Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 96
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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*****.*** T rated, but some future chapters may be M. ****. ****
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"…Stalemate is when your opponent cannot legally move any of their pieces, but their king is not under attack. That's a draw (no one wins)"
…. Our New Game …
"Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own
sunshine."~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Over One Year Ago.
He lost his false smile as he briskly walked up the stairs. He was the first allowed up here. He automatically dressed and put on the blue cloth jumper. He folded his reading glasses into the inside of his dress shirt pocket. The crime scene was flooded with agents and some Scotland Yarders. If experience has taught him anything, it was that soon someone with a suit, and an official sounding title, would say something along the lines of, turn everything over to us, we'll take it from here. Thank you for your help, even though we think that we are better than you, because, you're all twats.
His anger burned inside him. Anderson did put down the carrying case with a little more of a thud than he should have. He looked at his case with anxiety and opened it quickly. He sighed with relief as he looked inside and saw that nothing was broken. He looked around to confirm what he already knew. Everyone was busy removing the dead bodies on the other floors. He already examined the scenes on the lower levels and gave the approval for them to start moving everything including the bodies. The injured law officers and one agent were already transported to receive medical care. None of the terrorist had survived.
After glancing around, he took a quick sip of the dark brown liquid. It burned pleasantly on its way down. He quickly sprayed a minty burst into his mouth and swirled it around with his tongue. He looked around guiltily again.
Sherlock Holmes.
It was Holmes fault that he has been so tightly wind-up lately. The arrogant sod was always making him look like a fool. It was not his fault that he misplaced the evidence for the Moore's case, it could have happened to anyone. Did the freak have to first notice that something was missing, and then have to point it out to everyone in the entire room?
He smiled his first real smile as he used his newly gloved hand to push the door open. He stepped into the room after removing the tape, and seal. He walked on the edge of the room to decrease the footprints that would be in the middle.
Sherlock Holmes would not be outshining him today.
He walked around the room. It was a long, moderate size space. It was almost empty. A few scattered pieces of furniture were pushed to the edges of the room. In the far corner there was a substantial, and long desk. Probably, this space was an office at one time.
He frowned when he looked around. The body was close to the door. A well-built, middle-aged man was lying on the floor, with the gun in his hand, and a hole in his head. The blood under his head, and vacant stare, was an indication that there was nothing that could be done for this man.
He mechanically went through the motions, gathered the evidence, and gave it to a Yarder who disappeared out the door.
He changed his gloves and walked around the room now.
He thought about how Holmes had looked earlier just outside the building. Something nagged at his mind.
Holmes had appeared disheveled, and bruised with open wounds on his chin, and lower lip. He remembered something that was on the tip of his mind. Holmes shirt. Anderson mouth opened as his eyes widened.
"Buttons," Anderson whispered to himself.
He walked quietly to the door and shut it softly. He then looked around the room. He walked to the far end of the room and noticed a little smaller area that was unnoticeable from the main area of the room. It was much too small to be an attached room, so it must have been used as a storage space, at one time. A desk squeezed into it.
Anderson entered the small space.
He looked on the floor, and his eyes widened as he saw what was on the floor. He stepped onto the blanket without thought as he pieced together the crime scene. A part of his mind was screaming that everything that he was doing was against protocol. He silenced that voice inside that has been telling him lately that he was doing wrong. He had gotten proficient at quieting the voice now.
His fingers ignored everything else as he picked up a button. There were many more that had been forcefully projected into unexpected places. He saw a bag on the floor, and his eyes widened when he looked inside the bag on the floor. He noticed it then. Just under the desk as if someone had put it there purposely. He slowly picked it up even though it was against all the training that he had been through. He pushed the button then turn the device off.
His heart started to race.
This is evidence. Turn them in right away. The voice on the inside said. The voice was more persistent than usual today.
"I'm just curious," Anderson whispered out loud. "I'll turn them both in before I leave."
His mind, with fresh eyes, looked at the events of the last thirty five-minutes. Holmes, as he passed him leaning against the building outside, was obviously in pain. He seemed to be waiting for that equally pathetic soldier flatmate of his, Watson, to come. The man seemed to be glued to his side.
Anderson noticed that Holmes refused all medical care. This, despite the fact that he looked as if he was trying to make up his mind about what was his priority, throwing up or fainting.
He was about to walk up to Holmes and verbally torment the man, but the agent, what was his name?
Thomas, that was the name.
Thomas was guarding the freak, and looked as if he would shoot him if he dared to come close to the man. Besides, Anderson learned the hard way that even a seemly injured Holmes was still dangerous. He rubbed his head at the memory of the last time that he forgot this fact.
He hesitated guiltily as he looked around the room. He should be finishing up now. He pushed the play button on the device and listened for a few second, before a forceful hit on the device stopped it. He swallowed and flushed slightly as he looked around paranoid that someone heard the barely audible sounds. His mind worked as he brought his breathing down. He quickly pulled out his mobile to call someone to take the two things that he found to the agents and to alert them to the small, room, storage space, whatever it was.
His hand froze after he pushed three numbers on his mobile. He hung up and put his mobile phone away. An idea was born of jealousy, and insecurity, and his new found secret habit with the bottle.
It was twisted, and sick, and wrong, and perfectly evil. To bring down, to humiliate the virtually untouchable man, the great Sherlock Holmes excited him.
He stood perfectly still as two parts of himself warred.
He had a choice to make.
Seconds later, Anderson suddenly moved with a burst of speed that was unusual for him. He removed the two objects from the room discreetly, and hid them in his bag. The combination of fear and anticipation made him tremble slightly. He almost could not zip up the bag due to his shaking fingers.
Something was telling him to stop, that it was not too late.
You are a sworn officer of Scotland Yard. You took an oath to protect. You've never done anything illegal in your life. This is not just wrong morally, it's illegal, the voice pleaded.
"Sod off," he quietly hissed to that voice inside as he increased the speed of his movements.
He realized that he could lose his job if anyone found out. For some reason, taking the risk only made him more excited. He had been feeling dead lately anyway.
He quickly finished the room. Just as he walked out removing his gloves and putting them in the Biohazard bin, he almost walked into two agents.
He made his expression blank and looked at them.
Should I smile, he asked himself.
No, don't be an idiot, you're supposed to be sad, he told himself in reply.
"Sorry," Anderson said with a professional face.
"I am Agent Evens," the man said as he seemed to look him up and down. "I need everything that you collected as evidence today, and all paperwork."
"You're taking over?" He asked as he tried to sound conversational.
"Yes," The agent said simply again. The other agent that was not speaking peeked into the room and back at the man. Anderson heard other voices. They sounded as if they had finished the other floors and were heading up to the floor that he was currently on.
"Well right." He pointed to the container on the floor. "The samples are in that container over there. Rooms behind me of course." He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. "Well, I'd better be off," Anderson tried not to run.
As he turned to leave a hand came up to his shoulder and stopped him."Why are you shaking so much, is there anything that we need to know?" Anderson swallowed as he now noticed the slight tremors that adrenaline caused in his body. He thought quickly. When lying to his wife, soon to be ex-wife he corrected, a partial truth always worked the best.
"I'm just a little shaken up. I know Mr. Holmes, it's just difficult…" He purposely made his voice trail off. He looked down for effect.
Anderson made a show of clearing his throat. "Oh, I already sent some of the evidence to our lab." He added trying to draw the attention off of himself.
The agent's stony face softened "We already intercepted it."
That was shockingly quick, he thought. For a few seconds, doubt entered Anderson again. He quickly pushed it away.
Anderson nodded and picked up his bag as he walked away. He smiled with his back turned to them. He would show everyone that he wasn't an idiot. His feet sounded against the concrete in rhythm as he briskly stepped down the stairs. He fingered the button in his pocket. Why not, he thought. Holmes did not need it. That expensive shirt of his was already ruined.
A/N: References to Deleted Memories chapter 124, 126, and 163 made.