Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 98

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)

Checkmate is when your opponent's king is under attack, and they have no legal moves that can stop the attack. That's a win (for you)…"

…. Our New Game …

"Diplomacy is the art of saying "Nice doggie" until you can find a rock." ~ Will Rogers

Present Day

Present Times

Vienna, Austria

He sat crossed legged in the restaurant located in the elegant Le Meridien Vienna Hotel. It was located on the famous Ringstrasse. He sighed. He was a walk away from the Vienna State Opera. It had been some time since he was able to attend an opera; he would not, even if he could. He did not want to be away from Sherlock now.

The man who was referred to as the British Government, took a bit of his Black Pudding and sipped on his tea as he waited. His mind took in and looked at everything. He kept his face toward the door purposely to assess any possible threats that might present themselves today. The man he was to meet had insisted on a public place.

He looked around.

He usually stayed in the Hotel Bristol Vienna when in Vienna, but his current hotel served his needs better. He ignored the organized noise. There were couples who happily talked as well as friends, and families.

He looked out of the window by his table and noticed a mother walking with her children. His eyes fell on a dark haired lad of five years walking by. He was holding his mother's hand. His older brother and younger sister walked beside him. He dropped some food that he was eating on his trouser leg. His mother with a smile took a napkin and wiped it off. She smiled at him, and the young child giggled freely. The child suddenly seemed to remember that he was supposed to be quiet. He smiled instead after stifling a round of giggles that threatened to break free. They started to walk again.

The sight made Mycroft smile. The young boy reminded him of Sherlock at that age. He was always smiling and laughing. He was the one person who was able to make Mycroft laugh as undignified as their father thought that laughing was. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. Mycroft was all business in seconds.

A slightly bend over, older gray haired gentlemen walked up, and sat down next to Mycroft. He looked at the bowl of fresh fruits, and cakes in front of him, and raised an eyebrow. Mycroft motioned with his hand elegantly while his other hand found the end of his ever-present umbrella. He rested his hand on the handle. The older man wordlessly took the smaller plate and filled his plate full of fresh fruit and dessert. Mycroft gave him a few minutes to eat before he looked at him.

He looked at Mycroft and sighed. "It is as you said." The older man spoke with a thick accent but perfect English. "I do not know who is your source but he was positively correct."

The older man took the time to put the last bit of a particularly tasty treat in his mouth. He wiped a piece of crumb that fell on his beard away casually. "In four countries that I have checked so far, someone highly motivated got some of the computer codes for missiles and the codes to activate and aim military hardware."

The older man seemed to get excited as he spoke. "No one would have noticed until it was too late. Someone, group, or organization came into possession of the codes then tested their ability to use them by hiding them in subcodes. By the way, if someone had not been looking, we would have found out about it too late."

He finally finished eating. "All of the missiles were nonnuclear and pointed at low population areas. It was as if this was some kind of test." The older man wiped his hands on his handkerchief. "Here Mr. Smith," he handed the piece of paper to Mycroft. Mycroft took it and frowned as he put it in his inner pocket. The older man lived long enough to know that he was probably not named Mr. Smith. Both men chose to pretend that the other was not aware of this fact.

The man rose from his chair and resumed his slightly bent over form. "Until next time, Mr. Smith." He was about to turn away, but stopped. "If I were you, I would go to whoever gave you the original information, and have him or her dig further. If that person had the skill to find out about this little problem, I am sure that that person can find out about what the next move will be." The man walked out then without looking back.

Mycroft thought for a few minutes. Mycroft barely nodded, and the restaurant noise suddenly stopped. Men and women, young and old stood up and quietly exited. Mycroft was left alone with Anthea sitting at a table in one corner. She nodded as she finished her iced tea. Myers was in the opposite corner and finishing her coffee.

Mycroft thought about what to do next. It was actually an excellent idea. To go back to the one that had given him the information about the missiles in the first place. There was only one problem with that plan. That person was recovering in 221B and had two years worth of memories missing. Among those forgotten memories were the very particular plans of a deranged madman named Moriarty.

One Week Later

John walked into the sitting room and spoke as he went along. "Sherlock which case files do you want?" John asked as he walked back into the area after fifteen minutes of searching.

There was no answer.

"Sherlock where is…" John stopped when he saw his friend and flatmate asleep on the couch with one case file on his stomach and one lying on the floor next to the place where his hand had dropped it.

John shook his head and smiled. Sherlock looked good. He was getting stronger. John removed the file from on top of his dress shirt and put it on the table. He walked down to visit Mrs. Hudson.

She walked into the building and took a table as she looked around. She brushed the drops of water off of her jacket as she walked toward a table. She made an impatient sound when she sat down.

After she sat down, she looked at herself in the mirror. She sighed. She had forgotten her umbrella. The sudden downpour caused her to look like a drowned rat. She thought for a moment and unbuttoned one button on her blouse. If he were busy looking down, maybe he would not notice her hair.

"Hello," the man in the suit said as he sat down moments later. "Miss Kitty Riley?"

"The one and only," She said smoothly.

"I am sure you're wondering what I have asked you here for." The man asked.

He had a handsome face. There was what appeared to be a scar on his cheek, but it was difficult to tell except up close because of the goatee beard that he wore.

She decided that she liked his smile. "I was curious. Most people, shall we say, have a problem with the entire Sherlock Holmes article of almost two years ago that I wrote."

"I think that you are an exceptional talent. You were unjustly persecuted by the Holmes family. I represent an interested party that has the power to help you."

"What would you expect from me in return," she asked somewhat suspiciously.

"My only motivation is to free a talent like yours, so that you can do what you do best, Miss Riley, report the news." Moran said as he leaned in slightly toward her. He flashed his most charming smile.

She returned the smile as she leaned toward Moran now. "Call me Kitty and I am listening."