Sherlock story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 56

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.

Love to all

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

"We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker."

Bonaro Overstreet

Current Day

Current Time

He had been running for a time and was tired.

Cars were faded into the distance. He glanced back and ran for several minutes until he came to a secluded area and a shed. He ran to the back and easily broke the cheap lock. He stumbled in. He was hoping to catch his breath, he was close to physical exhaustion.

Benedict doubled over and tried to regulate his breathing. He did not look as he heard several footsteps behind him. He did not think he would lose them long. He did however hope that he had more time to recover. He wondered how they found him so quickly.

"Stupid. Stupid! Obvious," he whispered breathlessly to himself as he tried to gulp in air. A tracker was on him. He wondered what would occur in the next few minutes. Would he find a bullet in his back or something even more unpleasant?

"Sir you need to remain calm," the men said as they surrounded him. Five men surrounded him as more had their guns drawn and seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

Benedict did not reply. He thought his weakened body might best use its energies to defend himself. He intended to go with no one.

He stood upright still breathing heavily but better and extended his arms away from his body. His mind suddenly saw points on their bodies to strike as it calculated his best chance, against his remaining energy.

"Sir, we need to leave now." An agent closest to him said.

"Do you happen to have John with you?" Benedict asked as he tried to gain more time to rest before the inevitable.

"Well, no Sir, but we cannot wait." The man said quickly.

"Well then… that would be a no." He would not be tricked. Benedict noticed grimly that they were moving closer and positioning themselves for an attack.

Pandemonium broke out as they tried unsuccessfully to restrain him. Bodies fell with thuds as others jumped up. One person grunted as a crunch sound was heard then blood dripped from his nose. Several men finally managed to hold him. Everyone thought that it was over, until one man yelped in pain as he bit him, and elbowed another. Now two men had their noses broken.

Benedict pulled back his fist to punch the last man near him when a voice stopped him.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, STOP THIS INSTANT!" A voice floated from behind with authority.

Something about the voice stopped Benedict mid-punch. Not just him, everyone stopped and backed away.

"Sir, we need to leav…" An agent started to say, but one hand held up from the man and the agent said no more.

Benedict turned toward him and lowered his hand slowly. The man was slightly taller than him. He wore the most perfectly crease pair of blue jeans, a designer shirt and an umbrella. There was a woman there as well. Beside the man with the umbrella, there was the man that he shot at the mansion. He did not look angry but instead amused.

The man with the umbrella walked close to him. He did not know why, but the man in front of him scared him. At the same time, the man gave him an almost overwhelming desire to run to him, knowing that he would be safe if he did so. He saw parts of himself in the man's eyes.

"Who are we to each other?" Benedict heard himself ask.

Mycroft smiled as he stepped closer. Benedict did not know whether to step toward him or away. He felt both urges in equal measure. He did not notice that his subconscious decided for him. He stepped toward him.

"Who am I to you? That has changed during our life. First, it was big brother, confidant, best friend, and then I was considered an annoyance, overbearing, mothering, extremely annoying, archenemy, and then brothers. Always, even at our worse. Brothers." Mycroft was half a meter away but stopped before touching. His eyes seemed to pierce into Benedict. "You do have a flare for the dramatic, little brother."

Benedict frowned while thinking, "My…Mycroft?" He asked as his eyes pierced the man's eyes.

Pain exploded in his head as he said the name. He never noticed that his nose started to bleed again. Mycroft frowned but did not try to close the short distance.

"Listen to me, you don't have much time," Mycroft was careful to keep eye contact. "You have to go into your mind, to your mind palace, as you call it. You have to open a door, a vital door. The doors of your palace are all opening at one time. All but one very important door. That could tear your mind apart permanently. My voice will guide you but you must hurry. Listen to me and go there."

"Close your eyes. Go to your mind palace now," he said again, "Tell me what you see."

A part of Benedict trusted the man, so he immediately closed his eyes and thought about his mind palace.

He opened his eyes to tell the man that he could not do it, but he was violently propelled as if pushed by an invisible hand into a place in his mind. He opened his eyes to find himself in a marbled hall. He had on a dark navy suit. He heard music.

A violin was playing. It was Bach.

He had been there before.

"… Hurry you know where to go…" The voice of the man floated in.

He did know where to go. He walked quickly then broke into a run. He passed a group of paintings on the wall. He knew he shouldn't stop but his curious nature won. He looked at them.

There was one of an older beautiful woman; her painting seemed to be the one with the most color.

There were paintings of two younger women. One he did not recognize, the other was of the woman from the mansion who helped him.

One painting was of a slightly older man.

Remarkably, there was no painting of John that he noticed. He walked further away and stopped again. The palace of his mind was swaying now.

He noticed another painting off by itself. This last painting seemed to be set apart from the rest and in a place of honor, larger than the rest and specially framed. It was a painting of the man Mycroft. He looked curiously and was tempted to go closer when the voice belonging to the same man floated in.

"… Don't dawdle … Hurry…"

The swaying became worse.

Benedict broke into a run now. He ignored the first two doors. He came to the third door. A feeling of déjà vu came over him. He put his hand toward the door

"I'm at the door," Benedict's voice said, both in his mind, and whispered out loud.

"… You've already unlocked it. Just open it…" Mycroft voice floated an instruction to him.

The swaying became shaking and the shaking became violent.

His hand almost reached the door but before his hand could touch it the door opened. A blinding bright light assaulted him. As it started to clear. Someone's face started to come into focus. In his mind the light died down and the face of John was in that room. It was filled with John's presence and full of his most precious memories.

"John," He said. As the name left his lips. All the doors closed and the violence stopped. The false memories faded away permanently, like a snowflake would fade in hot sunlight. He was about to walk in the room completely but something caught his attention.

He was propelled back as if some string now pulled him backwards violently.

He opened his eyes blinking. He took a moment to look at his brother's face. He had collapsed and Mycroft caught him and lowered him to the ground. His head was in his lap. Two of The General's men were on the floor. As agents tied and gagged one. The other by the angle of his neck was obviously dead as Thomas got up from that body.

"Sir, they're searching," Thomas started.

"They'll be more." Mycroft finished Thomas' thought. "Bring the vehicles as close as possible."

"Brother, nice to know you." He said. Everyone looked relieved. They were not sure what the interruption would do to him since he was not completely finished with the mind palace. Nevertheless, all seemed well.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said.

He did not notice that he ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. His little brother was pale as a ghost and just suffered a minor seizure. He was covered with sweat, bruises and some blood; however, he was there in his arms safe, and for now, that was enough.

Sherlock felt a needle in his arm as drugs were given by Anthea. He was not concerned however. Mycroft was there.

"John?" Sherlock slurred concerned. Two men lifted him as they started to move. Agents surrounded both him and Mycroft as they moved. Anthea had her gun out as well. Before Mycroft could answer, the voice of a very annoyed Doctor Watson floated in.

"Where is he?" John said as he and more agents with him ran close by with their guns ready to defend themselves. He saw Sherlock before anyone could answer and walked quickly beside him as they loaded him into the back seat of the Land Rover. Mycroft sat on one side, John on the other. Thomas and Anthea along with two other agents got in as well. Several cars drove before and after the Land Rover.

John frowned, as he looked Sherlock over. Sherlock sleepily watched him. Mycroft sat quietly as he text on his phone. He could not seem to stop himself as he glanced frequently to Sherlock. Anthea frowned as her fingers raced across her phone.

"A bit banged up, are we?" John finally commented.

"A bit," Sherlock slurred more slowly now.

"John," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John looked at him.

"You're late," Sherlock smiled slightly as his eyes closed then opened as his head jerked suddenly down.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and put his phone up. "Come here," he said as he stretched his arm behind his brother's head.

"Hum?" Sherlock asked.

"Lean on me and go to sleep," Mycroft said with all the big brother authority he could put in his voice.

Sherlock did not argue as expected but simply said, "K," and closed his eyes.

Sherlock had John next to him and his brother beside him. There were men still chasing him, a lunatic and a lunatics' shadow after him, and they were trying to get out of a country. None of that mattered. He felt safer than he felt in a very, very long time. They would take care of the details. They would keep him safe for now.

This knowledge made him close his eyes and stop fighting the pull of sleep. The darkness held no terror for him this time, only rest.

He was exhausted and was asleep within seconds.

John smiled as he watched Sherlock sleep in Mycroft's arms. Mycroft looked at John with raised eyebrows, daring him to say something. John held up both hands in surrender wordlessly.

"Sir," Athena said. "The three routes that we had for leaving the country, all have heavy traffic. We may have to shoot our way out."

They were on their devices as they spoke in whispered conversations when Mycroft's mobile rung.

"Sir," Myers said, "Captain Magoro and I thought perhaps another way out might be warranted." She paused as she briefly spoke to someone, "How close are you to Tangier's coast, or Casablanca?"

Sebastian slept in his luxurious hotel room. He would not know the irony of the fact that Holmes would come not

far from where he slept.

A call came into Moriarty as he waited in his private airplane. His smile faded. Mycroft was beginning to be just as annoying and interesting as his brother.

"The game continues," He said. He picked up the phone on the wall and spoke to the pilot. "A change of destinations."

A little over two hours later, a boat was moving swiftly through the waters. They were safely out of Morocco. A sleeping Sherlock Holmes did not know that the eyes of his best friend and loyal brother were on him. Thomas, Anthea, and a cocoon of agents surrounded him in protection, guarding him through the long night.

The boat and its passengers would soon dock safely on the coast of Spain.

A/N: More next Midweek. Tell me your thoughts.

BTW, Ch. 52 changed slightly.

Lots of Love, Zacha.