Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 93

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.

Thank you: mvignal (Jim does have a way of getting …revenge.), sevenpercent (Mycroft verses Moriarty, who will be left standing?), Bookworm Gal (Sherlock is a handful, but that is what makes him lovable… mostly), Dark magical Sorcres (Thank you for your comment), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I would hate to have Moriarty irritated with me. I would also hate Mycroft to be irritated.), gemstone1234 (I am glad that you liked the quote. I hope your week was a good one.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple reviews. I am glad that the event as seen through Mycroft eyes worked.), Danishprince (Take a huge breathe while you can. ) And to all guests and review, and PMs, thank you.

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***Warning. Violence in chapter 94***

*****.*** T rated but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.

Note: A Mac is a laptop

…. Stalemate? …

One possible Stalemate tactic of chess ~

… Sometimes you will find yourself in a bad situation but your king has no moves. In this type of position your best idea would probably be to suicide your remaining pieces…

Mycroft stood outside the hospital room and inhaled noisily. He heard the raised voices and for one brief second thought about turning around and going the other way. The doctors had reluctantly released the younger Holmes. In reality, it took Mycroft Holmes intervention to convince the physicians that Sherlock could recover at home just as well as in the hospital.

The agents outside the door did not look at their boss and pretended not to hear the commotion coming from the room.

Mycroft did not know whether to scowl or smile at his brother's antics. He thinned his lips. John would need reinforcements. Mycroft took his umbrella and pushed the door open slowly. The door screeched in protest. A soft thud, as it hit the back of the wall, sounded.

Neither man noticed the entrance of the elder Holmes.

"Sherlock, be reasonable. Your brother's working on the discharge. You know it takes time. The doctor wanted you to have one last blood transfusion. There are papers to sign. Transportation to arrange…" John's voice was frustrated.

"We can take a cab John…" Sherlock said with false calm.

"We cannot take a cab. You cannot even walk further than a yard. You shouldn't even be leaving the hospital yet…"

"Lestrade was discharged this morning!" The false calm left Sherlock's voice. One arm became animated. This earned him a grimace.

"What is this, a competition? Might I remind you that you were in a coma, and that you almost died?"

Sherlock was quiet and sniffed as he looked at the floor. "There is no need to be dramatic John; you do get a bit… emotional."

John glared with a murderous look in his eyes. "I normally have rules about strangling an injured person but for you, I might make an exception."

Sherlock now glared back at John with a sickly sweet smile. "Really, Doctor Watson? Well, let me put this in terms that you can understand. I want to leave. Now! Getting your knickers in a twist will not change that fact."

Mycroft's outstretched umbrella stopped John from advancing on Sherlock.

Mycroft looked as both men stared at one another. John was glaring at Sherlock, and Sherlock was smirking at John.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Missed me?" Neither man responded at first.

As he was talking, an agent wheeled a wheelchair into the room. Both men stopped staring at each other long enough to notice the wheelchair.

"What is that for?" Sherlock said as he looked offensively at the wheelchair.

"That," John said with an outstretched hand pointing at the wheelchair. "It's for you to sit your bum in so that you don't faint on the way out the door. It is required that you sit in it. You know this Sherlock!"

"We might not even need the wheelchair. Let me try." Sherlock grunted as he pushed himself to the edge of the hospital bed.

"Sherlock!" John said with a worried expression as he prepared to catch him, again.

Mycroft swiftly stepped closer and looked at John who stepped back. The agent also moved outside the room.

Sherlock stopped moving and looked casually at his brother. Mycroft just stared and said nothing for several minutes. Sherlock frowned. Mycroft bent down next to his brother's ear and spoke so quietly that only Sherlock could hear him.
"Sherlock Holmes. You have successfully manipulated everyone around you. You have gotten everything that you have requested. Against my better judgment, that wheelchair is there to take you home a week before I should even consider it. Therefore, this is what you are going to do. We will assist you to sit in that chair. One of my cars will take you home. You will, if necessary be carried up the seventeen stairs to your flat without argument…"

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but was cut off by Mycroft.

"… And if I hear so much as an argument dear brother. I will walk out that door, and you will stay here for another week. "

There was a brief pause. "Before you give me an answer, I feel it my duty to inform you that should you continue to be … difficult, one of the nurses has an order to give you an enema. Or, is that several?" Mycroft smiled dangerously.

"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock said quietly as he searched Mycroft's face. Mycroft allowed him to search.

Sherlock frowned. He opened then closed his mouth. Thought, then opened it again.

"Well," Sherlock said still frowning. "I see."

He looked at John. "John would you mind helping me into the wheelchair?"

John looked at Mycroft and Sherlock with curiosity but quickly complied. "Sure Sherlock." John and an agent that seemed to materialize out of the air helped him onto the wheelchair. He was already partially dressed with trouser and shirt on, still, several long minutes passed as papers were packed and hallways walked through to make sure that it was safe.

Several agents with headsets on, surrounded Sherlock as they moved cautiously through the corridor, and toward the lift. Mycroft looked around consciously as they walked. John walked directly beside Sherlock with one hand on the back of his wheelchair at all times. He looked around with the practiced eyes of a soldier. Sherlock was weary but alert despite his fatigue. The tension was palpable. Everyone looked as the lift slowly opened.

Donovan sat in Lestrade's kitchen chair at the table. She glanced over to the DI. He was bruised and tired but that was not stopping him. He was conducting DI duties from his kitchen table. Officers were coming in and out with papers to sign and other things that needed approval and direction. She shook her head. He was tough.

He wasn't supposed to return to the Yard physically for four days. If she knew him at all, it would be two. She looked at him again. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Her smaller hands came discreetly to his larger left hand.

"Sir," She spoke quietly, getting his attention, "It has been six hours straight. You need a break."

Lestrade looked at Sally and thought. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds then opened them rubbing. He looked back at the Mac on his table.

"I'm fine. I just need another coffee." He tried not to think about his choice of words, or the two empty coffee cups already on the table. He added. "Only four hours more."

Sally's back became straight. "Sir, you've already had two cups of coffee. You were supposed to have only one. You need tea instead and it's time for your medication." Sally did not realize that she had folded her arms. She added, "Myself and Grifton would like to stay, you need someone to help you Sir." She was fully in argument mode. Lestrade noticed her mood. He smiled and held up his hand in a partial surrender.

He thought for a moment. Maybe, it would not hurt to cut his hours down. He came to a compromise. "Tea, not coffee. One hour not four, bed sheets are in the closet. You and Grifton get to fight over the couch."

"Thank you Sir," She said with relief. The DI's mobile rang. Donovan picked it up and handed it to him as she stood to move over to the teapot.

"Lestrade," The was a sigh and a moment of silence. "I thought that he was supposed to stay another week?" There was more silence.

Sally was not eavesdropping, but she had been at the hospital all week. She would visit Holmes as well. She would never admit it, but it bothered her to see him so still and pale with all the machines, fluids and blood running into him. The image of John quietly reading and talking to Holmes was burned into her mind.

Later in the week, during her regular visits to Lestrade, she knew Holmes was awake when she noticed a nurse walking quickly from his room. She smiled at the memory as she heard Lestrade talking on the phone.

Sherlock was difficult , but he was one of them now, so was John. Everyone at the Yard took offense to someone kidnapping the DI. Such a thing was unheard of. They also took offense to Holmes being injured.

She returned in time to witness her DI hanging up the mobile. She had two cups of tea. She put one of the cups of tea in front of him.

"So," she said trying to sound casual as she added cream and sugar to her tea. "They are releasing Holmes today," She was proud of herself. She only called him the Freak several times during the year now, and never with Doctor Watson around.

"It appears so," Lestrade said noncommittally.

"Poor Doctor Watson," Donovan said casually as she sipped at her tea.

Lestrade opened his mouth to rebuke her and tell her not to say such a thing but closed his mouth. He became conscious of the fact that he would be a hypocrite.

Greg sighed as he realized that he had thought the same thing. For once, he was happy that he could not be in the same room with an injured and bored Sherlock. He felt slightly guilty for smiling at the thought. He took a sip of tea.

Slightly.

Greg's smile became wider.