Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 89
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.
*****.***T rated ****. ****
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
…. The Game…
Busy times ahead of me so I wanted to get these to you.
1. I wrote several chapters so read all at once
Or
2. Section out the chapters until the weekend
Those on holiday, stay safe.
To the one of you who had a lose. I am thinking of you. :)
Note:
1. Beverly Allitt, born in the sixties, worked as a nurse and was one of Britain's most well know female serial killers.
2. A skip is a really big bin (trash container) which is for large amounts of rubble. Skips are hauled away by trucks.
3. An Ambu bag is a medical device used to provide assisted ventilation to people who are either not breathing or are having trouble breathing.
"Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.
James Russell Lowell, Cambridge Literary Essays
John POV
Fourteen Minutes Earlier
Sherlock fought with his eyelids as he opened his eyes wide and tried to sit up. One of the paramedics wordlessly pushed him back down.
"John, something… need… tell you." John heard Sherlock say with a slurred voice.
"Sherlock, be still and quiet." John said with urgency.
John's skilled fingers automatically gripped the syringe with one hand as his other hand found then held the rubbery IV port. His lips closed around the syringe cap as his teeth gripped and held on tightly to the cap while his hand pulled the cap-less syringe away. He quickly pushed the needle past the rubbery surface until the needle completely disappeared into it. People were talking to him, asking him questions. John ignored them as his full attention went into counting. He had to inject the antidote slowly.
Sixty-seconds.
He had to slowly inject the brown tinged liquid over a period of sixty seconds.
… Thirty-one… Thirty-two… Thirty-three…
John's lips moved silently counting as the trolley started to move. He had not even noticed that he was moving alongside the trolley.
He finished and wordlessly handed the syringe to an agent that was walking besides the trolley. He glanced at Mycroft who gave a slight nod. His hand quickly and efficiently gave the antidote
"Analyze the residue from the syringe." John heard Mycroft say.
The Doctor's mind was already preoccupied as he thought of the three ingredients out of the five that Sherlock told the agents that he could identify. All the ingredients were troubling but one came to his mind now. He had to watch for abnormal bleeding.
Sherlock was already showing early signs. The wounds from his earlier attacks that had clotted were starting to bleed again.
John mouth opened wordlessly as he looked at Sherlock. The beautiful, sodding idiot of a man.
"J... John." John heard Sherlock say again. His voice was much weaker yet still sounded slightly annoyed. John almost laughed when he saw the exasperated look on Sherlock's face.
Almost.
"I know Sherlock. You gave yourself the poison." John tried to smile at Sherlock but it turned into a pained expression instead. John's mouth was tight. He took Sherlock hand and squeezed lightly as he walked briskly beside the trolley. The fact that Sherlock did not argue about the use of such a sentimental gesture, but instead weakly squeezed back caused a knot to form inside of his stomach. Sherlock seemed to be fighting his body and unconsciousness as he fixed his blue-gray eyes on John's face. John noticed that some of the color left his eyes. Sherlock moved his lips a few times but could not seem to get the energy up to speak.
John tried again to smile. He then glanced at Mycroft and Thomas. Thomas looked grave. Mycroft thinned his lips further. He took out his mobile and let everyone concerned know that he expected to arrive at a prepared hospital so quickly that the laws of physics would be defied.
John looked up as he noticed with relief that they were almost to the end of the building. They passed through the long corridor and were almost to the final door when John felt the grip on his hand tighten. He frowned as he looked at Sherlock; his mouth was opened as he groaned. His eyes rapidly scanned above the trolley. He seemed to be searching for John even though he was right in front of him.
John's eyes widened.
"Stop," John shouted as he simultaneously let go of Sherlock's hand and grabbed his upper body, He quickly pulled it off the trolley and over the side rails as he cradled his head with his arms.
"It's alright Sherlock. I've got you," John said soothingly as he vomited what was in his stomach along with swallowed water on the concrete.
Mycroft stepped toward Sherlock as he now touched his brother. He put a hand on his shoulder. The man who knew how to run a government seemed to not know what to do. John watched as Mycroft's mask completely melted away. The elder Holmes openly frowned now.
John helped Sherlock to lie back down on the trolley as they started to walk more briskly beside him. Sherlock wiped his mouth and nose with a shaky hand as he seemed to once again find John's eyes.
John cursed. Everyone looked at the pink tinged puddle on the floor. Shouting and running started. Even Mycroft was keeping up a steady run, yet managing not to lose his umbrella.
Sherlock eyes were closing.
"Stay awake Sherlock!" John said firmly. Sherlock eyes opened, he seemed determined to obey.
John frowned as he looked and took Sherlock's hand back in his and squeezed. John had hoped that he was wrong.
John's eyes held a look of shock as he noticed the red crimson streaks on Sherlock's hand and face. Sherlock seemed to examine his shaking hand and stared at the red almost fascinated. His bruises seemed to intensify in color and his lips took on a bluish tinge.
Sherlock eyes rolled as if they would close. He felt a hand on his cheek. He heard the words.
"No, no, Sherlock. Awake, stay awake." John said a little louder. "It's important that you stay awake Sherlock. Do you understand Sherlock? Stay awake."
Sherlock's eyes opened quickly as he tried to blink away the weariness.
Dimmed eyes now seemed to search the faces above him. Sherlock frowned as he looked from one face to another. He seemed to lock eyes with Mycroft for a minute before returning to John.
They passed through the door into the night. The darkness contrasted dramatically with the flashing lights of emergency vehicles and the sounds of shouting as it pierced the stillness of night. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust.
They quickly lifted him into the ambulance as it sped away. Mycroft climbed in beside him as Thomas and Anthea and several agents ran toward several black Mercedes Benz. John closely watched the paramedics move in the small space as he spoke words of comfort and encouragement to his friend. John felt Sherlock's pulse and frowned. He looked at Mycroft.
"We will be there within a minute John." Mycroft said as he ran his hand along Sherlock's hair. John wondered if Mycroft was even aware of what he was doing.
John looked at Mycroft with relief as the ambulance pulled into the hospital and stopped suddenly.
Sherlock weakened grip on John hand now relaxed completely. John looked at Sherlock who was looking back with a partially opened mouth and unfocused eyes.
There was a loud bang as the doors were opened.
"Sherlock?" John asked as hands grabbed his friend and lifted the trolley running. Sherlock eyes rolled upwards. They traveled into the hospital as emergency staff ran toward the trolley.
John looked at his chest as it rose and a breath exhaled noisily. He looked into the closing eyes of Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" John whispered as he followed him into the room. Bodies seemed to whiz by John as they removed clothing and put equipment on him. The volume of voices increased. John could not take his eyes off his friend's chest as if his will alone could cause him to breathe again.
Sherlock did not inhale again.
"Sherlock!" John said as emergency personnel tried to pull him out of the room. One look from the eyes of the ex-soldier caused the staff to let go of him and back off. John Watson did not say another word.
The trolley was put flat as Sherlock was quickly rolled on his side. A stiff hand-board was put underneath his body. He was then rolled to lay again on his back. Emergency worker started to compress his chest rhythmically, as another worker grabbed an Ambu bag, and rapidly put it over the younger Holmes nose, and mouth, and pushed oxygen into the unresponsive man's nose in a rhythmic count.
Words and medical terminology floated in and out of John's hearing. He did not say another word. His eyes never left Sherlock as his body was manipulated by hands and equipment. John backed against the wall slowly until he felt the solid surface pressing into his back. He felt Mycroft when he walked beside him. Both seemed to take strength from the other's presence. Despite Mycroft's calm exterior, John knew that he was having a difficult time.
Something caught John attention as his body stiffened. They were words spoken in a rushed voice.
"… Losing him… defibrillator … bleeding… ventricular tachycardia…"
John's world seemed to narrow as he noticed Mycroft's harsh breaths. John tried to remember to just.
Breathe.
Moriarty sat back as his airplane climbed in altitude. He grabbed the sides of the airplane seat as gravity pushed his body down. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyelids closed. After a few minutes, the aircraft evened out its climb. He exhaled a breath and casually crossed his legs as he picked up the phone line located on the side wall of the aircraft.
The voice on the other end of the phone line spoke. "Sir, it is as you said. Three bank accounts are frozen. Two banks say that they need you to come in personally to release the funds. Two of your properties are seized. Thirty of your men are captured. Two are your key men…"
"And…" Moriarty said calmly as he reached for his bottle water.
"Somehow, personal information about you has been leaked to the criminal organizations around the world. Nothing damaging, it's just that I know that you like to be private, hidden, in the shadows. You've just been described Sir… Um… down to the underwear brand that you wear."
There was a slight hesitation, "You're no longer the unknown Consultant Criminal Sir. You're now the Consultant Criminal named Mr. Moriarty."
"I see," Moriarty said.
"Well, at least your famous Sir." The voice said on the other line.
"Who was in charge of the three bank accounts that were seized?" Moriarty asked casually.
"Begension and Ahlgren Sir." The voice said.
"I want to see them personally, when I arrive." Moriarty said as he brushed the few stray drops of water off of his Westwood suit.
"Um, yes Sir." The voice obeyed.
"And I want knives. Lots of dull knives," Moriarty said bored.
"Yes Sir."
"Oh and have tea and sandwiches ready when I arrive." Moriarty disconnected.
Jim sighed. He had many more bank accounts hidden. It was the way that Mycroft revealed how he looked that had bothered him the most. Hidden has always been the way he preferred to live his life. Hidden and in the shadows.
He smirked. Of course, Mycroft would know how to truly hurt him. The Holmes brothers were interesting.
He now took a rare gulp of wine, he usually only sipped slowly. What the hell, he thought. He took several more gulps as he finished the entire glass now.
He put his ear buds in his ears and turned up the music. It was usually the classics but now he listened to modern music. He did not want to relax; he wanted to get angry. He had to think. He smiled humorlessly.
Mycroft was kind enough to reveal his secrets; he would need to return the favor. He now smiled more.
He had to admit one thing as the airplane disappeared into the clouds.
At least he was not bored.