Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 67
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.
Note: Everyone Sherlock is currently in England.
***** Important. I wrote many chapters so you know what I am about to say. (Well, write.) :)
1. Read a chapter a day. Nothing on Friday this time unless I get a burst of energy.
Or
2. Read as much as you like at one time even though that is ambitious. I was a little nervous about two of these chapters so please let me know what you think.
To my other family.
Peace and Love to all, Zacha. :)
* Part II The Rook.
Hear no evil, speak no evil - and you'll never be invited to a party" ~Oscar Wilde quotes
Sherlock shot up from his chair much too quickly and said, "That's it! What the bloody hell is going on!" He hissed between gritted teeth. The sudden movement caused him to sway on his feet. Mycroft and John rapidly rose up to help, but Sherlock's voice halted them.
"Sit!" He blinked the dizziness away and waited for everyone to sit. Adler looked with concern at Mycroft and John who seemed to be having a wordless private conversation.
Sherlock cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and put on his best, I am interrogating you now so, please, be afraid, voice.
"We will start with you, Doctor Watson," Sherlock walked slowly with his hands behind his back. "You use to not want to sit in the same room with Mycroft. Now, you took the seat next to him… willingly. He smiled at you with… dare I say it? Affection." Sherlock waved his hands in the air, "And, don't try to deny it Mycroft!"
"I wasn't going to deny it." Mycroft said a little too sweetly.
"You weren't going to deny it?" He had repeated out loud, before it occurred to him what Mycroft had actually said.
"What! Why are you not denying it?" Sherlock asked temporarily thrown .
"What other complaints do you have dear brother? Is someone playing with your toy?" Mycroft asked in a condescending and bored tone.
John would normally have argued if Mycroft said something like that in his presence, but he was silent. He looked at the mask that had dropped over Mycroft's face. He had the same voice he used when getting information out of persons before they realized what he was doing. He was testing Sherlock. The fact that Sherlock did not notice the game made John's stomach go into knots. Adler had a similar look.
"He is NOT a toy Mycroft, much less my toy!" Sherlock's left hand was on his hip while his right hand was gesturing wildly.
Mycroft pointedly looked at John. John raised an eyebrow but knew what Mycroft wanted him to do. He was purposely trying to irritate his brother, and he wanted John to join. He had grown to trust Mycroft, so he took a deep breath, and spoke.
"Sherlock you don't know what you're talking about. You're still fragile; maybe you should take a nap." John waited for it."Oy," John thought.
"TAKE A NAP?" Sherlock growled loudly. He began to pace now. "A nap indeed! Am I a sleepy child that needs a nap? I am not imagining things."
"And, since we are on the subject since when do you and Mycroft communicate wordlessly?" Sherlock stopped looking at John to fix his gaze upon Mycroft.
"Jealous?" Mycroft asked sweetly as he neatly folded his paper and leaned back in his chair smirking at Sherlock.
"I am not jealous Mycroft. I do not get jealous. It was simply an observation!" Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he turned.
"I am in a room full of nutters, of whom madam, you are the nuttiest," Sherlock slowly walked up until he was right in front of her chair.
Adler frowned and looked at Mycroft. He gave her the most discreet nod. She understood what he wanted her to do, just not why. She looked at Sherlock as her all business mask slipped into place.
"You address me as if we have some sort of relationship. Now, I understand that during our escape, I might have accidentally kissed you, but…"
"Do you accidentally kiss someone using your tongue," Irene interrupted smugly. Both Mycroft and John looked at Sherlock suddenly.
Sherlock face flushed with embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "I was drugged," he offered quietly.
She rose and got in his personal space and said smugly as she looked up at him, "You want to kiss me now don't you?" She said seductively.
"Yes." Slipped out before Sherlock realized what he said. He became angry.
"No! Of course, not, I only pursue things of the mind! The intellect. Reason. I, Ms. Adler, am married to my work." Sherlock's tone was superior and condescending.
"She looked up with equal conviction, "Married to your work? In that case, Mr. Holmes, you are an adulterer!"
He became quiet, as he looked her up and down. She knew what he was doing.
"Don't you dare deduce me!" She said through gritted teeth.
John frowned as he looked at Adler. He knew that like Sherlock she was a talented actor, but he thought that she was actually getting angry.
He bent down so that he was almost nose-to-nose with her and said in a low voice. "If I ever did become, shall we say, close to anyone, why you. The damaged little girl with Daddy issues. Did Daddy run off? Did he pop out for milk and never come back? Did Mummy run soon after? Who would have raised you? Aunt, Uncle? No, they didn't want you either. It was Grandmother dearest."
"Sherlock," John's said with a warning glance.
Sherlock ignored them. Mycroft looked at John and shook no with his head to indicate that John should not interfere. John folded his arms and frowned looking at his friend with anger. Sherlock looked pleased with himself as the pieces came together.
"But with your strong personality little Grandmother couldn't handle it so you ran away or…"
"She died," Adler was emotionless, as she helped him along.
"Of course," Sherlock said clasping his hands together under his chin. He was like a bloodhound that had caught the scent of prey. "What would you have done? You would need control, freedom, something that paid well, where you could manipulate, dominate, and cajole to feel powerful." Sherlock mind worked out the problem.
"Ah."
Sherlock looked her up and down. "A dominatrix," he paused, "interesting."
"You're, not just a dominatrix, you worked only for the wealthy and powerful. But this dominatrix had a dirty secret."
Sherlock circled his prey as he prepared to devour.
"They can look, but they cannot touch. You titillate them, dominate them, punish them, but they are not allowed to kiss or touch you. You don't have intercourse. What's the matter, you could never bring yourself to go all the way? You're just that same lonely little girl crying out for… what is the emotion… Oh yes… Love."
"Tell me are you still a virgin?" He whispered in her ears so that only she could hear it.
"Are you?" She whispered back. Sherlock frowned now and took a step back. She looked him up and down.
"My turn, dear." Adler said smoothly as a finger trailed his cheek. "From one damaged soul to another."
"The illustrious Sherlock Holmes, brave, intelligent, even fearless. Well, except, when it comes to his own emotions that is." She looked up with a smirk. "What are you, but a damaged, delusional, arrogant, and self-important, little boy in a man's body? If I am a lonely crying little girl, what are you but a lonely little boy in a corner who is sitting on the floor defiantly sucking his thumb? You're married to your work sounds noble but shall I tell your dirty little secret."
Irene moved slightly behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head to the side to see her. She continued.
"Fear. You're not afraid of bombs or guns, but you are afraid of feeling. Feeling anything. You're abrupt, and inappropriate sometimes in an attempt not to become attached, not to care. You push people away and allow no one to hurt you. John is the only one who managed to climb completely passed all the barricades in your heart. I think it is the soldier in him that made him know how to get past barricades."
"You act as if you're above us all. The poor sentimental sods who are slaves to their feelings. I don't blame you love, I used to think the same before someone showed me that I was wrong." Irene said cryptically.
"Is that why you came to me that night Mr. Holmes. Was I one of your little experiments? To conquer the virgin former-dominatrix that never had a man. Was it all just a collection of data? Was your experiment planned?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock blurted out. "It was not an experiment, and it was not planned. You know Mycroft had us on assignment in Russia…" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence.
Everyone in the room was quiet for a moment then everyone spoke at once rapidly.
"There's no permanent damage," Mycroft exhaled relieved.
"Do you remember?" Adler asked. Her anger was now forgotten.
"Sherlock?"John said.
Sherlock said nothing and did not notice Mycroft walking up. "Sherlock, is your behavior normal? You deduce everyone and thing. I need for you to deduce yourself now."
"Sherlock I had to allow you to become agitated, apologies. What do you remember Sherlock, what did you see?"
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Only a small memory, it was like a… picture. A clear picture. She and I were in a room near a fireplace overlooking a balcony in Russia," he thought further, "The room had French doors." He looked up at his brother. "I saw that one picture, nothing else."
Mycroft nodded. "What do you know about this woman?"
"She helped me in the mansion. But, other than seeing her at the mansion and here today, nothing." Sherlock said as he looked into Mycroft's eyes for the first time. Mycroft nodded. John alone noticed the look of sadness on Adler's face.
"What is your last memory before you were abducted?"
Sherlock did not answer, but his eyes widened.
"Mycroft, your newspaper, please," he said calmly with a soft voice. Mycroft walked near him. He slowly handed the paper over to Sherlock who looked immediately at the date.
"I see." Sherlock said in a barely audible voice. He quietly sat in the closest chair.
There was another moment of silence.
"My last memory was coming back to the flat after the Donavich case." Sherlock finally answered.
"But that was nearly two years ago right after you first met Moriarty at the pool, with the bomb." John said in disbelief.
All three persons looked at Sherlock. The Sherlock of five weeks ago would have had everyone rush to him now to comfort him. He would have huffed and argued, but he would have received the comfort. Even Mycroft would have at least laid a hand on his shoulder.
No one moved.
The Sherlock of two years ago would not have wanted any such displays of affection.
Nor would he have allowed himself the small comfort of accepting it or accepting them.