Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 68
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 Tea, Zacha. :)
* Part II The Rook.
"The difficulties you meet will resolve themselves as you advance. Proceed, and light will dawn, and shine with increasing clearness on your path." ~ Jim Rohn
Current Day
Current Time
By the smell coming from the kitchen, he could tell that, it was close to Supper. Sherlock heard voices speaking in hushed tones. He did not open his eyes but listened as he lay on the sofa. After the morning's events, he had immediately excused himself and collapsed on the sofa in the smaller sitting room. He had not left the spot since earlier in the day, but cemented himself to the soft piece of furniture and slept. He did not want to go in his bedroom unless necessary.
"What should be done now?" Sherlock heard the woman ask.
"For the sake of his mind, he is to go back to a normal schedule; as much as anyone can while Moriarty still breathes." Mycroft said before adding, "He is still at risk. We all are. I know Sherlock. It is more dangerous to keep him locked away for any length of time, he'll simply run off. He still might. Even though…," Mycroft hesitated, "I doubt that Moriarty has given up his … obsession."
"Bloody hell," John said. He already knew what Mycroft was going to say next.
"Sorry John. He'll have to stay in the flat for at least six days while I make certain arrangements. My sympathies."
"I wish that you would not talk about me as if I am not here," a baritone bored voice was heard saying.
Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at Sherlock.
"Sorry, didn't know you were awake mate," John apologized.
"Obviously," Sherlock said with sarcasm.
"How much did you hear?" Mycroft asked.
"Enough," Sherlock sat up now wanting to ask a question. He hesitated as he looked at Irene.
Adler looked at Sherlock with sadness but then covered it with a mask of indifference. John noticed and asked. "The grounds here are beautiful. Do you want to take a short walk? If you promise not to overdo it."
Adler said nothing but smiled fondly at John. John walked over to Adler and held her hand as she rose. He took her arm as she walked out the room. Sherlock waited until they were gone.
"Will my memories of the last two years return?" He asked Mycroft.
"Yes, nothing to worry about," Mycroft said with confidence. "It might return piece- by- piece. That is preferred, or most of the memories might come back at once. If this happens, it will not be pleasant." Mycroft looked at Sherlock and sighed. "You'll have to be careful. I do not want Moriarty knowing that you are at a disadvantage."
Mycroft sighed again, more dramatically than earlier. "You must let me know when Moriarty contacts you, and he will. This might be hard for you to believe, but you do not keep things from me anymore," Mycroft smiled a real smile. "Maybe it is more accurate to say, you do not keep much from me anymore."
"You cannot do this alone. Sherlock." Mycroft said. His expression grave as if he could read his brother's mind.
"Alone is what I have," Sherlock said standing and turning to leave.
"Not any more little brother," Mycroft said quietly.
Sherlock just looked him in the eyes but did not respond to is last words. They stood there for a moment. Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft something but was unsure if he should ask. He turned to leave and walked a few steps but stopped. Mycroft watched him but said nothing.
Sherlock stood with his back to Mycroft. "Why did you put me in my old room," Sherlock asked.
"The last time you were here, you requested it. You even have some of your things in your room for when you stay overnight."
Sherlock frowned but knew that Mycroft was not untruthful.
"When do I get to go home," he asked with his back still turned.
"Tonight." He heard Mycroft say.
Sherlock nodded without turning around. He walked away without looking again.
"Where's Mummy?" Sherlock asked still walking, before disappearing around a corner.
"A health spa again." Mycroft replied. Sherlock did not see his frown.
Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade and even Molly were there to greet him when he returned home. He pretended not to notice their worried glances and the fact that they seemed uncomfortable. They seemed not to want to say the wrong things. This fact irritated him more. To most people, the flat would have appeared the same. However, Sherlock was not most persons.
He noticed little things that seemed to be in odd places. He noticed a few more wrinkles than he remembered, on Mrs. Hudson's kind face. He noticed the two pounds that Lestrade now carried that he did not carry before. He also had a few more gray hairs. He noticed the extra crease on John's forehead when he frowned and changes in his more muscular body. He noticed the way that Molly did not shy away from eye contact with him anymore. He noticed the small pieces of furniture in different places. There were experiments that were begun that he did not remember beginning. There were also experiments that he remembered being in the middle of that were no longer there.
Every out of place detail punctuated the fact in his mind that he did not belong any longer.
Everyone sat talking, but Sherlock was still and quiet.
John had sensed his discomfort, and politely shooed everyone away.
"Sherlock you okay," John finally asked.
"Yes," Sherlock answered curtly as he walked to his room and closed the door behind him. Once in his room he walked over to his chair and sat thinking with his hands in the prayer position. He became lost in the comfort of his own mind. He would not emerge from that room for two days.
John would not stop worrying for those two days.
When Sherlock emerged, he was more like himself. He had not left the flat for two days, it would be three more days of confinement. John had to admit to himself that Sherlock was doing well for Sherlock. They resumed their familiar banter. Molly brought over body parts as Sherlock demanded. She did remind him that he asked sometimes now, not demanded. He pretended that he did not hear her comment.
"Sherlock, what do you want to eat today for supper." Sherlock heard John over his shoulder as he looked through his microscope and ignored him.
"Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare ignore me. I'm not stupid. We're in the same room, how could you possibly not hear me!" John was trying to be patient, but he had not had to deal with this version of Sherlock for nearly two years.
"Not hungry," Sherlock's voice sang. "And as for your intelligence, best not to discuss that subject, don't you think?" Sherlock changed the slide with another one. He never noticed the scowl on John's face.
Suddenly Sherlock's mobile rang. On the third ring, Sherlock said in an annoyed voice, "John, don't you hear the ringing?"
"Sherlock you're right next to it!"
"I'm busy," The Consultant Detective said calmly.
John stared for a moment. He mumbled to himself something about living with a man-child as he marched over to the mobile. He hit the connect button a little more forcefully than necessary and then put the mobile to Sherlock's ear. After a brief conversation with Molly, he hung up and headed for the door.
A ping sound alerted Sherlock to the fact that a new text was waiting. He looked at the Smartphone and exclaimed loudly, "Excellent," His fingers danced across the mobile keys as he walked toward the door. John frowned as he followed.
"Where do you think you're going?" John asked as he followed.
"Out," was the clear reply.
"No," John said as he moved in front of the door blocking his way.
Sherlock put his coat on while he ignored John's position. "I need to get out of this flat for a minute; I'm just going to get some cigarettes."
"You don't even smoke anymore," Sherlock was growing more irritated by the minute. "Fine! Patches then." He moved toward the door again.
"You don't use those anymore either," John quickly held up his hand, "But… The patches are a better alternative. I'll see if Mycroft can send a man to get it."
"I need them now," Sherlock whined.
John frowned, "Promise you'll stay if I go. No tricks, I want to hear you say the words."
Sherlock sighed, "I won't leave this building until you return, I promise nothing beyond that John Watson," Sherlock said with mild irritation.
"I'll take that," John said quickly before Sherlock could change his mind. A few minutes later, John was telling Mrs. Hudson that he was popping out for a minute.
Sherlock took off his coat and smiled to himself as he whispered to the air, "I did not promise that I would stay in the flat, however." He smirked. He first quickly searched the flat for the normal places that he would hide an emergency cigarette. He huffed loudly when he found none.
"Ah," he said out loud. "Foyer." He had hidden three cigarettes there. He opened the door and quickly ran down the stairs. John would be returning soon, and he would not be happy to find him with a cigarette in his hand.
He made a quick work of his search. All the places that he hid his, I need a fag or I will die, stash were empty. He had one last place to look. One cigarette should have been tape under the frame of the picture, on the wall, in a slit that he cut in the backing. He lifted the heavy frame from the wall and turned it around to look when a throat being cleared behind him caused his body to freeze.
He turned around and saw Mrs. Hudson with her arms crossed and a sour expression on her face.
His mind calculated the possibility of his deception working.
Sixty percent.
He looked at Mrs. Hudson as her eyebrows rose further.
Well, maybe forty-five percent, he thought.
He put his best smile on his face. His brain ran through his possible responses to her nonverbal accusation. He would be insulted except for the small and annoying fact that she was correct.
He could lie, distract, or simply refuse to justify what he was doing; he was a grown man after all! Sherlock looked at Mrs. Hudson increasingly angry face. Sherlock frowned.
Lie it is.
Now the plan.
Compliment. "Mrs. Hudson you look smashing, is that a new dress?" Remember to smile.
Get sympathy. "I was so bored up in my flat, John was off doing something, and I came down." Lose smile and look sad, but, not too sad. That was the partial truth after all.
More sympathy. "I was coming to see you. I haven't been eating or sleeping well, and I would love one of your teacakes." Technically, not a lie. Her eyebrows are raise, and she wants to smile. Rate of success has now increased to eighty-five percent.
Elicit gratitude. "The picture seemed as if it would come off the wall… so…I was making sure that it was secure." Sherlock said in his most innocent voice. Mrs. Hudson snorted her disbelief. She followed with a sigh then a smile. She would pretend to believe him. One hundred percent.
Ah Success!
"Come on you sod, I have those teacakes that your dreaming about."
Sherlock allowed a real smile as he followed her into her flat. He had opened her refrigerator and picked out a particularly tasty looking cake and ate it standing up. He ate another one before he realized it and sat and listened to Mrs. Hudson as she gossiped about the neighbors. She seemed to be determined to let him know the going ons for the last two years. He sighed but listened. He could probably tolerate the chatter for another fifteen minutes. By then John should be back. He was quite fond of her, she reminded him of his mother.
"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said before she could start talking again. "What is my Mother's current number? I called her mobile, but it seems that her number has changed. Since, I do not have access to the last two years of my memories, I thought you would know. If not I can ask John upon his return." Sherlock took out his mobile to program the new number into his mobile phone.
He smirked, "I hate to interrupt her spa time. All that seaweed to have died for nothing." He looked at Mrs. Hudson who had been looking at the wall. His smile faded.
"Mrs. Hudson?"
"Well dear, I, um must have misplaced it," Mrs. Hudson suddenly would not look him in the eyes.
She quickly got up and went to turn off the burner and to get the kettle. Sherlock's strong arm clasped her arms. This physically stopped her movement.
"Mrs. Hudson," he said again. He was trying to see her eyes. She was trying not to look at him.
Sherlock gave her arms a slight shake. Mrs. Hudson started to cry. Not because the gentle movement hurt her, Sherlock would die before he hurt her. The tears were because she had finally looked into the eyes of the young man that she considered to be her own son. When she did, she knew that he knew. Sherlock just stared at her for a moment with a blank face.
"I see," He finally said.
"Sherlock dear, I…"
Sherlock cut her off abruptly, "It's alright Mrs. Hudson. Death is an unpleasant fact. It is illogical to think that she would live forever. She was ill. Although, I did believe that she was getting better," his speech faltered for a moment as he patted her comfortingly on the back.
Mrs. Hudson dried her tears. Unfortunately, new tears replace them. "It's a biological fact Mrs. Hudson. No need for such an emotional display. I'm… fine." His speech faltered for the second time. "A biological certainty," he said more quietly.
"Well, I am in the middle of an experiment, I'd better be off," he said as he gave her a quick kiss. Mrs. Hudson nodded at his fake smile. She noticed that it did not cover the pain in his eyes.
Sherlock walked quickly and ran up the stairs taking two at a time despite the protest of his healing body. He walked in the flat and shut the door that stayed open most of the time.
His hands shook slightly. He pretended not to notice.