleasant name I could think of. I insisted that I search his room. He said nothing; he just left and went into the living room playing his violin while Mrs. Hudson and I tore his room apart. I came out after I found nothing else. The smug bastard looked at me, smirked, then told me that I missed two. He told me where to look. I never would have found them if he didn't tell me where to look. The second time, he told me that it was a danger night for him. I didn't let him out of my sight. We got through it." John shrugged.
John smiled now. "Sherlock told me that he couldn't promise that he would never use again, he did promise to let me know if it got so bad that he felt the urge. He doesn't make promises easily, but when he does, I've never known him to break his word."
"Before you knew Sherlock, I was used to keeping an eye on him. Mycroft always watched him from a distance; you know how bad their relationship used to be. Sherlock started to disappear for long periods of time. I started to care for and worry about him. I thought he was using drugs again. I'm not proud of the fact, but I followed him." Lestrade looked at John waiting for disapproval at the confession.
"I would have done the same under the circumstances Greg," John confessed.
Lestrade nodded. "Do you know what I found, where I found him?"
John shook his head to indicate "no". He was suddenly very curious.
"I followed him for half an hour. He had a large bag with him and entered a tunnel in the worse part of town. He walked up to a person on the ground sleeping. He took out a blanket and covered him. He then took out water and a sandwich, laid them next to him and moved to the next person. He was helping the homeless. He would take some blankets. He'd handed sandwiches and water out to them. He knew some of them by name. Not all, but a few certain ones, he'd give money to. I looked at them for the first time John, really looked. Some were just kids like him, probably runaways. Others were older. Some still wore torn uniform jackets. He didn't judge them like the rest of us. They were all outcasts. Maybe he could relate. He felt like an outcast all his life I suppose. The next time we were at a crime scene together, Sherlock smirked at me. He told me that if I was going to follow him, that I needed to purchase less noisy shoes."
Lestrade chuckled.
"Sociopath?"
Lestrade smiled. "He is rude, obnoxious, proud, and clever as hell, and a bit of a bastard. He's a headache and a handful but a sociopath?"
Tears ran down Lestrade's face now.
"What's a sociopath anyway? Is that someone who helps people? Is that someone who runs into buildings with bombs to save you, then tell you what an idiot you were for being in there, after he saves you of course?"
Lestrade voice wavered now and his voice was a whisper.
"Is that someone who locks himself behind a door so that there would be a chance of his friends escaping? If that's a sociopath, sign me up to become one. The world needs more of them."
John, for the first time since the explosion felt tears running down his face. "I'm not giving up." Neither man was sure if John was talking to The DI or himself.
After a moment John asked.
"You OK?"
"No," he laughed.
He took his draft out and he said, "Cheers mate." He put the glass up to his mouth but did not drink. He got up and walked to the sink then poured the rest down the drain. "You better get back to that brother of his." His back was turned to John. He had both hands on the sink while he thought. "Thanks, talking helped, I think."
John got up and walked over to Lestrade. He put a lingering hand on his shoulder. Lestrade turned to smile at his friend. John smiled back and started to walk away.
"Um… John, maybe it'll be best if you just toss those in the trash bin on your way out." Lestrade nodded his head toward the alcohol.
"Sure mate," John said casually as he took the bottles and exited the door. He glanced at Lestrade before he closed the door.
He was still by the sink.