Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 81
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.
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*****.***Warning this chapter M just in case, Violence.****. ****
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…. The Game…
Note: Addio is translated to Goodbye
To my other family, stay safe.
"Fear cannot take what you do not give it." ~Christopher Coan
Current Day
Current Time
Harry was on her way to the hospital for observations, with Mycroft's men beside her. She had told them that she was fine, and all she needed was a few stitches to her hairline and a good haircut.
John could not help the smile. That was Harry. His smile vanished as he looked to his left.
Sherlock sat back with the dreaded orange shock blanket over him. He surprisingly had allowed the medics to help him into the back of the ambulance. It was obvious that Holmes had just been resting, and had no intentions of going to the hospital, but wanted to stay by John's side. John lay on the trolley with a liter of IV fluids and an IV HepLock inserted into his left arm. His eyes were closed but John was not fooled. He was simply shutting the world out. He had refused treatment or even a heart monitor. He did take water and the blanket however.
John had been chattering on about something. He probably should say something now, Holmes thought. The appropriate time had passed that John would realize that he had stopped listening fifteen minutes ago. Sherlock sighed. John's voice floated toward him.
"… Sherlock, you have been, knocked about, and electrocuted. You need a hospital. We have the antidote. We don't need the code, we can just pry open the box."
"I know John, I was there!" Sherlock's rough voice responded with irritation. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a moment to take a few deep breaths. He now opened his eyes and focused on John.
"John…" Sherlock took the small silver box out of John's hands. "Look at the box, really look."
The tiny container had not left their side. Sherlock had not even allowed an agent to take it.
John frowned and looked at the tiny box. He took it back from Sherlock's hands. It was a rectangular shaped silver box that looked almost like a mini lock box. The front had a locked hinge door, with what appeared to be a panel with numbered buttons that ranged from zero through the number nine. Seven of the buttons had different colors. Three were colored white. John frowned as he noticed four different colored wires almost perfectly hidden that ran briefly out the box, to the corner and back into the box again. He had not noticed them before.
John looked at Sherlock.
"Smell it John," Sherlock said with a gentle voice.
John did. Something was pulling at the back of his mind. Something familiar. John closed his eyes and smelled it again, thinking.
Sand… Unrelenting sun… Sun damaged dry skin… Heat so hot that it could be tasted… Words spoken in Pashto… Sometimes, words spoken in Dari Persian… Children smiling and playing… Him smiling… Children with unseeing eyes… His smile gone… Heart racing… Falling to the ground for cover… Gunfire, explosions, and women screaming.
Explosions.
John's eyes flew open.
Shit.
John wondered if he thought the word or said it.
"Indeed," Sherlock responded.
He had said it.
"I was rather hoping that you proved me wrong John, just this once," Sherlock's mouth corner turned up into a tired smile. "I'm sure it would have made your day."
"It's what you think it is Sherlock." John had been already deep in thought.
"A small amount of explosive. The four wires indicate some sort of radio signal. It is probably activated by cell phone, or if an incorrect code is entered." Sherlock thought. "We could find a way to block the radio signal, a bit risky but doable. To work out the code is near impossible in such a short period of time without more data. If we try to open it, the small explosion destroys the vial with the antidote."
Sherlock smirked with irritation. "Elegant."
Sherlock dry wiped his face. John looked on worriedly. It was not like Sherlock to display his frustration so openly. It was as if his defenses were down. They both ignored the fact that even though The Consultant Detective's hands were shaking less, they were shaking. John had to convince Sherlock of the very real need for medical care. John also knew that as long as his life was in danger, Sherlock would not rest. If it was a reversal of roles, John knew that he would do the same.
"I need to think more… formulate a plan… my mind is too mottled." Sherlock felt a slight wave of nausea that quickly retreated. He frowned. Sherlock grimaced as he threw off the shock blanket and climbed out of the ambulance. He held on tightly to the edge of the ambulance doors as he climbed down.
"Sherlock?" John's alarmed voice questioned.
Sherlock stood with his feet flat on the ground as his body stiffened. He put his hand down quickly. He had forgotten.
"Sherlock, Let me see your hand," John said abruptly. John had already gotten off the trolley and was by Sherlock's side. His intravenous fluids tubing pulled dangerously tight at his hand.
Thoughts raced through Sherlock mind at a diminished but still incredibly fast rate.
Deny?
Distract?
Get angry, hope he'll retreat?
Lie?
This is John, no lies.
Distract then. "John this is not the time for this. Lie down and be still. I told you before; I am fin… I mean functional." Sherlock added his most condescending glare for good measure.
John raised an eyebrow as he grabbed Sherlock's hand without asking.
"Sherlock, you said that you weren't bitten!"
"Medic!" John shouted as he looked at the swollen patch of angry red skin on the back of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulled his hand away. John was undeterred. He took three quick seconds to skillfully disconnect and put a cap on his IV HepLock port. John was now free to move around. It was probably too late for some treatments. John's mind raced as he switched into medical mode.
"THIS is why I did not tell you John. You're overreacting." Sherlock whined. "I was not bitten!"
"Forty minutes to death is NOT overreacting Sherlock, Whoops, I meant fifteen bloody minutes!"
There were suddenly two Medics around and Mycroft, Thomas, Anthea and two other agents were moving at an alarming pace in his direction.
"Antivenin!" John asked. "Did it arrive yet?" John moved around with an injection to Sherlock sleeve. It would slow down his body processes until the antivenin arrived. John almost saw fear in Sherlock eyes.
"No John! Wait!" Sherlock said with one hand in front of his body.
John would normally have ignored him and injected the shot through his clothing if necessary but the look in Sherlock's eyes stopped him.
The eyes and… Fear? Was it a flash of fear?
"What is going on with you two?" Mycroft asked in his most authoritative voice. Only John and Sherlock noted the undercurrent of something else. John believed that it was, concern.
"The antivenin is here Sir, they are running it to us." Thomas said.
"How long," Mycroft asked simply.
"Seven to eight minutes," Thomas said grimly.
"Make it five," Mycroft said.
Thomas took a few steps away and talked on his earphone.
"John, look at my hand. Put the needle down John." Sherlock still eyed the injection warily.
"I keep the injection! Give me your bloody hands Sherlock Holmes. Now!"
Sherlock quickly complied.
John took Sherlock's outstretched hand. The swelling of the hand seemed to have gotten bigger in that short time. Everyone was stretching their necks to get a good luck at his hand. How humiliating, Sherlock thought. He loved to be the centre of attention when he was making a brilliant deduction, but not for something like this.
"Talk!" John said with irritation.
Sherlock sighed. "When I had a grab for the keys, I was grazed. The fang sort of grazed my skin." At the look on several faces, he quickly added. "It did not break the skin John, I promise. You see no fang marks, do you?"
John ignored Sherlock for a moment as he carefully examined his hand. It was odd. There was a small scratch but there were no fang marks, yet, the skin itself acted as if it had somehow gotten the toxins into it.
"I don't like this Sherlock. You're having a very odd reaction. Maybe, you should take the antivenin just as a precaution."
"John that's not necessary, this is just a small inflammatory reaction." Sherlock's voice seemed stressed.
"This is not small Sherlock!" John's voice was equally stressed.
"The antivenin is here Sir," Thomas said. Another agent's rapid breathing was heard to the left of them both. Neither man noticed. Their eyes were locked and they had a wordless and private conversation.
John, do as I ask no matter what. I'll explain later. Trust me.
A moment passed.
You'd better be right Sherlock, or I will follow and haunt you in the afterlife.
"Doctor Watson?" Mycroft questioned. Mycroft was not even giving Sherlock a choice. He was putting his full confidence in John's decision. If they were going to give the drug, it would have to be now or it would be too late.
"That will not be necessary Mycroft." John said quietly. John looked at the agent in the sweat soaked suit who was still trying to catch his breath. He arrived too quickly to have jogged. He must have run rather quickly.
Mycroft eyes pierced John's eyes for a few seconds. He then looked at Sherlock who frowned but did not look away. His eyes lingered on Sherlock, as he slowly looked him up and down. That had been the closest that John had ever come to witnessing Sherlock near squirm. Sherlock seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact. The younger Holmes usually almost dared his brother to deduce him defiantly. John hoped that he had made the correct decision. He glanced at the two brothers. Sherlock was still upright so apparently he did. He would have been feeling the effect now if he had not. John sighed with relief.
"Sorry," John mumbled in the agent's direction. The agent nodded still catching his breath.
Mycroft finally dropped his eyes and walked off already taking out his mobile. Anthea immediately followed. Thomas lingered behind with a frown. The medics returned to treating the other wounded as more ambulances started to leave.
John walked over and silently reached for supplies as he pulled them out of the container with medications.
"Doctor Watson, aren't you supposed to be resting? We have medics." Thomas said. He knew that it was a lost cause.
John smiled at Thomas but said nothing as he pulled out a large plaster and topical medication.
Sherlock watched wordlessly.
John moved in front of Sherlock as he prepared and opened packages. He took Sherlock's hand and frowned as he cleaned it. He took a clean wound dressing and gently patted the moisture away. John spoke for the first time in minutes.
"This is just topical. It stays local. A small amount is absorbed into your capillaries, but it does not enter you systemically. That seems to be your concern. If you don't put something on soon, you're going to scar pretty badly."
Sherlock simply nodded.
John became quiet again as he dressed Sherlock's hand.
"There is something in the medicine for pain as well." There was a brief pause. " It's a good thing that I was not bitten. The antivenin would have saved me from dying from the snakebite, but the ingredients in it would have killed me because of the poison I swallowed from the vials. Either way that I look at it. I would have been dead." John finished Sherlock's hand and let go slowly. "I suppose that that was why Sebastian had you get the keys and not me. The combination of poison and snake bite would have killed me."
"Moriarty would have been angry if he killed us off too quickly." John asked Sherlock while looking away thinking. "Is there anything you want to tell me Sherlock? Anything that I should know?"
"Not at this time John," Sherlock said quietly.
John looked at Sherlock.
"What now." John said simply.
"This is not over John. There's more…" Sherlock mouth parted as he suddenly stopped talking. He raised his eyebrows and blinked a few times.
"Sherlock?" John said breathlessly.
"Mr. Holmes?" Thomas joined John.
Sherlock's face became incredibly pale. He blinked as he tried to grab John's shoulder to steady himself.
"Joh…" Sherlock started to say as his world tilted and dimmed to gray then…
Black.