Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 80
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 favorites and follows.
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*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
…. The Game…
Note:
1. Addio is translated to Goodbye
2. HepLock, Heparin lock, Saline lock. (These are the most popular terms that I found in most countries and mean the same thing) It is a plastic catheter that is inserted into the vein and left there temporarily so that fluids can be given to sick or dehydrated persons. The advantage it that a top or cap can be put on the end of it, when fluids (IV) are not needed so that the person can move about freely. I will look up terms in several different countries. I use the term HepLock in the story.
*I know I said one, but here are three chapters. I hope that you enjoy.
To my other family, stay safe.
Love and coffee, Zacha
"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear."~ Mark Twain
Current Day
Current Time
"John," Sherlock blinked quickly to clear his eyes as he straightened his shaking arms.
"I see them," John said.
The space exploded with sound. The popping sound of gunfire against the rattle of an automatic weapon doubled the volume of noise.
The gunfight suddenly became more serious. White sparks and flashes of light lit the area violently.
New sounds were heard seconds later as over twenty agents flooded the space. The violent flashes of light increased.
The sound of metal piercing flesh, and random yelps of pain joined the already diverse mix of noise and sound. Despite the near deafening volume, the startled gasp of Harry Watson, as her mouth opened and eyes widened, seemed to reverberate in the space.
John's gunfire discharged three bullets in rapid succession. The pop, pop, pop sound, as the air pushed the bullets from the chamber, was followed by the loud thud of a body falling without cushion, to the unforgiving concrete floor.
Almost immediately, another guard came up behind both John and Sherlock. John did not notice because he had his back turned as he helped Sherlock to hold back a sudden rush of the remaining guards who were not shot.
"Behind," Harry said in a rushed speech. A split second glance between John and Sherlock and they both knew what they would do. John continued to shoot at the guards coming at them. Sherlock started to turn when a pop sound was heard. It came from the left side of his head.
Another thud sound was heard as a body practically fell on top of Sherlock. Harry to her credit, gasp again but did not yell.
A familiar outline of a man became clearer as he stepped closer.
"Thomas" Sherlock said with relief.
The gunfire was growing less intense now.
"Stay here while the last of Moriarty's men are dealt with." Thomas instructed as another two agents crowded into the small space. Their bodies shielded the three persons behind them. Sherlock put his trembling hands down. John wordlessly took his gun. Holmes closed his eyes briefly.
The two agents had their guns drawn and ready to discharge, but the shooting seemed to be sporadic and farther away now. They still stayed alert. Periodically, Thomas would speak into his headset.
After a few minutes, more, only random gunfire was heard. John helped Sherlock to move back more so that he could lean against the wall. He hissed from the pain. Sherlock's eyes blinked rapidly to focus. Sherlock then looked Thomas up and down as if examining him.
"It's a little soon for bruised ribs to heal Thomas." Sherlock asked with concern.
"In your famous words Mr. Holmes, I'm fine." Thomas seemed to get pleasure repeating the words that he had always found annoying.
Thomas looked the woman, Doctor Watson, and Holmes over. His eyes stopped at Holmes.
"Mr. Holmes?" Thomas began to ask.
"I'm…" Everyone waited for him to say fine. He instead said, "Functional." Sherlock looked at John who had opened a mouth. He thought better and closed it again.
"Thanks for not shooting me this time," Thomas said with his mouth turned up into a smile.
"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?" Sherlock asked with a moan.
Thomas smiled but did not answer. "It's a good thing that you knew that I had on the bulletproof vest."
It was Sherlock's turn not to answer. Suddenly, Thomas' earphone chimed once. He pushed the side button to answer it.
A brief conversation took place. John and Harry were already helping Sherlock up. The two agents changed places with John and Harry. Their goal was to get out quickly, even if they had to carry Holmes.
One agent put an arm under Holmes left shoulder, the other under the right and they pulled. Thomas and John took their guns out and pointed.
Stay close Ms. Watson, Thomas said. She nodded as they started to move. They slowly made their way down the corridors and then finally out the building. Agents outside had weapons trained in the direction of the running group. Holmes was practically carried as they moved quickly.
The group was deposited behind the barricade of cars.
Thomas activated his earphone and made a call. The other phone line was answered. "Mr. Holmes, your brother is cleared from the building."
The other line was silent for a moment. "How does he appear?" Mycroft asked.
Thomas took a moment before he answered. He looked at Holmes who despite having his eyes closed, threatened anyone who came within a yard of him. He had insisted that they care for Watson and his sister instead.
Watson was arguing back with Sherlock. Ms. Watson just seemed to be randomly rattling. Thomas thought he heard the woman say something about the need for a proper bottle of wine. Watson now turned his attention and voice volume to her.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Quite a bit of drama is taking place, Sir. Your brother is refusing medical care per usual. Watson is trying to influence the matter. Stand by Sir."
The medic was about to administer a strong medication to Watson to slow down the spread of the poison. It was very harsh on the body but necessary.
Sherlock suddenly raised his voice. "Don't give him anything but fluids. Nothing! Is that understood?" He had somehow found the strength to stagger the short distance to John. His hands had a death grip on the wrist of the medic with the needle in her hand. "Is that clear?" Sherlock repeated. Despite the slight sway, and his weakening voice, he was an imposing enough figure to make her immediately put the injection down.
Everyone was suddenly quiet.
Sherlock smirked. It was unclear whom he was addressing, "Do you really think that a Master Criminal would make it that easy." Sherlock swayed more as the short burst of adrenaline was gone.
Thomas ran over to Holmes as another medic managed to catch the Consultant Detective. Holmes blinked a few times and shook his head. This earned him a grimace as pain radiated from his head to neck. Sherlock's eyes roamed around the group that was intently watching him silently. His eyes came to rest on the medic that was holding him.
Sherlock looked at the medic and said. "I hope you know that this does not mean that we are friends. Try to put anything in or on me and I will return the favor." Sherlock put on a sugary sweet smile.
The medic quickly took his hands off Holmes after helping him to sit on the edge of one of the three trolleys that materialized behind the men and Harry.
The medics looked at Doctor Watson for confirmation that that was what he wanted.
"Do exactly as he says," John said to the medic as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock nodded so slightly that if one were not looking it would have been missed.
The activity and voices increased again.
Thomas disconnected the line before looking to his right. "Sir."
Mycroft looked at Sherlock. He wanted to rush to him but adjusted his behavior based on the fact that two years ago he would have to give his brother time to vent and be a terror.
Thomas turned to Mycroft and said, "Doctor Watson had apparently been poisoned. Slow acting. Holmes started to give us a list of additives that he tasted in the poison. Two are unknown." Thomas texted some keys quickly and pushed send. The information was quickly transferred to Anthea, Mycroft, and Agent Burks. Burks was the chemist working on their own version of an antidote. They however knew that time was against them.
"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends It gives a lovely light."~ Edna St. Vincent Millay
It was dark now, which was in and of itself not necessarily odd. The odd thing was that it had just been daylight a second ago. It was a second ago, wasn't it. Not exactly daylight but early evening.
He did remember that much at least, didn't he? Disjointed memories came to him.
Window… Cloudy skies… Sun low in the sky… Warm coffee… Now, cold coffee… Asleep at his desk - Again… Walking… Pain… Dark… Dark.
He tried to concentrate. Thoughts came to his mind. The thoughts seemed to be swimming as if in thick taffy, still those thoughts managed to finally fight their way into his conscious mind. The wool of mind fog cleared, but only slightly.
Home.
It was home that he was trying to go to, wasn't it?
Yes. It was to the flat.
Probably.
No, definitely. It was the flat.
He could remember all this but still could not work out what day it was. It was Wednesday, definitely Wednesday. Well, maybe, Thursday… Friday at the very latest.
Yes.
Now he remembered; it was Friday.
The day of the week still did not explain a few things.
It did not explain the sensations that he felt. What was the sensation? It was in the back of his mind.
Think… Think.
Cold.
Something was cold. What was cold? His body.
He just had to think. He had worked out that it was Friday, that was progress, wasn't it.
It was Friday.
Being Friday did not explain why he felt his body pressed against a cold surface. He was fairly sure of this because he felt the shaking. Yes, he was sure that it was cold. He was also fairly sure that something wet was on the left side of his face. Now that he thought further, several places on his body was wet as well. Those places were even colder than everywhere else on his person. He was still puzzled by the fact that it was dark.
Noises came to him now. The noises did not make sense.
Concentrate.
He had to concentrate.
Why was it so hard to concentrate?
Nausea rolled inside of him. He was supposed to do something important.
Turn.
He had to turn. It was probably critical.
He tried to roll over, but couldn't move. Was he doing it wrong? He felt something pressing into him, forcing him, pushing him toward the cold. Something was moving his body. Bad idea noise. The nausea increased. What was pressing him? Hands. Maybe, it was hands. The pressure increased now.
The noises came again. He concentrated.
"… Hold him… Fighting…. Starting to wake…," the noise said.
He stopped concentrating. It was making his head hurt more. His head was hurting. He was proud of himself for figuring out that fact.
He should probably say something to the noise. He had to concentrate. He had to say something.
I think I am going to vomit, roll me over please, noise.
"… Did he groan… He looks green… Better turn him…," the noise said.
Not what he wanted to say but close enough.
There was a violent shift then a different kind of pressure. He did not feel like vomiting any longer.
He thought about the strange darkness again. He realized that it was pulling him deeply into itself. As the noise faded along with his mottled thoughts, he realized that he did not have the will or energy to resist its pull.