Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 29
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.
** Thank you for your reviews and PMs of the last post. Jenna Yemowa, Guest #1, BritLitChick, Guest #2, Burning Phoenix, hJohn302, Puky2012, Lanna-Nailo, Taylor501, Warm-Glow, and Voldemort101. Thanks for the conversations.
Thank you ; drpaz, Socalrose, eohippus, dbz27, Prothoe, Warm Glow, Esstell, Lunita28, Guest, Danishprince, and Lunita28, Nietzsches, ShiverandShamy , briongloid fiodoir, Isaldaria, hanging in there, Warm-Glow, Tammy, Taylor501, bruderlein, bruderlein, April29Roses, ShiverandShamy, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all guests.
Cyber cheers.
T rated but some future chapters may be M.
A/N: I did not use the real name of the Prime Minister of Spain (Presidente del Gobierno de España,) Since this is a fantasy, I did not feel comfortable doing so. Thanks.
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. *
"Evil is unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed and eats at our own table."~
W. H. Auden
Current Day
"Finally awake?" Jim said cheerfully.
The man moved his legs to dangle off the side of the bed. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself as he waited for the dizziness to pass.
"Yes," was his quiet reply as he turned and locked eyes with Moriarty.
Moriarty sat quietly in the plush armchair for a few minutes; it seemed as if neither men were in a hurry to speak. Four men seem to materialize in the room. They blended into the darkness as they molded themselves to the wall quietly.
Blue-gray eyes squinted as they found the men who had themselves in neat lines against the wall. His eyes traveled from the guards back to the man sitting in the chair. Moriarty's face was expressionless. His legs were crossed and he had put on a new suit. Both men had on black suits now. Sherlock wore a more modern styled black suit with an opened white shirt with no necktie. Moriarty wore a traditional suit with a white shirt, and red patterned tie.
Sherlock continued to look intently at Moriarty. Moriarty finally spoke.
"You were injured, do you remember that." Moriarty finally asked.
Holmes frowned as images and memories came to his mind, along with a headache. Yes, he did remember. "Yes, I was in some building. You got me out before it exploded."
"No need to say thanks," Moriarty said as he smoothly rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket.
Holmes stood as well even though somewhat on shaky legs. He held on with one hand to the tall wooden bedpost. He was trying to be discreet but no one was fooled. It was obvious that he would have lost his balance if he was not holding on.
Moriarty walked closer until his brown eyes could see the specks in the gray-blue eyes of the man standing before him.
"Two questions." Moriarty paused and tilted his head as he looked his captive up and down.
"Who am I?" Moriarty asked.
A flash of pain came along with thoughts and memories. He was more steady now and risked letting go of the bedpost as he answered.
"You're Jim. Jim Moriarty." He heard himself say.
Moriarty gave a glance and the men moved closer to Holmes as they prepared for anything.
"And who are you?" Moriarty asked.
"Did you think that I would forget?" Gray-blue eyes locked with Moriarty.
Agent Thomas and two men were in a jeep as they rode through the night. He would personally relieve the reconnaissance team that was within an assigned distance away from the mansion. He wanted to evaluate the area personally before they finalized any tactical movements.
They had a second safe house that was both closer to the mansion and the border.
They stopped in the house for half an hour to rest and check in. They crossed the border an hour ago and now drove into the dark morning. They had a few hours before the sun would rise. The goal, if possible, was to be on location before then.
Thomas opened his sleepy eyes and enjoyed the wind as it blew in his face and through his hair. He wondered what the next forty-eight hours would bring.
"Diplomacy is the art of letting someone have your way." ~ Daniele Vare quotes
Mycroft sat down on the gaudy chair. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the furnishings in the room. His personal tastes were more traditional. Mycroft never considered the fact that if the situation was reversed, the Prime Minister might have thought that the British Government's office was plain and boring.
Out of politeness, he sat with a cup of tea in his hand. Two of his men stood discreetly in the background. Both Mycroft and the Prime Minister of Spain were impeccably dressed in designer suits. Mycroft took a sip as he waited for the other man to start talking again.
The plan was to use Tangier as a gateway from Morocco to Spain. The Prime Minister of Spain sat before him. They agreed on arrangements for what Mycroft and his men would need.
It was partially out of courtesy that Holmes was seated in the Prime Minister's presence. They both knew this. They had an unspoken agreement. Mycroft had looked the other way twice when Spanish covert agents came into England to illegally retrieve members of the criminal class. The resulting car chases and crashes were covered up. The media were given a false story.
Mycroft already knew that he would do whatever was necessary to retrieve his brother, but as a diplomat, he also knew with Moriarty, it was wise not to underestimate him.
"We will do as you requested Mr. Holmes. But remember, should this man enter our country while he is fleeing, we cannot get involved officially. There are those in the Moroccan government who are, shall we say, acquaintances of his. We will unofficially notify you and… um… detain him until your men arrive. Should any...incidences...occur, we will be careful to not notice."
The Prime Minister paused to take another sip of tea. Mycroft knew it was to gather his thoughts as well. "I hope you consider this when we call on your assistance."
"But of course," Mycroft said with one of his plastic smiles.
"Our airfields continue to be at your disposal," The Prime Minister said unnecessarily with a dramatic wave of his free hand.
"Please give my best regards to his Majesty." Mycroft took his last sip and put his cup back on the saucer. He discreetly nodded and his cup was removed.
"Of course Mycroft. Would you like me to send you some of this tea, it's a special blend?" The Prime Minister stood.
"That would be delightful, thank you Bernardo." Mycroft stood now as well. The Prime Minister smiled in response as Holmes held out his hand then firmly shook the Prime Minister's hand. He then excused himself and walked briskly from the room.
"Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen." ~ Anonymous"
He heard muffled voices and sounds, he felt his body gently rock back and forth in rhythm. His body fought to return to consciousness, but lost the fight. Unconsciousness wrapped its arms around him again, and clothe him in a blanket of nothingness as the world with its noise faded away.
Consciousness and unconsciousness fought a war for dominance in his body. He again fought his way to the waking world. He felt as though a thousand pins were pricking his skin as part of some diabolical torture. His eyes fluttered briefly then opened into slits as the last of the mind fog evaporated from his mind.
John now noticed the flipping of his stomach. He swallowed hard trying to resist the urge to vomit. He always hated it when they used the kind of drug that caused nausea after. He vaguely wondered when his life had changed so dramatically that he had a preference to the kind of drugs that his kidnappers used.
He fought to keep his breathing even, something told him that now was not a good time to vomit.
Watson blinked a few more times, as his military training kicked in. The drugged was long acting, he concluded. He most likely was not in London anymore. He looked around as he observed this surrounding and took note of his body's strengths and weaknesses. John looked for anything that could be used as a potential weapon if the opportunity presented itself. He suddenly still and remembered that Mycroft had put the tracker on him. He hoped that it was working after all the effort that had gone into putting it in place.
Was he in the same place as Sherlock? He hoped he was. That was the point after all.
John sighed.
He was relieved that the nausea was slowly dissipating. His harsh breaths alone broke the silence in the room until he heard a sound to his left. His eyes squinted further as they adjusted to the dim light of the room. By the outline, he could tell a man was sitting in the chair. John frowned as he processed this piece of information. He was in a room in the basement level by the look of the room. He was in a bed.
That was a new one.
He never woke up from a kidnapping in a bed before. There had been a basement once, tied to a chair another time. He was held at gunpoint in a room in an abandoned building until Sherlock rescued him the last time. Never a bed in a nice looking room. It was almost civilized.
"Enjoy your little siesta." A voice floated from the left of him.
The voice was not Moriarty as he had expected, John realized.
"It was lovely, thank you." John realized that he should not antagonize the man but Sherlock had been a bad influence. He almost smiled at the thought but luckily realized that that also was not a sensible thing to do.
The man in the chair sat forward with a puzzled look on his face. His face was now illuminated by the light more.
"You see but you don't observe," a familiar sounding voice in his head commented. John wanted to tell the imaginary Sherlock and his voice to be quiet and stop rattling away in his mind until he was rescued.
John shook his head again to clear his mind. He came to the conclusion that not all of the drugs were out of his system.
He concentrated and looked at the man. Despite the goatee beard, his appearance was military. Ex-military most likely, maybe a gun for hire. His build was similar to Sherlock, about the same height but slightly shorter and slightly skinnier. He wore suits very similar to Moriarty. He almost looked as if he was trying to be Moriarty's twin.
That thought caused him to chuckle out loud. When John realized that he chuckled aloud, he stopped himself. Drugs, John thought.
"Something, funny Doctor Watson?" Sebastian asked.
Don't say a word, one part of John's brain told him. Answer the man, the Sherlock part of John's brain told him a little too sweetly.
John sighed again.
He would always side with Sherlock, even the imaginary one.
Bloody drug.
John smiled. "I was just wondering if you and Moriarty shopped for suits together or does he donate his old suits to you. It's cute really…"
John's head was snapped back as he was struck. He was not surprised when the stars and flashes of light came. He let out an involuntary grunt from pain.
"Now take it easy, I never said the suits weren't tailored to perfection." John added after his head cleared a bit. In the back of his mind, he realized why so many people wanted to slap Sherlock.
Sebastian raised his hand as if he wanted to hit him again but frowned and lowered it.
"You weren't supposed to hit me were you?" John asked as his tongue ran over his split lip. "You're going to get in trouble for disobeying, is that where that scar came from?" John asked conversationally.
Sebastian smiled. There was more to John Watson than he first thought. Good, he would make this more interesting.
"Yes, Jim was pretty angry that day. And yes, I probably will get in trouble but, it was worth it." Sebastian said Moriarty's name almost reverently.
John noticed. He observed him. John said nothing else. He looked at the killer in a non-threatening way and listened, hoping to get useful information. He was glad that his mind was clearing more.
Sebastian walked back over to the chair he had vacated and sat again. His white eyes and too white teeth was an eerie contrast to the dim light.
"He won't touch you," he chuckled, "Well, we know Jim's mind is changeable."
John noticed that the killer looked almost reptilian as the light and dark contrasted. He also noticed something disturbing. The familiar hint of depravity. There was almost a scent of evil that permeated the man and filled the air. He noticed the same thing in Moriarty but to a more severe degree.
Sebastian then said something that John would wonder about until the sun rose. "He will not need to touch you. There is a special someone who will do that..." Sebastian's smile left his face as he realized he had said too much.
Sebastian changed subject after an awkward pause. He spoke on different subjects as John listened sometimes, thought quietly to himself other times while thinking of possible escapes. He wondered where Sherlock was, and how Sherlock was getting along.
John said nothing else.
The killer did not notice or care.
The man before him was definitely a little insane or at least dancing on the very edge of it, but unfortunately brilliant.
John looked warily at the man in front of him. He appeared almost as deranged as Moriarty. Crazy attracts crazy John supposed.
His thoughts returned to Sherlock.
"Our memories are independent of our wills." ~Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Who are you, Moriarty had asked as he now put his hands in his suit pockets. Four of the guards had managed to get even closer. Did you think that I would forget, was the answer.
Jim Moriarty was not sure if it was a sincere response or a mock from the man in front of him. They would all find out soon. It was all part of the excitement, the game.
"Humor me?" Jim's eyes narrowed.
It came floating up again. Subliminal messages raced through his mind. A word, an image came. He blinked; two words came up warring against each other then as suddenly as it came, one floated down to the subconscious, and the other floated up.
He knew the answer.
"Benedict. Benedict Moriarty," Holmes said as he looked in the eyes of the man that he believed to be his brother.
Jim Moriarty looked in Sherlock Holmes' eyes. He saw the moment that Sherlock died. He also saw the moment that Benedict was born.
Jim smiled. "Welcome back Ben."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Now, you know what to do. Love and cookies to all. Alternatively, Love and a piece of fruit, whichever you prefer. :)