Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 99

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 …

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers, no one goes his way alone; all that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own." ~Edwin Markham

Six Weeks Later.

It had been quiet, much too quiet. It was unnerving in a way; Moriarty was never quiet.

Not a word, threat or trace of Moriarty since the roses were delivered five weeks ago. John was relieved that the pressure from Mycroft had kept Moriarty busy, but a part of him wondered what the psychopath was thinking about doing next. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and headed toward the wooden stairs.

John yawned as he walked down the stairs. He blinked away the tiredness from his eyes. Sherlock was back to work with Scotland Yard again. He was at ninety percent of his normal self, which was exhausting for anyone who was trying to keep up with him. For the sake of everyone's sanity, it was decided that it was best to keep the younger Holmes busy. The risk of a bored Sherlock was almost as dangerous as a risk of Moriarty.

John raised an eyebrow and sniffed as he came down the stairs. His heart raced a little.

He smiled as he identified the scents, both tea and coffee.

Could Sherlock's memories have returned, John wondered. Before Sherlock's memory loss, the one thing that Sherlock did faithfully for the past year, was to make sure that John always had coffee or tea in the morning, since he usually woke up first. It would be in his favorite cup with cream only, no sugar. He had no idea how Sherlock seemed to know when to pour it out. It was always hot and perfect in flavor.

He quickened his steps.

"Sherlock," he said smiling as he walked into the kitchen area. He saw Sherlock drinking a cup of tea. There was no cup for him.

John sighed, no memory returned then.

He tried not to show his disappointment. He felt that Sherlock was at a disadvantage with Moriarty until those missing memories returned.

"Sherlock," John said casually as he walked over to the pots. He tried to decide which beverage he would drink first.

Sherlock gave a nod as he stared at the wall, apparently deep in thought.

John came to two kettles of cold tea and coffee that were abandoned. He stared confused as he noticed the two additional kettles with hot tea and coffee. There were four kettles in total. Where did Sherlock get all the kettles from he wondered as he ran a hand through his short hair.

"Sherlock, why didn't you empty the kettles of cold tea and coffee when you made a new batch?" John asked with irritation. His lack of sleep made John less patient than usual.

"John isn't it enough that I actually made the tea and coffee. I didn't even wake you up this time to make it for me. Really John, You should be more considerate." Sherlock said as he signed off the computer and walked to the table where he already poured himself another cup of tea. He did not consider pouring one for John.

"You're a real treasure Sherlock. Your experiments, your odd noises in the middle of the night. Violin music at three AM…"

"I think that you cannot comment John, after the odd noises that I heard coming out of your bedroom involving a one Ms. Myers yesterday. That's why you're so tired John."

John's face flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"Why were you listening and when were you home during..., Um... You were suppose to be with Lestrade…, Um…, I mean."

"It happened before John. Yesterday, I took a walk when I deduce what was happening. I estimated that I only needed to be gone fifteen minutes longer." He took a sip. "Come-Come John. You should have known how thin the walls were."

John had his arms crossed.

Sherlock took a sip of tea then stop and asked.

"You're upset John?" He thought for a moment. "Oh, was this one of those situations where I was supposed to lie and say that I needed to be gone for a little longer, two hours maybe." Sherlock snorted.

John said nothing as he walked into the kitchen. He returned with two cups of beverages.

Sherlock looked at him curiously. He then looked down at his mug of tea.

John walked up to him and said simply. "Apologize."

Sherlock huffed as he picked back up his teacup that he cradled in his hands. "Why should I apologize for telling the truth…" He never was able to finish his thought as cold coffee was poured over his head. Sherlock was stunned into silence for a few minutes. He mentally replayed what just happened to draw a different conclusion. But, it kept coming back to one clear fact. The drop of coffee that dripped on his shirt solidified his conclusion.

Sherlock suddenly enraged slammed his teacup down a little more forcefully than intended. "John Watson, what the hel…"

Again, his thoughts were interrupted as tea this time was poured down on his head. Sherlock only sat there for a minute with his mouth partially opened blinking slowly. John smiled at first. Then he thought of the wisdom of getting his genius level flatmate with a degree in chemistry and a refrigerator full of dead body parts angry. John's smile died quickly. A military term came to mind.

Retreat.

John suddenly looked ashamed. Okay, the truth was that John pretended to not be amused. He almost laughed . Sherlock looked like a wet rat. He covered his snicker with a cough. John could not look him in the face and fake remorse properly. He turned his back to him. Giggling when you're trying to apologize was not a smart idea.

"Um… Sherlock, that was completely childish of me." He heard Sherlock's feet as he moved to the kitchen to get a tea towel to dry himself, he assumed. He coughed again as the image of Sherlock curls covering his eyes as the liquid weighed it down, came to mind. John lifted his hand to his mouth and tried again. He heard Sherlock return.

"Sherlock, it was inexcusable, and I will clean up the place alone." A part of John's mind reminded him that he always cleans up alone anyway. Maybe, he should have used three cups.

Back to the apology.

"I'm really ashamed right now. I think I need a moment in my room to think about what I've done." And, laugh some more, John thought to himself. His lips twitched.

"It's alright John, turn around. Let's shake hands like two adults and forgive each other." Sherlock's deep baritone voice sounded directly behind him. John sighed with relief as he turned around. His eyes widened as he saw the serious look on Sherlock's face and the pitcher full of lemonade in his hands that was directly above his head. He looked wide eyed at Sherlock.

"Now, Sherlock, don't do anything that you will regret…" John stopped talking as the liquid poured slowly down his head to his neck and soaked into his shirt. Because of the sheer volume of liquid, it even made it to his trousers.

Sherlock stood there surveying his damage. He took a finger and swiped John's wet cheek. He put the tip in his mouth and tasted. "Mrs. Hudson always makes the perfect lemonade, don't you agree." John said nothing. He just stares straight ahead. "Now, I forgive you. Don't forget to clean under the chair." Sherlock advised with a superior look on his face.

"Right," John said as he marched off toward the kitchen, arms swinging. Sherlock refused to look concerned, but he was.

John came back with something behind his back. Sherlock was as curious as he was concerned. They both just stood, staring at each other. Neither was backing down. After a minute, Sherlock spoke.

"John, this has gone far enough." John did not answer. He only stared.

"Come John, this is childish!" Sherlock said exasperated.

John finally spoke, "No Sherlock. This… This is childish." With a quick flick of his wrist, two ice cold bottles of water were flicked in his face. Sherlock gave out a high pitched yelp of shock.

"J… John, that was c… cold," Sherlock whined as he shook slightly. Both men glared daggers at each other. John noticed as Sherlock eyes traveled to the kitchen. Sherlock smiled dangerously. John frowned.

Simultaneously, they both ran to the kitchen and war broke out. Anything wet was flying from one body to the other. Both men forgot their disagreement as they started to laugh and giggle freely like schoolboys. Both men almost slipped on the wet floor as the battle left the kitchen and went just outside the kitchen. Sherlock was about to duck his head as he saw water coming his way, when a sound distracted him.

There was a loud splash sound at the side of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock and John stopped mid-giggle as they both heard someone clear his throat behind them.

Sherlock's back was to the door. John says that miracles occur, Sherlock thought. If he ignored the sound and concentrated, maybe, he would go away. "Mean, fat man, go away… mean fat man go away," he chanted quietly to himself with his eyes closed.

"I guess the two of you have not grown up yet, experimenting with new ways to bathe?"

No, still there, Sherlock thought. John excused himself and retreated to his room to change. Sherlock gave him a withering look of betrayal as he left. John shrugged his shoulders discreetly and walked faster.

"Mycroft," He said finally. Sherlock straightened his back and calmly walked to the chair where his jacket was. He put it on and buttoned it. He then walked to the kitchen returning almost instantly with two cups of tea prepared the way that his brother liked it.

He motioned with his hand to the chair. Mycroft after taking off his coat, sat quietly after making sure that the chair was dry. Sherlock sat opposite him and calmly drank tea as he crossed his legs.

Mycroft smirked and opened his mouth to say something. When he noticed Sherlock's raised eyebrows, he decided that perhaps it was best to get to the reason that he was present.

"Sherlock there is a missile defense code that was almost stolen. It…" Mycroft stopped mid-sentence as he watched in fascination as a droplet of water ran down his brother's neck disappearing into his chest then shirt. Sherlock stiffened but did not say a word.

Mycroft started again.

"Yes. As I was saying, if you could analyze our security…" Mycroft noticed a droplet of water that seemed to form on the edge of Sherlock's curl.

"Our security…" Mycroft frowned as his voice drifted off. He wondered how long the drop would hold on before it lost its battle.

"Our security..." he repeated. The drop became bigger.

How long would take to become large enough for gravity to finally win. Mycroft stared at the drop as if his will alone could make it drop.

It did.

"…needs to be examined." He finished with a frown. Sherlock, except for a reddened face, ignored the fact that his head and parts of the flat were wet.

"I've narrowed it down to three…"

Another drop formed on the opposite side of his hair. Sherlock simply looked up at the ceiling and took another sip of tea.

Mycroft, without saying another word got up. He disappeared down the hallway. Within minutes, he came back with a bath towel. He wordlessly gave it to Sherlock with a stern look. Sherlock thought about refusing it just to be stubborn, but in the end, sighed. He disappeared down the same hallway and reappeared within minutes with a towel-dried head. While walking, he was buttoning an opened dry shirt as his chest slowly disappeared. His jacket was back on.

The two sat down and discussed Mycroft's issues as if nothing happened. John quietly came back into the room and just as quietly cleaned up the flat before Mrs. Hudson arrived back. John then sat in the corner of the room and sipped the same tea. He listened as well. An hour later, Mycroft left. He turned and gave them both a look. He smirked.

Mycroft finally spoke.

"You missed a spot." Mycroft pointed with his umbrella under the chair. He swung it as he walked happily from the room.

"Sherlock, John," he called over his shoulder.

"Mycroft," John said before sighing. Sherlock said nothing. They both heard a door close.

"The man is infuriating." Sherlock pouted.

"John, how old are you? Do you know how expensive that shirt was?" Sherlock pouted more.

"You do realize that you were throwing water back at me." John raised an eyebrow as he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned as he looked at the ground.

"I was forced to John. I had to defend my honor."

Sherlock looked accusingly at his freind. "Really John, you do realize that you made me look like an imbecile."

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" John stared back at Sherlock. There was a moment of silence.

"Point taken," Sherlock conceded begrudgingly. John handed Sherlock the towel.

"For heaven sakes, do you mean for me to dry the liquid?" Sherlock looked at the dark liquid as he wondered what it was. He stared at the towel and floor offensively then back to John.

"I've cleaned everywhere else. You're the great Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure you can figure out how to dry under the chair. Off with you." John made small circular motions with his hand. He then walked to the daily newspaper and picked it up to read.

Sherlock stiffened his back as if he was going into battle. He walked up to the chair, and then his face brightened. He had intended to do another experiment anyway. He suddenly walked toward his lab set.

"John, there is a more interesting way to do this." Sherlock's muffled voice traveled.

"John lowered his paper and looked wearily to the spot under the chair. When he realized what Sherlock was doing, he lowered his head. "Even when I win, I lose," he muttered to himself.

"John, I found it!" An excited muffled voice traveled.

"God, help me." John said as he looked upwards.

Moriarty read a message on his Smartphone. He smiled. Mycroft was clever, and so was his much more adorable brother. He put down the mobile on the near glass table. He then closed his eyes as his brilliant mind considered the new information that he was just given. The game was the only thing that Moriarty considered greater than himself.

Moriarty whispered to the empty room. "You'll be mine Ben, or I will watch… you… burnnnn." He opened his eyes, and turned to the right slightly as his head rested on the back of the tall, winged-back chair.

"This is not a stalemate Sherlock Holmes; this is a new game." He smiled as he stared into the fire. The orange flames danced reflectively in his eyes.

A/N: Let me know what you think. Most of the story is behind. We still have a ways to go, but I just thought that I would mention this to you. I decided to put some of the ideas for this story into other stories. But, again tell me your thoughts.

Lots of Love to all.