Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 64
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. Danishprince (I am glad that you liked the Mycroft/Sherlock bit), Esstell (There is more, promise), Prothoe (Thank for the multiple post. Thank David as well.), Kitiara88 (Thanks for your encouragement), Socalrose (Thank for the multiple post. Mycroft the hero!), gemstone1234 (Your comment made me smile.), eohippus,( Thank for the multiple post. Some of your questions will start to be answered), Anya Deanna Winchester (Sorry about the cliffy), Taylor501(Thanks for the multiple post. Your comments made me laugh, thanks), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. Brother Mycroft.), Voldemort101(I appreciate you soooo much.), Guest (I 'm glad that you like the story.;)) Puky2012 (A day late, sorry but more this weekend.), hanging in there (roller coaster rock!). ShiverandShamy (Double slap for Sebastian!), and macgyvershe(thanks for the conversation). hjohn302 (Thanks for your encouragement). All other guest thanks. Thanks, for the conversations.
Thank you ; EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix MapleleafCameo, Warm-Glow , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , briongloid fiodoir bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , gemstone1234, Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there , hJohn302, , briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl , hJohn302, Pencilx , BritLitChick, , Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your review and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.
Note: American? Not necessary to read. Only if you are interested. Hi. I wanted to respond to something. I made a decision while writing my first chapter of the first story. I decided during my first story to limit slang, and to do whatever is necessary to make the stories I write clear. For example, I might say car boot, instead of boot and even add the word car trunk in the sentence somewhere. I might say bathroom in one sentence and loo in the other. I do this purposely knowing that even if one word is unfamiliar. If it is used differently maybe, the clue will tell the reader what it is. I started this on my first story because I received several PMs asking for the meaning of words. I suddenly realized that not everyone understands certain terms, so I try to stick to the ones that I believe are the most familiar. I use North American spelling.I use the standards that I am required to use at my place of employment. Realised instead of realized and colours instead of color would be more appropriate If I was trying to be 100% authentic. I am trying to be the 99%. I hope that this does not bother too many of you. I personally do not think that it does base on what I have been reading from the majority of you. I love British culture and want to honor it, but I also want my stories to be clear.
It is important to me that everyone, including those talented persons who are reading the stories in a language that is not their primary language, understands the stories easily. I have family who have travelled and settled over the world from England to Germany, the Islands, Canada, also the states (America). I know what it is like to be the one with the accent. I know what it is like to have something said to you and you think it means one thing and it means another.( Embarrassing and that does not happen anymore.) So, trust me; I respect all cultures and I am sensitive to cultural understanding.
That is all that I will say on the subject. By the way, I am not American, sorry. However, the person that I love and will spend the rest of my life with is. Between him and my two other friends (Everyone is from somewhere different in the world,) we have our own mini united nations. :)
Relax.
Enjoy the story.
Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)
T rated some future chapters may be M
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. * Part I The Rook.
Note: The story starts out with Sherlock in Spain.
"In prosperity, our friends know us; in adversity, we know our friends."~John Churton Collins
Current Day
Current Time
Mrs. Hudson unsteadily hung up the phone as she looked around the flat. It was finally over. They were finally coming home. She risked a small smile on her face. A chuckle escaped her as she put her hand to her mouth as though someone would hear her. For a moment, she remained seated, as she allowed the stress that she did not realize that she was carrying to roll off of her.
She prayed a brief thank you in prayer and smiled as she thought about what all needed to be done.
They would need to rest and who could relax in that flat with things thrown about? Of course, she could not let them to come home to the mess upstairs. She needed to clean their flat. Just this once, she thought. She was not their housekeeper after all. And a meal, they would need a decent meal.
What was the first thing that she needed to do, Mrs. Hudson had to ask herself.
Of course, she thought.
She got up and walked to the kitchen.
Tea!
The farmhouse was peaceful again. No one who ventured nearby could tell that fifteen minutes earlier there had been what sounded like world war three occurring.
He listened as birds sang in the close trees. He vaguely wondered what kind of birds they were.
Deceptively quiet now, he thought.
He thought that they must have kept him alive because they wanted information out of him. They killed everyone but four persons. The other three men and himself. The man's face violently pressed into the cold and solid surface of the floor. The cool tile was soothing to his bruises but irritating to his cuts. His hands felt as if they were being pulled out of its socket. He could not see behind his back, but he felt the sharp tug as rough hands pulled him off the ground. He winced as his knees made contact with the harsh and unforgiving surface. He was then dragged painfully outside.
He looked around grimly as the bodies of people that he knew lay dead all around him. They had put up a valiant fight. He turned his eyes to the left and saw his friend.
Only fifteen minutes before, he had been discharging his gun as the battle raged on. Two groups wanted Holmes. Only one could have him. He looked at the unseeing eyes of the man that had just fought beside him fifteen minutes before.
Just fifteen minutes.
He intently watched numbly as the red, thick liquid slowly continued to spread under his friend. If he pretended, maybe he could pretend that it was just a red pillow that cushioned his head as he slept. His open and unseeing eyes stared toward the trees. He knew his thoughts were a bit ridiculous. He allowed them to be. He closed his eyes and felt the breeze blow on him. He opened them now.
Fifteen minutes.
Where did they go so wrong? How did it come to this? He would not allow himself to be …questioned.
The person who cuffed him was not paying attention now. He broke the thumb of his nondominant hand and bit his lips drawing blood. If he made a small sound, no one seemed to notice. He slipped one of his hands out of the cuffs painfully. He kept his hands together behind his back and waited. The moment would come. At least he might be able to take one , two, maybe three with him.
He saw his chance as someone with a holstered gun walked by. In a moment of confusion, he pulled out the gun and shot at the man he took it from. He heard the sound of flesh being hit. He did not stop but ran for the trees. He should be able to shoot and take some of them out if he could just make it to cover.
"Stop," a voice rang out. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heart beat wildly against his chest. His feet pounded against the ground as he ran. He did not bother to look back when he heard similar sounds coming from behind him. He ran on.
"Parada," Another voice rang out the same message to halt, to stop this time in Spanish. He understood, the fact was he did not want or intend to stop.
The footsteps were closer now. He would not make it. He turned to try to take out at least one more man. But, as he pivoted his body to shoot, a white-hot pain shot through him and spun his body around. He looked as if he was doing some strange dark ballet. His body fell boneless to the dirt and he landed with his head looking up. His hands were spread out beside him.
One minute.
He struggled for breath. He felt something warm dribbled out of his mouth.
He blinked.
Two minutes
He looked up at the clouds as a warm breeze kissed his cheek.
Three minutes.
He blinked.
A beautiful bird flew by. However, his unseeing eyes would never glimpse it, as its wings pushed its tiny frame higher and higher in the sky. It disappeared from view into the blinding light of the sun.
Peter sat and glanced at his watch as he finished the end of his report. He had already entered the codes to turn the system back over to Kevin Patel. Peter looked at Kevin's jaw and noticed the bruise that seemed to change colors in the short time that he slept. He was curious but not enough to question him. He had to get out as quickly and as discreetly as possible.
This had taken a lot longer than he thought. As his index finger pushed firmly on the last button he sighed inwardly with relief.
"All yours," he told Kevin as he put on a forced smile.
He had to begin to move now. His luck would not hold out much longer. Kevin yawned at him, then took a sip of coffee before he said a sleepy apology.
Kevin Patel looks terrible, Peter thought to himself.
He shook his hand and said, "I'd better get on with it. I have a long drive ahead."
"Are you sure that you don't want to sleep before you go," Kevin stopped him to ask.
"No…no it's fine, but thanks." He prepared to turn. As he did so, Kevin pushed his headset to activate it. He had an incoming call.
Peter's heart started to speed up.
Yes, he said to himself, it was clearly time to go. Without another word, Peter quickly made his way to the other room, then through the kitchen. His steps quickened as the back door came within an arm's reach.
"Wilson!" Peter heard his last name called out by the lips of Kevin Patel. Peter's body stiffened. He had been found out.
"Wilson," his name was called again, "You forgot something." Kevin's voice floated to his back.
Peter started to smile a real smile of relief. He exhaled the breath that he was holding.
"What did I forget?" He asked as he turned around still smiling.
"To go to hell." Kevin Patel said casually, as he held the gun to Peter Wilson's face. Kevin had never had to hold a gun on anyone before. He had been surprised that his hands were as steady as a rock. Anger burned in his eyes. A group of agents slowly gathered around Peter, several had their guns out. Several looked as if they wanted to take him down to the interrogation room and beat him.
A few agents looked as if they wanted to put a bullet in his head.
They must have just found out about the ambush, Peter reasoned to himself.
Peter looked around with his mouth open. He closed it slowly and looked grim. He did not bother to ask why or to pretend to be innocent. That might send the few who did not wish that they could kill him over the edge.
Kevin spoke on his headset as he looked hatefully at the man before him. "Yes, Captain Magoro, we have him."
Peter frowned, and cursed under his breath as he exhaled noisily. Finally, he lowered his head.
Sherlock was startled and groggily raised his eyes to open them. He gasped at first then settled his body. Everything seemed to have a hazy edge to it. Voices seemed far away. His mind was foggy but coming back to him. He just needed to sleep. He felt his body being rocked back and forth.
Was he still on the boat?
No. Carried.
He was being carried.
He fought to open his eyes, to turn his eyes to see John, to see Mycroft but did not see them. He was not even strong enough to turn his head. They must be walking beside him just outside of his field of vision, his tired mind reasoned. Above him were the faces of some men who were carrying him. Must be Mycroft's men.
Where was Thomas, Sherlock wondered.
He received another dose of medication. As his eyes became heavier, he thought that he heard the sound of a loud engine.
Not boat.
Not train.
Aircraft. An aircraft.
This did not concern Sherlock, he was safe with John and Mycroft. Thomas was there, as well. They would take care of everything. He was safe.
Sherlock's eyes closed.
One thought ushered him into sleep.
"Safe."