Sherlock story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 62
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. Love to all
Things to know. 1. Paracetamol is a pain reliever. Tylenol.
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Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in Spain.
:( Sorry, I meant for this to be up 24 hours ago. But, I gave multiple chapters. Read one a day or all at once, the choice is yours.
**********Warning for those who are sensitive. Read for more information. Those who are not just skip this section and enjoy the story. Contain spoilers. Still there? Okay. Chapter 61 and 62contain flash backs and non-graphic abuse. If this bothers you in any way, read chapters 60 and 64 only. You will still understand the story, I promise. ***************
Make yourself happy either way and enjoy the story.
Lots of Love, Zacha
"There is a destiny that makes us brothers, no one goes his way alone; all that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own. " ~ Edwin Markham
Current Day
Current Time
Mycroft still held Sherlock's head. Sherlock had finally quieted down. Mycroft had stayed up all night and was exhausted suddenly. The memories were exhausting. John was staring out the window. Lost in his own worry about his friend.
Anthea held Mycroft's gaze. He looked into her eyes. She seemed to be willing him her strength. He understood. He nodded discreetly. He needed to close his eyes for a few minutes. Everyone was quiet now. They would be arriving soon.
"John," Mycroft said quietly.
"I'll watch him." John said with a forced smile. No one felt like really smiling. Mycroft finally allowed both his eyes to close, and the memories to come.
Memories – Mycroft's Point of View.
Sherlock was unresponsive and in his room on his bed. His eyes were open but staring and unseeing. There was broken objects in the corner of his room.
Kynaston Holmes was there on top of his son one minute and shaking his head another minute. Mr. Holmes opened his eyes blinking. When he got his bearing, he realized that the face of his elder son Mycroft was over him.
Anger burned in the younger Holmes as he stood silently and stared wordlessly at his Father. Mycroft's mouth was partially opened and eyes wide. A brief moment of shock appeared on both faces as if they both could not believe the turn of events.
Mycroft quickly wiped his face of all emotions. He stood stoically before his Father. The man that he had respected all his life. He had an inner struggle reconciling the monster that stood before him with the man he loved and idolized. Their Father and Sherlock have always had a difficult relationship but he would never… could never. He would not finish the thought.
Shock left his Father's face only the anger remained. He now realized that he was on the floor. He also realized that his suit would be stained because of an unknown liquid spilling on it when he fell on the wooden floor. Mr. Holmes got up from the floor with as much dignity as the situation allowed. He took a few seconds of making a show to brush away imaginary lint from his suit. The fact the Mycroft positioned his body physically between his younger son Sherlock and himself was not lost on him. Thinking of nothing else to say he finally spoke.
"Mycroft"
"Father," came the reply. Mycroft still did not move.
"I will forgive your little outburst. You have never disobeyed me once before. This matter is between Sherlock and me alone. I was simply teaching the boy discipline. I need you to leave. And, do close the door behind you."
"How long have you been teaching him discipline Father?"
Mycroft had acquired some power and was moving the ranks quicker than anyone in the history of the invisible governmental agency. It was even rumored that he was being groomed to one day take the top position as the head of the agency. He used his intellectual gifts to assess, get into people's minds, to manipulate people, and even to manipulate some rulers. All from the shadows.
Still, he never once used his gifts on his family members. He had never deduced any family members with the exception of his little brother. They would practice on one another. Even at Sherlock's young age of thirteen, he was far more gifted in deductions than Mycroft. This did not make Mycroft jealous in the least, but proud.
Mycroft for the first time deduced his Father.
"You been abusing him regularly. I knew of the mental, but it was physical as well. It was not the McConnell brothers that have been doing the physical abuse apart from a punch or two."
He seemed to stare right into his father. "If I did not stop you, this would have been the first time that you… disciplined him in this way then." Mycroft eyes never dropped from his Father. His eyes did become cold. Mycroft added almost to himself.
"I do believe that I owe the McConnell brothers a partial apology."
Their Father's face turned red. Mycroft was not sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. He looked at him. Both, he decided.
"Don't you dare do that thing that you and your brother do? Don't try to get into my mind. He's corrupted you. The little freak taught you how to do that- that –thing." His Father pulled himself up to his full height. Both his Mother and Father were tall but their Father easily was the tallest and strongest among them.
"He did not teach me Father, I taught him. Do try to keep up." Mycroft had never once spoken disrespectfully to his Father. Now he could not bring himself to care.
"Leave now." His Father said again as his body tensed. He invaded Mycroft's personal space.
Mycroft said nothing further. He also did not move. He glanced at Sherlock's unseeing eyes and became angry. He looked in his Father's eyes determined but said nothing.
An evil smile came on his Father's face. It seemed out of place with the loving man that he knew. Mycroft almost wanted to cringe. He wondered how many times his little brother had to endure the same evil look.
"I'm warning you BOY, Leave now." His Father hissed out the words. He wanted to insult the twenty–one year old with the use of the word, boy. Mycroft noted in the back of his mind how much like a snake his Father sounded.
The elder son did not move.
Mycroft saw stars as he blinked a few times. He would have been knocked backwards if he was not expecting the blow. He calmly took out a handkerchief from his inner suit pocket and attempted to wipe at the blood coming from his nose.
"Go ahead and strike me if it makes you feel like more of a man. I am an ADULT. Nevertheless, you will not hurt Sherlock again. He is a CHILD Father." Mycroft actually stepped closer. A moment of doubt crossed Mycroft's Father's face.
He recovered, "Do you know who I am?" Mr. Holmes asked his son.
Mycroft smile became false and dangerous, "This is the more important question Father. Do you know who I have become?"
Mycroft took out his phone and made a call.
"How's the Hamilton assignment going?" His Father looked surprised. You had to have a high-level clearance to know about Hamilton. Yet, his son knew. His son knew too much. For some reason, this made him afraid of what else he did not know about his son. The same son who at his young age outranked him in the government.
"You have a trip overseas that will have you occupied for a month. A car will meet you outside in an hour Father. I suggest that you pack quickly." Mycroft no longer looked at his Father but was busy doing things with his hands to that cordless phone.
Mr. Holmes opened his eyes wide in shock. His trip was classified. How did anyone know? Only a few key persons were supposed to know.
"Don't worry Father, I won't tell for two reasons. That is if you cooperate. You are my Father after all. However, you will never touch him in any way again. It would be a shame if the things that you've done would come to the attention of your superiors. Besides, this would break Mummy's heart." Mycroft wordlessly dismissed him.
He blinked a few time then proceeded to walk out the door. He did love his wife. He never met to hurt her. The boy just needed a little fear. To know his place in the world. That's what his Father did to him.
He looked at Sherlock for the first time in long minutes. He was bruised again but mostly on his chest and thighs. His eyes had finally closed. He only looked like he was sleeping now.
He frowned as he noticed something. Sherlock's shirt was unbuttoned. Why had he unbuttoned it?
Mr. Holmes eyes widened as horror came to him. He would not have… Sherlock was his son… He was not a monster… He was not his Father!
"Oh God," came strangled from his lips. He had to look away from his younger son quickly. His eyes met his older son. There was no compassion there only an emptiness. He looked like a child that just learned that not only was there no Santa Claus, but Santa Claus stole gifts instead of gave them.
He lowered his eyes suddenly. He walked to the doorway then stopped abruptly. "Two reasons," Mr. Holmes said quietly.
"Two reasons?" Mycroft repeated what his Father said.
"You said there were two reasons that you would not… tell. What is the second reason?" Mr. Holmes asked with his back still turned.
"Oh," Mycroft had a sound that was half laugh, half regret. "Mummy would get a gun and shoot you. It would be unpleasant if I had to go before the administrate to get her released from jail."
"She would, wouldn't she." Mr. Holmes admitted. He never looked at his sons again. He walked out the room. That was the last time that Mycroft would hear his Father's voice.
Sherlock left the hospital in three days. His shoulder was just pulled out of joint but not broken.
Four weeks later, a week following Sherlock's fourteenth birthday, a black car drove up to the mansion. It was reported that Mr. Holmes was shot during the apprehension of a common suspect. No one could understand how a common suspect could kill Mr. Holmes. He was always so quick with his gun.
Six weeks had passed and Sherlock was still having nightmares. Mycroft walked into his brother's bedroom and sat beside him in what he hoped would be an act of comfort. Embarrassed, Sherlock tried to calm himself. Mycroft knew that it was time to do what they had discussed and prepared for.
"Sherlock it's time."
"I don't want to Mycroft."
"We've already discussed this. Your mind is unique. Most people will forget over time. We will not. Do you really want to remember every detail of Father hitting you, any of it?"
Sherlock hesitated as his hands played with the corners of his blanket. "No Mycroft." Sherlock said pleadingly.
"Why don't you want to forget?" Mycroft knew the answer.
"If I forget the bad, I'll forget the good." Sherlock looked in his brother's eyes. "I'll hate you Mycroft. I will forget that you saved me. I'll think that you did not come. I'll think that you no longer care."
Sherlock half smirked. "We both know that I can hold a grudge." He put his hand on his big brother's hand. "Don't let me hate you." Sherlock locked eyes with Mycroft.
"You're being melodramatic," Mycroft lied. "It won't be that bad." It was not the first time that Mycroft lied to Sherlock. It would not be the last. He swore to do whatever was necessary to protect his little brother. Even if he had to protect him from himself.
"Don't let me push you away," Sherlock said as he stared at the ceiling.
"Close your eyes. Go into your mind. Do as I taught you. My voice will be your guide."
Nine hours later and Sherlock woke in his room alone. He only remembered that his Father was angry the day before he became injured. He probably hit him again even though he could not remember. He did however remember waiting for Mycroft to come for days and Mycroft never coming. Something in Sherlock's heart shut down then.
Four weeks after his mother buried her mother, and her son was taken out of the hospital, Mrs. Holmes buried her husband. She strangely did not ask Sherlock any questions about his bruises this time.
She returned home and deliberately spent extra time with Sherlock. But, she worried about her sons. They were always so close, but since their Father's death Sherlock seemed to despise Mycroft. She thought that it was the shock of their Father's sudden death, or a phase, but it was not.
The young Sherlock did not remember.
He did not remember that his Father tried to kill him that day. He also did not remember that his brother saved his life, but loved him enough to allow him to…
Forget.