Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 55
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 latest reviews and PMs since the last post. Thanks, to all Tea and Cookies.
Notes, a car boot is a trunk.
Parts rated M to be safe.
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. *
Note: Everyone is currently on Morocco and trying to make it to Spain.
Thank you for all your responses.
******Important. I gave you extra chapters. This upcoming week is busy for me so, 1. Read the chapters spread apart or 2. All at once, your choice. Next update early weekend. Peace to all.*******
Lots of Love, Zacha
"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination." ~
Tommy Lasorda
Current Day
Current Time
Two lone soldiers dragged a handcuffed Holmes along. Holmes had managed to stay free for only fifteen minutes before running into two of General Baroon's soldiers. Despite escaping, he was recaptured.
It was still a better fate for Holmes.
If it were Sebastian's hired men, he would have been dead, near dead, or wishing to be dead.
After breaking into an isolated home and killing the old woman that was there. One left to see if he could steal a vehicle to transport them the remainder of the way. Their comrades were either dead or delayed fighting the two sets of groups that were after them.
Waiting for backup was not an option.
The soldier's eyes moved from looking toward the door that his comrade left out of, to Holmes, back to the door again. Both he and Holmes were tired and breathing heavily. Blood, wet and dry was on Holmes nose, neck, and ran on his shirt.
A loud popping sound was heard outside. It sounded like a gun at first but it was only a car backfiring outside.
The soldier was momentarily distracted and looked toward that sound.
Benedict felt that he had to take the risk. He hit unsuccessfully at the gun in the soldiers' hands with his knee. This resulted in the soldier slamming Holmes body into the wall. Holmes brought his knee up again, knocking the gun loose. It fell to the floor discharging but luckily away from both men as the bullet found a wall.
Holmes brought clasped handcuffed fist down once, twice, then one last time on the side of the soldier's head in rapid strikes. A split second later, he grabbed the soldiers body and pushed with his remaining strength. The motion carried Holmes body crashing to the floor next to the wall while the stunned soldier fell backwards.
The soldier was next to a partial, ornate glass partition while fighting.
The glass partition behind the man splintered into a thousand sparkles that reflected the rooms artificial light as the man's body fell backward and settled finally on the floor.
With shaking hands, he searched the unconscious soldier's body and found the keys. He made a quick work out of opening the handcuffs despite his trembling hands. He considered stripping the uniform off the soldier and wearing it but the man was shorter and it would have drawn attention. He settled for his hat and jacket. He smoothly put on the soldier's hat and jacket quickly, pulling up the collar in an attempt to hide his pale skin.
He walked the short distance to the back door. He molded his body to the wall as he looked outside. Seeing no one, he firmly pushed the heavy door open.
He walked outside surprised and relieved by his good luck. He did not see the other soldier. His body protested, his legs ached slightly with fatigue as he stretched them walking. His head twirled as his mind raced.
"What now?" He asked himself, "What now?"
He walked thinking as he came to a more public area. He walked casually, so that no one could pick up that something was wrong. He hoped that the dim light would help to prevent attention being drawn to him. He also hoped his clothing and hat would take away from the fact that he was most obviously a foreigner.
Suddenly he heard someone say, "Stop," in another language. It sounded like Arabic. He did not respond. Holmes understood enough to know what was said but he ignored it. The command came in Spanish. Again, he ignored it. Benedict realized now that he understood several languages well and several more well enough to know that he was in trouble.
The voice floated in from behind him again. He came and blended into the light flow of people. In the heart of the tourist area, he saw a heavier flow and quickened his pace as he moved to his right. He hoped to get lost in the crowd. He quickened his pace more. "STOP!" The voice came more urgently. It was in English now.
"Damn." His mind commented.
He was in heavy foot traffic and heading for the stairs that led to an underground area. It was just yards away.
A bullet whizzed by his head as a cry of pain came from his left. Pandemonium broke out as the crowd started to run. Some people knocking down others that were slower in their escape. He ran along with the crowd. He reached the edge of the stairs. Another cry came to his right this time. Out of the edge of his eyes, he saw a body fall head first, down the stairs. He stopped for a second and looked at the woman, her opened vacant eyes told him that she was already dead. He cursed in frustration as he resumed running down the stairs.
His mind worked furiously as he ran. Get out the country, he told himself.
Information floated into his mind. Statistics, transportation information, cultural information, maps of countries that he was not aware that he had visited. He did not have time to question, he made a plan as he ran with the crowd.
A train to Madrid or Paris. A ferry was out the question, it would take too long to leave, but a train waited for no one. Passport, He looked like a Londoner he did have the accent. He assumed England to be the place of his birth or long time residence. He could claim that his passport was lost in the commotion of a madman shooting, believable. He might have to produce a lip quiver or two to look convincingly shaken. He would not have to do that much acting this time. He unbuttoned the soldier's jacket in the confusion and discarded it and the hat in the nearest rubbish bin. He kept the soldier's wallet.
There seemed to be two sets shooting at each other now.
The police?
He did not know, nor was he waiting to find out. He was about to try and bully his way on the train when he saw a few persons looking at him. He stood still for a moment.
One man was most unpleasant looking. He saw stairs going up at the other end and ran for them along with the thinning and scattering crowd.
Benedict ran - Again.