Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 91

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.

*****.***M rated for violence ****. ****

*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.

" Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain." ~ Charles Dickens

The next time he awoke was less dramatic. He blinked away the sleep as he looked in the room as data floated in. He mentally cataloged his injuries as he looked around. His eyes fell on John who sat snoring softly in the corner. Seeing John comforted him more than he could verbally express. He knew that he would be there.

He looked at the chair next to where John was sitting. He noticed Mycroft's coat but did not see his brother. Mycroft was probably on his mobile trying to either avert or start a war somewhere in the world. He almost smirked but pain shot through him when he moved his body. He groaned as his eyes shut tight.

He felt someone beside him and the pain receded. After a few minutes, his breathing evened out and he opened his eyes.

John waited patiently for him to get himself under control.

"John how long?" Sherlock whispered a question.

"Four days," John said as he looked into slightly more alert eyes.

This time, it was two minutes before sleep pulled him back into the gray nothingness.

For hours, John waited as Sherlock came in and out of sleep. Each time he became more alert and stayed awake for longer periods of time. Mycroft came in and out at different intervals.

Sherlock was so weak that he could not walk. Yet, by late evening, He still intimidated John into taking him to see Lestrade. Talking about cases seemed to make both men comfortable. John noticed the fact that neither one chose to mention what they had been through in the week because of Moriarty.

Both men talked for close to an hour before Sherlock fell asleep in the chair and Lestrade in his bed. John smiled as he took a picture with his mobile.

Later that night, both men sat in a comfortable quiet back in Sherlock's hospital room. They were watching the television. That was when the dreaded words were spoken.

"John." Sherlock pouted.

"Yes Sherlock," John asked with slight apprehension.

"I'm bored," Gray-blue eyes informed him as his hands played with the edge of his blanket.

John looked at Sherlock and tried to decide if he wanted to smile or moan.

He smiled.

Later that Night.

The man walked briskly as he walked down the stairs. The sounds of screaming and crying that reverberated off the walls of the basement level did not affect him in any way. He was used to it.

The guard moved further into the room and waited against the wall until needed.

"Please… Sir, I…I…d…did everything p…possible S…Sir, I swear. I swear… I swear…" sobs and whimpers filled the room as the man named Begension looked at Ahlgren. Blood cover plastic gloves were next to him.

Ahlgren was unconscious. The blood loss, and cuts, and … he could not finish the thought as he sobbed. He also seemed to not be able to look away from the gruesome scene. His sobs became louder as he stared at his colleague. He had long ago abandoned his pride the moment his suit jacket and shirt came off.

It was a surreal scene. Moriarty sat next to Begension as he ate his lunch. He sliced an apple with the same knife that he had worked with. Drops of blood spattered on his Westwood suit. Moriarty seemed to ignore this fact. Bach played in the background.

Moriarty mobile rang. He frowned as he answered it. He had changed his number hours ago.

Jim picked up his mobile as he rolled his eyes. "Mr. Mycroft Holmes." He said evenly as he took another bite of the apple.

"Moriarty," Mycroft voice floated in as smooth as silk. "Since you enjoy games so much, did you enjoy mine?"

"Not particularly," Moriarty said. He took another slice of apple as he looked at Begension. Begension wept openly.

"Shut. Up!" Moriarty growled while glaring at the sniveling man. "Sorry about that," Moriarty apologized.

Begension bit his lips but was only able to quiet a little not stop. He whimpered and hiccuped to himself.

"Think nothing of it," Mycroft said evenly. "Well I hear you're busy, I just wanted to tell you something."

"And that would be?" Moriarty asked.

"As long as Sherlock occupies your full attention, you occupy my full attention." There was a pause. "Be careful Jim, before you become my obsession." There was another pause. "Well I have things to do, I'd better be off."

"Moriarty." Mycroft said casually.

"Holmes." Jim said as the line disconnected.

Jim felt an unfamiliar sensation run down his spine. Was it… fear, he wondered.

Jim giggled. "Tingly," he said as he wiped his lips. Lunchtime was over.

"Sorry about that." He said as he walked over to the man tied handcuffed to the chair. "Where were we?"

He was definitely not bored. Moriarty smiled at the man in the chair. His eyes almost seemed to glow.