Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 70

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. s.

Notes:

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.

Love to all.

* Part II The Rook.

"The world is round, and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning."~Ivy Baker Priest

Sherlock slammed his opened palm into the wall. His head and face was leaning heavily on the wall. He did not notice that he subconsciously leaned his head against John's head. Their bodies were opposite to one another. Sherlock voice was muffled by the wall.

"I don't have friends John."

"Yeah, you do. More than a few now. I'll like to include myself even though, what we have, goes beyond friendship. I've accepted that a long time ago. You're like a brother to me." John let go of his suit lapel now and put his hands on his shoulders, gently turning his face from the wall.

Sherlock's legs either gave out, or he did not have the will to stand anymore. John would never know which one it was that caused him to slide down the wall, and come to settle on the floor within seconds.

Using the same wall, John slid down next to him. He sat shoulder to shoulder with his friend. He patted his leg and sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Sherlock looked away from John. His face was heavy with emotion. "John," there was a pause. "I'm… What I mean is…"

"It's nothing," Johns said. Sherlock looked at him now as they wordlessly communicated apologies and acceptance.

"Thanks for not punching me… even though I have one coming. I'm rather glad that you don't remember that part." John said with the corner of his lip turned up into a half smile.

"You hit me John?" Sherlock opened his mouth in disbelief. The spark in his eyes revealed the slightest beginning of curiosity.

"Yes, twice now. But, one time does not count, you asked me to punch you." At Sherlock's raised eyebrow, John added with a smile, "Long story."

John added, "In my defense, Sherlock; you deserved it. Besides, I was really sorry after." John looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock raised both eyebrows in amusement before saying, "You are only partially sorry and would do it again under the same circumstances. Remember who you're talking to John."

"I am curious to know what I did, however. Let's be honest. I am quite frequently offensive. If it were socially acceptable, people would attempt to punch me all the time, but never you. If you hit me every time that I became offensive, you would probably hit me every day. You never do."

Sherlock paused briefly in all seriousness. "I want to know what sent John Watson over the edge so that I will never repeat it."

John said nothing for a minute then broke into a loud laugh. Sherlock, after deciding if he should be offended or not, turned his lips up into a smile.

"We should get off the floor," John said. "Our butts will get numb."

"It is rather undignified," Sherlock said seriously. He cleared his throat. "We both know that I have never done anything undignified."

"Sure you haven't," John said under his breath. Sherlock heard him and snorted. Within seconds, both men were laughing. They remained sitting on the floor, and talked for close to an hour. Sherlock opened up. To him, it was the first time. To John it was just one of many such moments. Sherlock, however, never told John that he knew of his mother's death.

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she tiptoed back down the stairs. The boys needed their space to talk. She heard the ruckus. She was about to enter when she realized that they had stopped fighting. She was happy that they managed to sort it all out. She felt guilty about listening but told herself that she just wanted to make sure that they were okay.

She would tell Sherlock about the delivery later. It was a solid brass chess piece with a red bow and a note attached. She looked at it again; it certainly was quite lovely. She tried to remember the name of the piece.

What was it?

A Rook.

She smiled as she remembered. It was called a Rook.

A/N : More coming. Excuse me while I go collapse in a corner. Please don't forget to comment. love to all