Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 11
A 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.
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Author's note: Thank you to the 880 readers of this story so far. Thank you for your support, it is encouraging. A special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review or PM. It is encouraging as well as helpful.
T rated but some future chapters may be M.
**On with the show!**
Lots of Love, Zacha
"I was a born troublemaker and might as well earn a living at it." ~ Bill Mauldin
He looked at the sleeping form in the bed. He sat in his chair in the dark with only the fireplace to serve as a light. He smiled as he twirled the red colored liquid in the crystal glass. Red, it was his favorite color. He suppressed a giggle he felt that wanted to bubble up.
He looked over the sleeping figure. He had on a pajama bottom but was shirtless. He leaned back and looked. "Completely helpless," he whispered. He smiled and took another sip of the liquid. The man in the bed had stopped the annoying moaning and mumbling half an hour ago.
He smiled.
Well maybe the moaning was not quite as annoying as he pretended it to be.
The poor dear was calling for someone. He allowed a small giggle to escape now but stopped it from getting too loud. The man who was sleeping had a difficult past few days. The man in the chair turned his head to the side. He thought to himself. He has never seen the man in the bed so helpless. He was always ridiculously strong, brave…, and noble. He rolled his eyes as he now crossed his legs. He almost choked on the thought of being noble.
He looked toward the bed and heard a low moaning as the man in bed tried to turn his body. Of course, he would not be able to move, he had made sure of that. The man in the chair watched. He could do anything that he wanted to the man in the bed, he thought to himself. Who would stop him? He smiled. He was definitely not bored now.
Choices, choices, he thought to himself as one crossed leg bounced against the other leg. A thought occurred to him. His smile widened. He leaned forward for a short time studying the man.
He sat back now as his face mingled with the darkness, almost becoming one with it. The only contrast was his incredibly white teeth and eyes. He looked almost reptilian.
The man in the bed was starting to increase his movements. He was mumbling again but the man in the chair could not make out what he was saying. It was almost as if he was trying to fight in his weakened state.
Interesting.
He smoothly got up and by habit buttoned his suit jacket without thinking. He came close to the bed and gave a curious look. There it was again, but what was said. He bent down low so that his left ear was almost touching the man's mouth.
"John." Muttered weakly.
He smiled as a small chuckle escaped his lips. He was calling for his pet, how adorable. "No one can help you sexy," he whispered in all seriousness.
"Sleep now, rest, and get better. You'll need your strength," the man said almost gently.
All traces of a smile left now. He stood up but did not move immediately away. The white of his eyes stood out. It almost seemed to glow. He lingered by the bed as he thought.
Choices.
The man stood over the man in the bed, watching.
In silence.
Late that night, the man who was referred to as the British Government took up a phone and dialed a number that he memorized.
As it rang only once, a breathless voice picked up the line. There were sounds of struggling on the mobile phone line. The sounds of struggling stopped abruptly after a soft thud sound was heard. He waited patiently.
"Mr. Holmes," the voice said nonchalantly.
"You may finish what you're… doing." Mycroft informed the voice casually as he examined a report that was in his free hand.
"Thank you Sir."
Mycroft listened as instructions were given to take the apparently unconscious suspect away.
"Finished Mycroft," the voice informed.
He allowed very few people on earth to call him by his first name. Even dignitaries of other country referred to him as, the British Government or Mr. Holmes.
"I need to activate you. I have a mission. Delicacy and discretion are required." Mycroft paused briefly, "Priority twenty-nine."
A/N: I did not want to wait; I thought that this version fit well with what was posted yesterday.
I rewrote this. (You know me and rewrites, I think it is a sickness. :)
One version was too mild almost fluffy. They may have had tea and crumpets together. One was entirely too graphic. Do not ask; I was in a mood I guess. I hope this one fits. Tell me your thoughts.
LoL