Benedict story
Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 41
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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Love to all
T rated but some future chapters may be M.
***Warning: Implied abuse, nothing graphic still a T
A/N: Important. Benedict will at times be referred to as Ben or Benedict since he believes that to be his name.
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. *
It is a little over 4 weeks since the explosion.
Enjoy
Sherlock
Ben
Sherlock
Ben
"Do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live.
Teach them to your children and your children's children." ~ Deuteronomy 4:9
Ten minutes later and Benedict's headache returned with a vengeance. John had said that name to him several times. Sherlock. John had corrected himself several more times. Benedict said the word out loud for the first time.
"Sherlock," Benedict whispered to himself.
"URGgggg!" Benedict growled while holding his head. He felt like someone took a knife and stabbed through his temple. His hands clutched his head. His mind filled with one word.
SHERLOCK – SHERLOCK – Sherlock – Sherlock- sherlock- sherl…
He groaned as the mountains, trees, and road faded away. Everything turned into a gray nothingness.
Suddenly he was in a room standing by a wall as he looked and listened to a stylishly dressed, tall woman with pale skin and dark hair. Leaning against the woman, there was a skinny and pale-skinned child, who had dark curly hair.
Flash Back to Childhood
A young Sherlock Holmes was sitting curled on a couch with his mother. She was reading to him. It was a science journal. Except for stories about pirates, he did not seem interested in children books anymore. He saw more and more flaws of logic in them. She was sure he saw the same flaws of logic with the pirate stories but his need for excitement made him overlook them.
She kissed the top of his dark curly hair. The seven year old child looked up at his Mum and giggled before returning his eyes to the book. He could read but liked it when his Mummy or Mycroft read to him.
Her son was bored quite easily. He was a challenge for all the household staff, but not for her or Mycroft. They both seemed to know how to handle his abundance of energy. She had long ago accepted that both of her sons were unique. Both were brilliant, with genius level intelligence. Both had analytical minds.
Sherlock had an uncanny ability to see patterns.
Mycroft had a similarly uncanny ability to predict patterns.
The brothers were very close and so much alike. However, there were differences. Mycroft was quiet and stoic by nature with all except his little brother. Sherlock seemed to be the only one who could produce a smile out of Mycroft. Her eldest son seemed to take everything in. He seemed to know the perfect thing to say at all times. Her husband was proud of Mycroft and liked to parade him in front of important government officials and friends who all liked him.
In contrast, her husband thought that Sherlock was a constant source of embarrassment. She loved both her sons equally but sympathized with Sherlock's curiosity. She was the same way as a child. Her curious nature caused her to always seek the answers to questions that most people never even asked. It caused her to be one of only three female scientists currently in Europe at the time.
Correction.
Retired scientist, her husband insisted that she retire and be, as he had phrased it, a full time mother as the convention of the time insisted.
Therefore, she yielded to convention, at least partially.
The other women in her social circle thought that she was a bit of a freak. When they wanted to talk about their children and husbands, she did as well but she also wanted to talk about the current events, politics, and the latest discoveries.
Her husband loved the fact that she could converse with dignitaries and the head of states and countries and carry on an intelligent conversation. Of course, she was never allowed to know more than him. At least that is what they pretended. She was not sure why she put up with it. Maybe a part of her did not want to be different anymore.
Her husband controlled everything down to the detail, including their boys.
Her husband insisted that both boys be employed in government work. Mycroft quickly agreed to whatever his father directed him. Fourteen year old Mycroft was seven years older than his brother was. The fourteen year old already acted like a little adult. Although he was still young, he was a born diplomat.
Sherlock was the opposite emotionally. He was emotionally open, curious, and full of warmth and joy. He was always smiling or giggling. He was a practical joker with his older brother as the target most of the time. He often would verbalize his observations at dinner parties or in front of their friends. Sherlock insisted he wanted to be either a pirate or a scientist.
He was a cause of embarrassment for Mr. Holmes the senior.
Her son's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
"You're worried about something Mummy." Sherlock's blue–gray eyes pierce into her similarly colored eyes. His mother sighed. She had learned long ago that lying to him was not an option. He would know.
She often thought that he would make a better police officer than a scientist with his ability to see truths that people tried to hide.
Mrs. Miranda Holmes looked lovingly at her son. She raised one hand to tenderly caress the side of his face as she smiled sadly. He smiled in return.
"I don't want to leave you son." She admitted honestly, "Grandmother should not need me longer than a week. I would prefer to take you along."
The truth was Sherlock was anxious as well. It was the first time that they were separated for any length of time. Worse, Mycroft was away at a young leaders' conference for four days and Daddy was still upset about the dinner party. Sherlock announced to the party that Mrs. McMullen was having an affair. Mr. McMullen stared opened mouth. Mrs. McMullen smirked.
Mommy had explained that it was not socially acceptable to blurt out facts such as he had, but the young Holmes knew that most of the people in that room already knew what he said. Besides, Mr. McMullen was having an affair as well. Why was it so bad to say it then?
"Don't worry Mummy, I am not a baby anymore. I'll be alright." He said it with more confidence than he felt. The truth was, lately the way father looked at him when no one was around scared him.
"Sweetheart, your driver is outside, you need to leave now." Sherlock heard his father's voice float in from the other room.
"Yes dear," she said loudly sighing. She was an educated woman. She was irritated that her husband insisted that their chauffeur drive her. She was capable of driving herself. She had married into the Holmes family old money and had tried to adjust herself likewise, but although she loved her husband, sometimes she felt, trapped.
She tried to be respectful to her husband but by nature, she was independent. She sympathized with Sherlock; he had an independent spirit as well.
She stood and closed the book. She took Sherlock by the hand as she slowly walked through the long mansion to get to the front door. There was the gentle tapping of her blue colored high-heeled shoes on the marble floors.
Before she stepped outside, she whispered to her son as she knelt to the floor. Her hand swept his hair out of his face. It was getting too long. She could not help but smile. Her blue colored suit perfectly in place, her long dark curly hair swept up and pinned. It was a contrast to her pale skin.
"Time for a haircut," Mrs. Holmes said to her son.
"I have to grow it out, pirates have long hair and a beard," Sherlock said as his little hands came on his skinny hips and he swayed back and forth demonstrating his pirate dance.
Miranda's eyebrows came up as she smiled widely. "Needs a bit of work dear," she said with amusement.
"It's perfect Mummy," Sherlock said as he wiggled his eyebrows and gave one last thrust of his hips. This earned a laugh from his Mummy. Sherlock was happy. He was trying to lighten his Mum's mood. She tried to hide the fact that she has been unhappy lately, but he knew. Sherlock did not know how, but he seemed to know things.
The real smile left as a fake smile came. Sherlock knew the difference; she knew he knew, they both chose to pretend.
"Can you do something for me darling?" She quietly asked her son as she looked into his eyes.
"Yes, Mummy," Sherlock said proud that his Mummy would trust him with something.
"I am so proud of your mind. I want you to always think and see." She paused with a smile, "but…"
"But I should try to not say everything that comes to my mind." Sherlock said suddenly serious.
His mother smiled, "Yes and with your father, um…"
"Say yes Sir, and stay quiet and out of his way." Sherlock finished thoughtfully.
"Precisely dear." His mother kissed him. She looked at him one last time and walked away.
Miranda Holmes walked up to the car and spoke quietly so that no one could hear but her husband. "I can take Sherlock with me. He is not, and will never be any trouble to me."
"He must learn to behave as a Holmes without you or Mycroft around to intercede for him." Mr. Holmes looked down at his wife with a look that told her that he would not yield. Still, she had to try.
"He is a child." She reminded him.
"He's a Holmes," her husband said as his hand gripped the metal handle of the car, opening it for his wife. He gave her a reassuring smile as she left. She nodded and easily slid into the back seat. She glanced right to her son. He smiled at her as the car started. She returned a worried smile as the car drove away.
Sherlock looked toward the car his mother was in as it vanished down the long driveway to the gated property.
His father's smile left as soon as he knew that his wife could no longer see him. He kept his back to Sherlock as he thought. He thought to himself about the sacrifices that he made for his family. He had both of his son's futures planned like all good fathers. Mycroft was coming along as planned but Sherlock needed to be better controlled. His wife was always protecting him.
Both of his sons and his wife had a genius IQ. Mycroft and Miranda knew their place but Sherlock was entirely too independently spirited. He broke his wife of that independence. He would break Sherlock. He loved to control others. He was the head of his home, Sherlock would learn this fact.
Sherlock would learn. He wanted to humiliate his own father. He would ask questions that only Mycroft or his wife could answer, knowing things that no child had a right to know. That was probably why he was so disliked by the other children. He was a freak.
Mr. Holmes considered the fact that he was an intelligent man. He had an above average IQ himself, why should he feel stupid around his own child. He stood straighter. Mr. Holmes thought to himself. He was an important man; men trembled in his presence.
The child was a constant source of aggravation. Maybe it was time his youngest son learn - fear.
Mr. Holmes stared at the garden. He would take his son for a walk at the remote side of the garden and property. He would even take the entire day off of work. That was something he NEVER did. Sherlock was lucky to have a father like him.
He would spend a lot of time with his son the coming week. They would be no one to interrupt him. Sherlock needed to be taught once and for all, who was in charge. He needed to stop being so emotional. All that smiling, laughter and giggling grated on his nerves. He allowed his wife to smile but that was more than enough emotional display in HIS home.
It was time to make the boy into a man.
Mr. Holmes the senior, turned slowly. He stared at his son, Sherlock. A predatory smile came on his face.
Sherlock looked at his father. The tall skinny lad stood in the doorway of the beautiful mansion on the lovely manicured garden. Sherlock noticed his father's face. He saw all the details of it and understood.
Young Sherlock's smile left. He did not notice that he stepped back as his father stepped toward him.
"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake."~ Napoleon Bonaparte
The scene faded and the gray nothingness came again. Sound filtered through the mental haze. Benedict blinked away the confusion.
Benedict heard the voice of a soldier calling him. He now realized that he had collapsed back. His head lay on the leather seat. He was covered in sweat. His heart was pounding , his body shaking. He brushed the hands off of him. Two soldiers looked at him with concern. One like a predator.
"Are you OK?" The soldier beside him asked.
"Quite." He said. He willed his body to stop shaking.
"Perhaps it's the heat. I'll take my jacket off." He disliked the shaky edge in his voice. He took off his jacket. He closed his eyes for several minutes as his body and mind calmed. He finally felt steady enough to open his eyes. He looked around and frowned. A moment of panic arrived when he realized that he did not have his phone.
"My phone?" He asked as calmly as possible.
The soldier next to him spoke. "Leman, you have it. You told me to give it to you when he became unresponsive remember?"
The soldier in the front passenger seat spoke up now, "Yes that's right. I'll keep it so that it will be safe if you should faint again. Here drink some water."
Anger flared, it overshadowed the previous anxiety. Benedict eyes narrowed.
"I'll keep my own phone," Benedict held out his hand, his eyes became like steel. He decided that if the soldier did not give him the phone, he would physically take it from him, whatever that meant.
The soldier hesitated. Everyone in the vehicle's attention was on him. He handed the phone back to Benedict. He put the phone in his front trouser pocket. After a slight hesitation, he took out the document he wrote his mental reminders on and wrote two more words on it.
One was…
Sherlock?
The other word…
Mycroft?
He hesitated yet again then wrote an additional word in bold with a question mark behind the third word.
BENEDICT?
He then put the document in his other trouser pocket.
His mind wondered for several minutes before a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Will you drink the water now, you've already fainted." The soldier asked again.
"I did not faint, I lost consciousness and no I prefer tea, I'll wait." The truth was he wanted nothing more than to drink it but would not.
"Here," the soldier beside him spoke. He opened a cooler and took out two bottles of sodas. They were both cold.
He held out both to Benedict for him to choose the flavor he wanted. Benedict dislike soda but now it seemed like liquid gold to him. He chose one. He looked carefully at the bottle cap. It appeared to be sealed. The young soldier next to him started to drink. Benedict looked in the young soldier's eyes.
He had a choice to make. Ben made it. He opened the bottle and drank greedily. He did not stop until the glass bottle was empty. The young soldier looked at him with raised eyebrows.
Benedict shrugged his shoulders.
The young soldier smiled and took out another one. Benedict for the first time since being separated from John, smiled back. He nodded his thanks.
Benedict sipped this one slower as he tried to make it last. He leaned back on the leather seat careful to stay awake despite the fact that his eyes were heavy. He turned his head as he noticed the end of the forest and the beginning of a treeless area of the country with mountains in the background. It was slightly warmer and he opened one more button on his shirt.
Benedict's head was turned. He was deep in thought about the vision he just had. Therefore, he did not notice the occasional glare that came from the soldier in the front seat. However, the young soldier did and frowned. He had noticed the looks being directed at their guest. Doubt started to fill the mind of the young soldier as he wondered to himself how much he really knew about Leman.
A/N: Multiple chapters coming the late weekend.
Love to all, Zacha