Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 16

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.

T rated but some future chapters may be M.

"The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out." ~Thomas Babington Macaulay

Current Day

"If it's not too much trouble, care to tell me who you are?" Holmes asked. Before Moriarty could wonder to himself what game the man was playing he spoke again.

"And if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could also tell me," he hesitated slightly,

"… Who I am."

Moriarty had quickly turned his back instantly to the man on the bed. His mind was still whirling. The man's words reverberated in his mind. His shoulders shook up and down. To everyone in the room who looked at his back, it appeared as if he was soundlessly weeping and trying to gain control of himself.

The one man that was watching questioningly from his bed, did not know that he was trying to hold back shock and laughter, not tears.

Jim Moriarty was amused that those vulnerable words were spoken by a man that had caused him quite a bit of trouble and money. Of course he provided his only real amusement as well. Ordinary people became boring rather quickly.

Sherlock Holmes, completely at his mercy and with amnesia, how could it possibly get any better?

His smile that was hidden to all in the room became wider.

Oh, this was just too good.

Too rich.

Too delicious.

His mouth and eyes opened wide with excitement. He would have to rethink his plan. He did not plan to kill him exactly, he had learned his lesson. It was entirely too dull and boring without him. He was going to get him all better. Then torture him a little.

Torture was no fun if they were half dead already. Trial and error had taught him that.

Okay maybe he was going to torture him more than a little.

Okay-okay the truth is, he was going to make him SCREAM.

Too bad, Holmes was so much like him intellectually.

When Holmes was younger, when he had first taken notice of him, he walked the line between good and sociopath. Holmes was never quite a sociopath, Moriarty thought that he should know. But, he was so close.

If it was not for those annoying people in his life that encouraged him to do… good. Moriarty almost felt nauseated even thinking about the word, good.

Good influences.

The worse one was Doctor Watson. If only they had met before Holmes met Doctor Wat…

His thoughts were interrupted by a scheme, a plan. His eyes widened again as his mouth curved into a smile. He had to make an effort not to snicker.

Change of game.

There is more than one-way to kill a man, he thought. There are more interesting ways to burn out a heart. And, he would BURN his heart out.

"Let the games begin," Moriarty whispered quietly to himself.

Now, to produce a tear, anymore and Holmes would become suspicious. He may be injured and weak but he was not a fool. The Master Criminal waited for the tear to reach halfway down his cheek before turning.

Moriarty turned around slowly as he stifled a sob.

Holmes was frowning and looking at him intently. Sherlock knew that he would not be able to stay awake much longer. Sherlock tried to open his eyes wider. He was blinking often as his eyelids became like weights. His eyes were heavy but he stubbornly held on to consciousness and tried to concentrate.

The Master Criminal walked up to the Consultant Detective as he slowly wiped away the lone tear. Moriarty cleared his throat. He put a comforting hand on his shoulders. Sherlock looked at the hand then up at Moriarty's face frowning.

"Don't worry. "I have to go away for a few days, business. We'll talk when I get back." Moriarty nodded and his guards came.

"Help him to the bathroom. Make sure that he is... comfortable."

The guards came over without question and started to untie him from the bedpost. Sherlock looked strangely at his hands. He blinked a few times as he tried to process this new bit of information. It only earned him a headache. He frowned. How could he have not realized that they were tied, he wondered. The headache came back instantly. His mind was still hazy. And he grimaced.

"I… I was tied." It was not a question. He looked suspiciously at Moriarty.

"Oh yes, you were delirious, we were afraid that you would hurt yourself. With your level of blood loss it might have been fatal." Moriarty said smoothly with just the right touch of concern as he watched his expression to see if his deception was convincing.

The guards pulled him to his feet but he was not able to support his body weight. He would have collapsed if not for the two men. Pain shot through his left leg when it hit the floor. His thoughts were violently pulled away from him by the pain and nausea, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. He hissed from the pain as he waited for the stars to clear from his vision and his breathing to even out.

"Carry him," he said between gritted teeth as he rolled his eyes. He almost threatened them but he stopped himself.

Remember the game, he told himself.

Sherlock glanced frowning at Moriarty as the guards took him to the adjoining bathroom. Something was off but whenever he tried to think of what it could be, to put the pieces together, his head would explode in pain. Maybe if he just slept, he would think better in the morning.

With one last look, he turned away from the man in the suit.

He felt the pull of sleep strongly and knew that he was losing the battle against it. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he leaned more heavily with each step, between the two giant men.

"Sir," another man said quietly, "What do we do while you're gone?"

"Plan B. Say nothing until I get back, leave him untied but he's not to leave this room for any reason. Don't underestimate him."

"What if his memory comes back?"

Moriarty smiled. "Then back to plan A."