Forgotten Memories Chapter 72, a sherlock fanfic

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 72

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. Don't forget to comment.**

T rated some future chapters may be M

*** Part III The Rook.***

"There is a little boy inside the man who is my brother. Oh, how I hated that little boy. And how I love him

too." ~ Anna Quindlan

Mycroft blinked a few times as he looked at his brother. He was pressed up against the wall with Sherlock's hand gripping firmly onto his shirt's collar. Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's hand then his brother's face that was only a breath away.

A moment of silence passed.

"Is there some reason for this temporary increase in your level of insanity, dear brother or is this to be a normal event." Mycroft asked calmly.

"You manipulative, arrogant, self important, conceited, egotistical, sodden twit." Sherlock hissed.

"It's like looking at a mirror is it not, brother dear." Mycroft lost his false smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Which health spa is Mummy currently residing in?" Sherlock asked with seething anger.

"Ah," Mycroft said. "It's not what you think. You have memory loss so let me explain…"

"Explain!" Sherlock growled then let go of his brother and took two steps back. "There's nothing to explain or justify your constant need to control me."

"Sherlock, if you'll hear me out…"

"What for?" Sherlock said with a voice that was immediately and falsely calm. "It's apparent what this is about, control." The softness of his brother's voice stung Mycroft more than his previously boisterous words.

Mycroft thinned his lips into a straight line but said nothing. Sherlock huffed and continued to speak.

"Control." He took a step toward his brother again but did not touch him. "Your anal retentive need to control everyone and everything around you, including yourself." Sherlock had a false smile now. "But, even you dear brother cannot control every little thing." Sherlock made a point of catching his brother's eyes. He then made a point of looking at Mycroft's ring that he still wore on his finger even after all these years. Sherlock now looked back into his brother's eyes. Mycroft was silenced. His gentle words and implications had cut Mycroft deeper than if Sherlock had hit him. Mycroft, in fact, would have preferred a physical slap to this more intimate pain. He stared at the wall next to his brother now.

"Mycroft you do not control my life. You have no right."

"I have every right!" Mycroft's face turned a shade of red.

His brother's voice held such venom and bitterness that Sherlock was silenced. A part of Sherlock knew that he had gone too far, and he regretted that fact. Sherlock looked into the eyes of his older brother. He now saw the rubble that his words had made out of Mycroft's soul. This, although it did not take Sherlock's anger away, did make him ashamed.

Mycroft," Sherlock started to say more gently.

"Listen!" His normally unflappable brother was obviously not in a mood to be trifled with. "Do I need to remind you, of who has always been left to pick up the pieces, in the wake of the path of destruction that is, Sherlock Holmes? Last time our mother became ill, and we almost lost her, what happened, Sherlock?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I did not do it Mycroft." Sherlock said suddenly quiet.

"Because John stopped you! Over four years of being drug free, and you were about to give it all up, for what? Emotions." Mycroft said the word emotions as though it was a poison. "It's a wonder that the good Doctor did not pack his bags then and there and leave!"

Sherlock flinched at the words and lowered his eyes. He was no longer able to look at his brother.

Mycroft took a deep breath and his voice volume lowered. He regained his control, however, tenuous that control might have been. "I, however, must concede the point that at least a part of you must have wanted John to stop you." Mycroft chuckled mirthlessly, "As you were kind enough to point out, even I cannot control every little thing."

Sherlock's own words came back to slap him.

Sherlock forced himself to look into his brother's eyes. "We both know that I have been clean for over five years and have not used heavily since Cambridge." Sherlock hesitated. "That is to say, the five years that I remember. I regret that because of the lost of my memory, I cannot comment on the last two years."

"You've been clean during the last two years," Mycroft admitted. "Even though you did have one danger night, you told John, and he stayed with you, it passed. There was another night of, shall we call it, concern. However, I again must acknowledge the fact that you have managed to stay clean. I understand that your past had its… difficulties, but you cannot destroy yourself. I will not allow you to destroy yourself. I suppose that all things considered, you have coped better than most would have. You're strong Sherlock."

Mycroft had a small smile for the first time since their talk. "I am actually quite proud of you, although if you repeat this fact, I will be forced to deny it."

"I do not intend to repeat that part of my life Mycroft," Sherlock said as he stood grimly by Mycroft.

Mycroft examined his brother. Sherlock frowned but allowed Mycroft to. Mycroft sighed.

"You do not intend to repeat that part of your life, you say." Mycroft was silent for a moment.

"Really?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and walked around his now still brother.

"What happened between you and John then when you were trying to leave last night?" Mycroft asked quietly.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft strangely, his eyes held betrayal. "No, John never said a word, but your little chat was not exactly quiet. My agent had to intercept a call electronically, that was placed to the police. A passerby thought that a murder was being committed with all the yelling that was taking place."

"You still should have told me Mycroft. No matter what, I had a right to know. I had a right." Sherlock's voice was a whisper now.

Mycroft walked close to his brother now without touching.

"Mummy is fine," Mycroft smiled.

"I… I don't understand?" Sherlock stuttered.

"Over a year ago during the worst of her illness, your sources relayed a threat to you. It was to be carried out against someone that you cared about. We both have powerful enemies, and in her weakened state, we thought it would be best to hide her away. She almost died so we allowed everyone to believe that she had actually died. During that same period of time, you had to…,"

Mycroft seemed to be searching for words. This fact was not lost on Sherlock. "… Go away suddenly. You left believing that she was dying. You did not learn that she was alive and well until a few weeks after your return."

"It was your idea Sherlock, your plan. You instructed me not to tell you about her location until you've taken care of a… pressing matter." Mycroft caught his brother's eyes.

Mycroft smirked. "I never lied to you Sherlock. She actually was at a spa. However, I did lie, to her. I never told her that you were missing for five weeks. She thought that you were off on one of your undercover assignments again. I also did not tell her that you were recovering from injuries. We both know if I had, I would not have been able to keep her away from England or you. Our enemies would have been aware that she lived. She would no longer be protected, and that was rather the point."

The only thing that Sherlock focused on during Mycroft's speech about their mother was one thing, three words.

"Mummy is fine?"

"Yes, Sherlock. She is fine."

Well," Sherlock cleared his throat.

"That's…"

"Good…"

"That's… very…"

"Good."

Mycroft voice softened as he looked at his brother. "We'll discuss more later, I think that is enough for now. These emotional… things… are quite draining. I do not understand how people deal with it from day-to-day"

"Nor do I," Sherlock said as he gave a half smile, and then frowned instantly.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He stepped toward his brother again, invading his personal space. Mycroft looked at Sherlock with curiosity. Sherlock then wordlessly tried to straighten Mycroft's crooked tie and brushed his suit off. Sherlock frowned as he looked at the collar of Mycroft's designer shirt that he had torn when he grabbed then pushed him to the wall. He took his fingers and pushed the torn edges up toward Mycroft's necktie. It had stayed in place for a second or two before gravity won the battle. Both brothers watched as the shirt collar's torn edge slowly fell down again and hung apart from its seam.

Sherlock sighed then looked at Mycroft contritely.

"Mycroft… I may well have said … some things that … I mean I have said some things that upon reflection, I might have regret… I do regret. If I have caused you distress, I am …"

Mycroft partially put him out of his misery. "I know Sherlock."

Nevertheless, Mycroft did not intend to put Sherlock completely out of his misery.

Mycroft was silent for a moment. He thought then added, "However, I won't make it that easy this time, little brother."

"You probably forced yourself to adapt a temporary exhibit of angelic behavior because of your rescue."

Sherlock did not answer.

Mycroft continued. "Due to this little, shall we say, misunderstanding, I expect an extension of that good behavior."

Mycroft took a step toward his brother, ignoring Sherlock's frown. "How much time did you talk yourself into?" Sherlock fidgeted under Mycroft's scrutiny but said nothing.

"Let me guess, you started with a month then whittled your way down to a week." At the guilty look in Sherlock's eyes, Mycroft deduced the truth.

"Days?" Mycroft asked with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock was strangely silent and found the floor suddenly fascinating.

"I expect you to add another three weeks." Mycroft said firmly.

Sherlock groaned. "Mycroft, that's unreasonable!"

"You're right, four weeks are more …"

"One week," Sherlock countered quickly

"Two weeks, and not a day less." Mycroft said firmly.

"Agreed," Sherlock, said between gritted teeth.

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother. Sherlock then changed his tone to one of sugary sweetness and said, "Of course, brother dear."

"Better," Mycroft said.

Sherlock added, "Um… Sorry about your shirt."

"Don't worry Sherlock; I am getting another one tailored. You're paying for it, of course."

Sherlock simply nodded.

Half an hour later, John walked into the flat expecting the worse. Instead of seeing Mycroft with a bloodied nose as he had expected. He saw Sherlock getting tea for his brother. Even more bizarre was the fact that Mycroft's shirt collar was torn, and they were both ignoring that little detail.

Mycroft waited for Sherlock to sit and after Sherlock took a sip of tea. He heard Mycroft say.

"May I have cream brother dear?"

Sherlock stopped drinking his tea and nodded with an obviously strained smile as he reached for the cream. Mycroft interrupted as he said sweetly. "Not that cream Sherlock, I think it has turned. I need fresh cream."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue the fact that he had just put the cream on the table ten minutes before, but stopped. He closed his mouth at the look from his brother. Sherlock simply nodded and rose to get the cream from the kitchen. Sherlock returned minutes later and poured the cream into Mycroft's tea.

Mycroft nodded his thanks. Sherlock nodded a, you are welcome, and then sat to take another sip of his tea.

Sherlock crossed his legs and sat back to relax. As he brought the cup to his lips, he heard.

"Brother dear, it would be so agreeable to have that newspaper over there, the Daily Star."

"You don't read the Daily Star," Sherlock said between gritted teeth.

"I do now," Mycroft said with a real smile.

Sherlock's mouth twitched as he nodded and said "Yes, brother dear."

John looked as the two brothers interacted; he was eventually able to move. He walked over to the couch and sat down. Soon after, he realized that, it would be a splendid idea to close his opened mouth.

An hour later and after their talk, Mycroft left.

John waited until he heard the door close. John looked at Sherlock who was standing after making sure that Mycroft made it safely down the stairs, and waved goodbye.

John looked at Sherlock curiously. His mouth twisted as he thought. "You waved goodbye to your brother."

"Yes, yes I did." Sherlock said calmly.

"You got him the paper when Mycroft asked without even raising your voice," John commented quietly.

"Sherlock, why did you get the tea for your brother, and the newspaper?" John turned his upper body around while still sitting as he looked at Sherlock. "Are you feeling guilty about something?"

Sherlock put his hands on his hips. "Is it so unusual for me to be nice?"

John burst out laughing. After a moment, he wiped his tears while still laughing. Because of the annoyed look on Sherlock's face, his laughter died down as he asked.

"Oh sorry, you were serious?" John paused and thought. He now pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as he hesitantly replied.

"Well…" John started to say looking away from Sherlock now.

"Don't answer that." Sherlock mumbled rapidly.

John raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. He then picked up his cup and resumed reading.

Life with Sherlock was certainly not boring, John thought as he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice as she came up the stairs.

"Yoo-hoo," The smaller woman's voice sang. She entered the flat as she went into the kitchen and put the kettle to boil. "I made sandwiches and soup. It is on an eat off tray. Can you carry it love, my hip is acting up."

"No problem," John said, already half way out the door. He quickly retreated down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson dried her hand on a towel in the kitchen and walked over to Sherlock who was still standing leaning against the wall by the door. He was not talking but seemed to be taking everything in. She stood and looked at him for a moment before walking over.

"Everything alright Sherlock?"

He looked down at the older woman and smiled a small smile. "Yes, I'm fine. No need for concern." His face was serious, but his voice was soft.

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows; this caused a small smile from the Consultant Detective. "I just have a lot to process."

Mrs. Hudson nodded "I'm just glad that you did not wallop your brother during your little scrap."

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows. Mrs. Hudson changed her words. "I meant during your talk."

Sherlock continued to look at Mrs. Hudson curiously.

"Oooow," Mrs. Hudson pulled a box from her apron pocket. It was small with an attached note. Mrs. Hudson did not mention the fact that she had already peeked. "I almost forgot," She placed the box in Sherlock's hand. "It came when you were having a scrap…" She noticed Sherlock's face. "I mean talk with John last night."

Mrs. Hudson's face took on a serious look. "You know Sherlock dear; you've been having a lot of talks since you've been home."

John came up and walked through the door just as Sherlock picked up the box, opened it, and then looked in. Sherlock frowned as his long fingers cautiously picked up the unyielding object. It was a solid brass chess piece with a red bow and a note attached.

Sherlock peripheral vision noticed John approach out of the corner of his eyes.

"What's that?" John asked simply.

Sherlock did not answer for several minutes as the room melted away and details ran back-and-forth into his mind. The unimportant details were immediately deleted. He looked at every angle of the chess piece. It was too late to call for forensic, but he knew that Scotland Yard's protocol would make them come anyway.

Sherlock briskly walked over to his desk and pulled out the drawer taking out plastic gloves and a paper opener. He then quickly and efficiently opened the envelope.

He extracted the note and carefully looked at it. The back of Sherlock's mind registered the fact that voices were talking to him. He ignored them as his full concentration was focused on the note. More information and data flowed into his mind, and was categorized. Sherlock returned the note to its envelope sleeve and frowned.

He did not notice that several more minutes had passed or that John had moved beside him or Mrs. Hudson had grown pale.

A small war battled inside of the Consultant Detective.

Who he was, did not matter. All that mattered was who he chose at that moment to become. Two opposing thoughts occurred. Two opposing statements came back to his mind.

"Alone is what I have."

"Not any more little brother."

"I don't have friends John."

"Yeah, you do. More than a few now…"

He had a choice to make, and he made it. He closed his eyes, steadied himself then opened them as he talked rapidly.

"John this is a clue, a puzzle and," Sherlock hesitated, "a warning." He looked at John for the first time. "Call Lestrade," he hesitated again then said, "and call Mycroft."

"Sherlock," John said as he came close to Sherlock and spoke quietly. "Is this Moriarty?"

"Yes, John." Sherlock answered simply.

Sherlock frowned as he glanced at the rook in his hand then he looked at John.

"What does he want? Is it a message?" John asked. He was already walking toward his mobile.

Sherlock wore a somber expression. John walked up and stood next to Sherlock now as he prepared to connect to Lestrade. Sherlock turned and looked at John now. Mrs. Hudson was standing by the door but was not trying to conceal the fact that she was listening.

"To answer your second question, the message is… game on."

Sherlock sighed.

"To answer your first question, John, what Moriarty wants is…"

"Me."

A/N: Thank you for your responses. They warmed my heart and caused my fingers to type faster. Multiple chapters coming soon but I wanted you to have this until then.

Interesting note. In BBC's series, Mycroft is shown wearing what looks like a wedding ring ((?), even though we are never given the explanation for this mystery. An interview with the creators of the series uses the word vaguely, as they do with many things. Just a curious thought. Don't take it too seriously.

Peace at all cost, Zacha.