Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 21
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.
"A champion is someone who gets up, even when he can't." ~ Jack Dempsey
The Next Day
Current Day
It has been two weeks and a day since he had awakened with any kind of strength.
Another night passed, he woke in his bed as always. He heard a slight buzzing sound that seemed to lessen in intensity as he stilled himself and laid flat, waiting for it to dissipate. When he first woke, a quickly fading vision of someone or something melted away despite his attempts to hold on to it. He had a feeling as if something precious or important was slipping just outside of his reach. Moments later, the feelings were completely gone; along with his memories as he blinked open his eyes, embracing consciousness.
His brain felt mottled and his body heavy for the first time in over a week. The events of the previous day came slowly to him. He had apparently fallen asleep after the drugged tea. He had no memories after that.
He was frankly pleasantly surprised that he was not strapped down somewhere, being reminded in the most dramatic ways that he had been annoying. He knew that he could at any time be taken. He also knew that anything that his abductors, as he had come to think of them, thought of doing could be done to him.
He frowned.
"Time to start another exciting day," he said sarcastically as he sat up.
He almost fell over as he pushed himself to his feet. His arms came reflectively out to grab at the tall wooden bedpost. He caught and steadied himself.
"Are we having fun yet?" He asked himself sarcastically as he tested his unsteady feet. He kept one hand in front of him in case he fell. The other held on to furniture for support. His steps became more sure as he walked.
He looked in the bathroom. He noticed the chair just outside the bathroom door. One towel, one clean pajama bottoms only, and one clean underpants was neatly folded next to the door. The thought that someone came into the room while he was sleeping bothered him. He decided not to worry about the things that he could not control.
He hooked his hands under his pajama and pants to pull them down in one swift move but stopped. Something the doctor said led him to the conclusion that he was being watched. He looked around the room and frown. It was well hidden if it was a camera. It was pointless, he was in no condition to search when walking was an effort.
He glanced at the window. He almost smiled at the thought that he would not make it far if he tried to leave out of the window today.
He made a decision. He reminded himself that he would not worry about the things that he could not control. He decided that if they wanted to watch, he did not care as long as they did not touch him.
If they wanted a show, so be it.
He sighed as he pushed his clothes down, undressing. He stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor. He picked up the clean clothes and walked unsteadily toward the shower. He only paused briefly and dropped his clothes on the chair in the spacious room.
He walked into the shower closing the door behind. He stretched his shoulder toward the wall of the shower as his right hand supported him as he showered. His body felt heavy and his mind sluggish. Shaking, he ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, pushing back the soapy water from his face.
It occurred so gradually that he never noticed that his knees were buckling and his eyes closing.
A drug encouraged sleep pulled at him.
A place flashed in his mind. He gasped as his eyes flew open and he grabbed at the ledge in the shower to keep himself from falling. One forearm was banged. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
"That's going to leave a bruise." He said blinking heavily as he looked at the water as it fell to the shower floor and twirled down the drain.
He tried to blink away the sluggishness and shook his head once again.
"Well, at least that woke me up." He frowned dryly. He sighed because of what he was about to do. He turned the water to almost cold. He stood shivering under it in an attempt to become more alert. He tried to think about the place that flashed before his mind for the third time now.
Seven minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom.
He walked with the slightest of limps to the generously oversized windows. He felt a drop of water drip on his shoulders as it fell from his hair. His muscles stretched as he put both arms extended with his palms flat on the window.
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight radiating on his hands, chest, and face. Sunlight flooded the room. No lights were needed in the daytime, yet there was something about the room, an oppression, a darkness lingering that was barely pushed back by the tiniest thread of something else that was equally unidentifiable.
Hope?
Hope.
Someone cared about him, was looking for him, and would not give up until he was safe. The knowing became stronger every day. But, how could he be sure? How could he trust his own self when he could not even recall his life or his own name? Worse, to base all hope on a feeling.
He concluded that he was not the kind of man to base things on feeling but the evidence of his own mind. Facts, data, the things that were measurable and could not be corrupted or misunderstood.
Still, no matter how much he reasoned with himself the feeling would not let him be. Someone was looking for him.
Maybe more than one someone.
He thought about his situation. He ignored the familiar headache that came whenever he would try to remember or think too deeply. He ignored the room that he was in. The beautiful mahogany floor and beamed ceiling and furniture melted away.
He concentrated, the headache becoming worse. Sweat started to appear on his face, back, and chest. He tried to distract himself from the pain by concentrating on the feeling of the sun on his face and body.
A sharp bolt of pain shot through his head. He hissed and continued to concentrate as drops of sweat rolled down his face and body.
Suddenly with a flash, he was violently propelled as if pushed by an invisible hand into a place in his mind. He came to an abrupt stop. He gasped but continued to concentrate not understanding what he was seeing. It was too clear to be a delusion. The image was as clear and sharp as if it was real.
It was some sort of palace by the looks of it. He noticed that he had a dark suit on. Something was playing softly in the background.
A violin?
Yes, it was a violin.
What was the violin playing?
Bach, Partita Number One.
He looked around confused but for some reason not afraid. The atmosphere there was light and airy, as well as peaceful. There was a staircase leading to upper floors. He started to walk. His shoes produced a tapping sound as it came in contact with the marble floors.
He came to the first of many beautiful and ornate Oak doors. His hand touched the walls. He could actually feel the walls. He rubbed his fingertips together curiously.
"Interesting," he thought.
Fascinated yet cautious, his hand slowly moved to grab the doorknob to turn it. Before he could reach it, his outstretched hand caused the door to open. He looked at his hand, stretched it out, and with a thought closed it.
So, his hands control this… whatever this was, this place. He moved his hands in short synchronized movements, the door opened again on its own accord, as if moved by an invisible hand. He looked in.
The room itself was elegantly and distinctively decorated, but somehow he knew that the room itself was not important, it was the books in the room on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were. He knew that the books symbolized data, information, memories.
He paused.
This was the wrong room.
He closed that door. He looked three doors down. Something was pulling him toward the third door. A barely noticeable swaying in the palace began. He had to reach, unlock, and then open the third door. It was important.
No, it was vital.
He could not remember why.
He walked briskly to the door each step closer made the swaying in that strange place more violent. He reached out his hand toward the door. He moved his hands in short synchronized movements. This door did not open like the rest. He was confused. He put his hands on his hips deep in thought. He felt something in one pocket. He frowned and felt inside. He looked at the key.
The swaying increased more as he touched the key. He looked at the doorknob and noticed a lock. He put the key in the lock and slowly turned. He turned more and heard the click of a lock unlocking.
He took a deep breath and prepared to open the door. A blinding bright light assaulted him. It started to clear. Someone's face started to come into focus in his mind, as he prepared to give the door a push.
"… Restrain him!" floated into his mind.
With his hand still on the doorknob, he was violently pulled backwards as if by a string, away from that world.
Open your eyes, he thought to himself.
His eyes gradually opened, blinking. He felt as if his body was floating.
Not floating, being carried.
He noticed himself being pulled from his room to a passageway. He was heading toward a door to another room that he has never been in before. The two guards had him. One was at the top of his body and one at his feet. One was walking beside him talking on a phone.
Shock paralyzed him for a moment as he tried to understand what had happened, was happening. He had not been allowed out of the room since he woke over two weeks ago, now he was being dragged to another room.
He knew that he was, although stronger, still too weak to resist. He was completely at their mercy and should not make them angry. The logical thing to do was to wait and see what they wanted.
With all this in mind, he still fought, ignoring the pain in his leg and head.
"Sir, calm down or we'll have to use other means to calm you," someone said.
He thought that his energies were best used struggling not chatting.
They moved him into a smaller room well lit with a padded metal table; it was a thick leather mat pad on it. What gave him pause was that the table had leather restraints. He also noticed various other equipment, devices and medications.
His body went cold.
He felt one hand being forced into one restraint then the other. He fought a battle he would not win. His feet were more easily subdued when a hand put pressure on his still sore left leg. He grunted out in pain as he was quickly restrained.
He shuttered as the sweat on his skin and bare chest came in contact with the cold air and the cold pad on top of the table. They had gone out of their way to make him comfortable and pain free. This was the first time since he awakened and spoke to the man in the suit, that he had been manhandled. The two guards that had cared for him and provided his every need, now stood at the edge of his vision.
He was off-balanced, and confused, and if he was honest, feeling a little vulnerable. He wet his suddenly dry lips and looked at the woman standing over him for the first time.
"Doctor Yáng, not our usual sessions." He tried to sound casual but was not sure that he succeeded.
"No need to be formal, call me Jenna."
"Considering my current circumstances, I think not."
"Mr… I am only trying to help you." Doctor Yáng corrected herself.
"Finish your statement," He said tiredly. He closed his eyes, his anger and apprehension growing.
"Mr. who? You almost slipped and said my name. Again. Afraid hearing it may trigger a memory." He did not think that he had anything to lose or any reason to use tack now.
"What memory? Do you see, you forced my hand. I came in your room every day and you refused to comply with my treatment plan. Now, you're paranoid. I'm only trying to do what is in your best interest." Her hand caressed his cheek and rubbed his bare chest.
Anger raged through him as he pulled at his restraints violently.
"I'll have to add violent outburst to the reports as well." She smiled.
"Free my hands. Let's make sure that your report is accurate." He growled.
She had a notepad handed to her by one of her two female assistants.
"Let's try again." She said sweetly. She nodded and spoke to the other female, giving instructions.
"Start the drip at ten ml per hour. If he becomes agitated, increase it up to three drops per minute not more without my approval. The electrical rate stays the same. If increased watch for seizures." Doctor Yáng instructed.
He looked, as electrodes were peeled then attached to his sides, and monitors to his chest. The coolness of the gel pads were a bit of a shock against his already cool skin.
"So now it's torture," he asked almost monotone.
"Of course not, it's treatment." Doctor Yáng replied sweetly.
He frowned as two earpieces were put in his ears. Spots on his scalp were roughly cleaned with a cotton swab and an unknown solution. Eight more electrodes were then attached to the cleaned areas of his scalp.
His frown deepened as a screen attached to the ceiling above his head came on. Images with single words behind them flashed. His ears were flooded with single sentence messages, then loud sounds at intervals.
Heart Monitors and EKG and EEG machines buzzed to life. His senses were overwhelmed with images, words, and sound. His mind already naturally processed more images in an hour than most people do in a day so he was quickly overwhelmed.
He turned his face away from the ceiling and closed his eyes trying to shut out the images. He made choking sounds as his body convulsed. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. He struggled to breath as he fought against the wave of nausea and the blinding pain.
His muscles were released and extended suddenly. He fell back on the padded table. The electrical charge dissipated as quickly as it started. His muscles ached from the sudden and violent contractions. He tried gulping oxygen and to regulate his breathing.
Apparently closing of the eyes was not permitted.
Holmes felt someone put a leather strap around his head immobilizing it. He felt a stick in his arm and a burning sensation that only increased his nausea. He fought the nausea not wishing to choke on his back should he vomit. The doctor left the two assistants after giving them both instructions.
With a backward smirk, the doctor left the room.
Thirty-minutes later, the two assistants were talking.
One had been transferred from another facility and they were talking, trying to get to know each other better. The shorter woman was having trouble with her boyfriend.
"Well I need a cuppa. You?" The shorter woman said.
"Yeah, if you don't mind. Black, no cream, no sugar."
"Sure. You're sure you can handle him on your own?" The shorter woman asked.
The new transfer looked and laughed. "He's not going anywhere."
The shorter woman laughed and got up to leave closing the door behind her. Only one guard was there now.
After she left out the door, the new recruit spoke.
"Do you mind? I need a change of clothes and a warm towel with water." She looked pleadingly at the guard.
"A towel is over there and there is the sink." He said as he really looked at her for the first time.
"Come on, he's not going anywhere. He will need a change of clothes. They always do if you know what I mean." She chuckled lightly as she smiled warmly at the guard. He smiled back.
He looked the man over and conceded. He chuckled aloud. "I'll be right back gorgeous." Her smile widened all the while looking at him as he walked out the door.
Her smile dropped as the door closed. She swallowed as she walked over to the sink. She warmed the towel under the water then squeezed most of the moisture out. She walked over to the table careful to keep her back to the small camera in the corner. She discreetly pulled the earpiece from his ears and blocked the overhead screen with her body.
She already turned off the shock machine and powered down the ceiling projector. It would take a few minutes for it to finish its last cycle and go blank. She stopped the drip and quickly put up a new bag. She pretended to inject the medication in the bag but pocketed it instead in her lab coat. She could not take back what was already infused in his body, but at least he would not get anymore.
He was shivering. She loosened the leather strap around his head and wiped his face. The confusion seemed to lift from his eyes as he looked at her blinking. She smiled sadly as she wiped his face. He tried to talk but choked. She hurriedly got him water.
"Only a little." She warned as she supported his head. He drank after he attempted a nod.
She frowned as he looked at his trembling body. She looked in his eyes and almost smiled. He was confused but he was still there. She glanced by moving her eyes only at the door. She thought briefly of releasing his arms and feet but knew it was not wise. She could make up an excuse for everything she had done so far, but not for releasing him.
"W… Why," he stuttered so quietly she had to put her ear to his lips to hear him.
She smiled and put her mouth to his ear and whispered to him. She knew that her time was short but she refused to put the earpiece back in his ears or turn on the shock machine until she had too. She heard footsteps at the door. She said one last thing to him.
She whispered, "I know you, you're stronger than you may think you are right now, you're a fighter, so fight."
She whispered one last word to him then gave his hand a squeeze. He squeezed back weakly and gave a discreet nod. She kept eye contact as the door opened and closed.
"What are you doing?" A female voice from behind asked.
"Oh, wiping his face and chest, the poor dear vomited a little on himself. I was also giving him a little water to wash the taste from his mouth." She winked at him, her back was still to the shorter woman. Sherlock's eyes followed her but he said nothing.
Newbies, the shorter woman thought to herself as she shook her head. "Look, I use to do the same thing, " she said sincerely. "It helps if you think of them as test subjects, not real people." She smiled gently. "I can take care of him."
"No. It's as you said, he's not a real person so I'll do it." The taller assistant said.
"If you're sure."
"Yeah," She put what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. She looked in his eyes. He was still following her with his eyes as if she was a lifeline. She then turned around and put the earpiece back in loosely. She put a leather bit in his mouth. He had bitten his lips. She put the leather strap back on his head. She reluctantly turned the sound then the ceiling screen back on. He closed his eyes as images flooded his senses again.
The shorter woman frowned. He should have received a shock when he closed his eyes and did not. She laughed.
"You forgot to turn on the shock machine silly."
"Did I?" The taller woman asked quietly as she kept looking in his eyes, willing her strength to him. She didn't move to turn it on.
"Yes, I'll do it." The shorter woman said. She pushed a button and immediately his body jerked as every muscle in his body contracted and spasm. His eyes rolled and He gagged as he struggled to get air in. It was over quickly.
The shorter woman walked over to her seat and started to write her reports on the test subject. If she thought it unusual that the tall woman stood over the test subject, unmoving, she did not comment.
Sometimes a newbie did strange things. She used to do the same, until she realized that it was better not to think of them as people.
The newbie would learn just like she learned.
Nine slow hours passed.
He struggled to keep his eyes opened. He had vomited twice and suffered every humiliation that a man can suffer. His body shook from fatigue and pain.
His mind was jumbled, his thoughts cloudy. He was on the very edge of unconsciousness, but he was fighting. He could not remember why.
One thing kept floating to his mind. One word that he held on to and refused to let go, even though he was unsure why now. The last word that was whispered in his ear.
He repeated it in his mind like a mantra, a lifeline. "Sherlock… Sherlock… Sherlock."
A/N: Let me know what you think.
Lots of Love