Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 24
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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T rated but some future chapters may be M.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Current Day
Irene was left alone - finally.
The last guard left. He stood outside the door after she administered the last dose of the syringe that Doctor Yáng instructed.
At least that is what they believed that she did.
In truth, she administered a reduced dose of only ten percent of the drug. She was aware of how physically dangerous it was to stop the treatment suddenly. Things would quickly deteriorate in that case. She needed him physically strong enough to travel. She fingered the syringe that was still in her lab jacket. She had to find a way to hide it in case she needed it when they left.
If they left.
She kept her back to the door, away from the bed as much as possible. She hoped that the short red wig and glasses, along with the dreadfully frumpy clothes, would help in not drawing attention to herself.
If she knew Moriarty at all, she knew he would probably want to have a view of the bed.
She sat on the bed next to him. Earlier, she felt angry that she was not able to do more to help him. She hoped that Mycroft's agent had been able to leave the mansion undetected and to get the vial of the drug sample and microchip to Mycroft. She hoped that her message about the fact that there was only three days left was clear.
The female agent was quick minded and seemed to understand.
Mycroft. She raised her eyebrows as she thought of him.
Irene sighed.
He would probably have her disappeared when he found out she was there. She could argue that she had at least been helpful in getting the drug sample and research out of the facility. She also managed to hack into a part of Morierty's personal files. That had to earn her a little grace with Mycroft.
If she lived.
Irene sighed again. She only had three days to get him out. She already decided that she would not leave without him.
She looked at her hands surprised. She never noticed that she was stroking his hair. Irene smiled. She had forgotten how soft it was.
Her mind drifted again.
Mycroft could easily have a small army covertly come in with guns blasting.
He would not; Mycroft was no fool.
He had an agent infiltrate and when he found out that Sherlock was not being physically harmed. He used the time to strategize. To work out a plan with the best possibility of his brother coming out alive and unharmed. She would have done the same.
Mycroft plans might change. He would only now find out that they gave his brother … treatments.
Doctor Yáng always preferred the word treatment to the word torture. She hoped Mycroft would continue to act strategically and not impulsively. He was the Iceman; however, that ice seemed to melt when it came to his brother.
Holmes stirred and groaned with some movement, but his eyes were still closed. She was surprised that he was stirring at all after the long session of treatments that he had been subjected to.
That was her Sherlock, she thought, always the fighter. She smiled. That smile quickly faded.
She knew something that even Mycroft may not know yet. Moriarty would not so easily give up his toy. He would have killed Holmes rather than surrender him. She looked at Sherlock and frowned.
Holmes groaned slightly.
He became aware that he lay on the bed in his room. He woke up. He noticed that he was in silk pajama bottoms, a silk shirt, and a dressing gown.
Images jumbled in his mind. His last memory was of …of…. being in bed looking at someone in a chair. Memories, thoughts, and images flooded his mind. He held his head and groaned under the assault.
He was vaguely aware of a hand and a voice trying to soothe him. The voice and touch felt familiar, but he wasn't sure. The pain was distracting.
Conflicting thoughts warred in his mind. His thoughts were like two enemies swimming, one holding his enemy's head underwater while trying not to drown himself.
He groaned as he held his head. The battle ended when one set of images and thought floated down to his subconscious drowned and forgotten. The other set came forward in his mind, filling his thoughts.
Something wet ran down his nose. He weakly raised his hands to his face. It came away stained red. Blood started to drip from his nose.
Irene quickly put a towel to his nose and applied pressure. His shaking hands came up to assist her. She would have to wait another day until he was strong enough to run. She had a growing feeling they would need to run.
She looked at him concerned. He was not a hundred percent. Sherlock Holmes even now showed himself to be strong. He would manage with both their help. At least, that is what she told herself.
There certainly was no choice unless Mycroft managed to get a message to her.
Hopefully, they would run into the arms of a very cross Mycroft Holmes. If she knew John, he would be there, as well. She attempted to comfort herself with that thought. She shook herself mentally. There was no time for sentimental nonsense.
Irene's sharp mind focused. She thought of a plan, it might even work. She would need to speak to the agent privately without drawing suspicion to either one of them.
If she could get him far enough from the guns for Mycroft to do his magic, the nightmare would finally be all over.
He looked at her with sleepy pain filled eyes.
"Sorry Sherlock, my mind wandered a bit," She whispered.
That is when she saw it. His eyes, the same demanding, brilliant, sexy, infuriating eyes that she has looked into a thousand times.
They looked… different.
Her heart rate increased.
This was not the drug, not completely. Something else was going on. She had not had access to all of the doctor's notes and files. It was on the microchip that she gave to Agent Myers. She did not have the expertise, or time, or equipment to interpret all the data.
The bleeding had almost stopped now. She pulled the bloodied towel away as she wiped then caressed the side of his face.
She swallowed and put on a smile. She whispered and asked a question. Irene put her ear to his mouth to hear his answer.
As she was about to raise her head back up, his weak arms found her, and he asked his own question.
She looked back at him with an open mouth. His eyes had slid shut. Irene ran her hand through his hair one more time. This was not only the drugs. Her eyes stared unseeing at the wall. Her hands shook as she gently pulled the duvet over his sleeping form.
A tremor ran through her body. Her hands continued to shake. She was distressed because of what he had requested.
He wanted to see his brother.