Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 105

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: eohippus (Thanks for the multiple chapters. I am glad that you liked the children in Turkey), Bookworm Gal (Correct to all. Mr. Richard Idiot Anderson is one possible name.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. Sherlock seems to inspire even his friends to curse.), Suzy (Thank you Suzy for your kind words : ) ), Voldemort101 (Correct on everything Voldemort. , Silvia Anderson would have been hilarious), Benfan (Here is more. Save the nails!), hJohn302 (hJohn302 more and more levels of more than a bit not good, indeed.), gemstone1234 (Correct on all counts. Let us form a, down with Riley Club!), mvignal (Thank you for your kind comment. I agree with your opinion about Anderson.;) ), Kitiara88 ( Right on all counts. The next instalment is here.), Catie501( No way you pray, but yes I say with her he lay.) To all Guest, thanks.

Thank you ; BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests.§

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

Note:

The week's fun fact answers were:

1. There was no first name given for the character of Anderson in BBC's Sherlock . (Gatiss did mention a feminine name once, but it was believed to be a joke.

2. Professor James Moriarty was the ACD name of the arch villain.

Edited. Congratulations this week to, Bookworm Gal, Prothoe, Voldemort101, gemstone1234,

mvignal, Kitiara88, Socalrose, in order of answer.) I am doing an off rhythm dance in your honor. :)

*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment. Two chapters instead of one. Enjoy.

… King or Queen part II…

"Good chess strategy suggests you make your first move with the pawn in front of either your King or Queen…"

Current Day

Current Time

Sherlock frowned and pulled out his mobile. It was turned off. Anger burned in him but he pushed it away. He picked up his mobile to make phone calls to John and Mycroft, when white-hot pain flashed through his head. He could not stop the embarrassing gasp that escaped his lips. He bit his lips to prevent any other sounds from escaping. If Donovan heard, she did not comment. His long fingers involuntarily relaxed around the mobile. It dropped onto the seat beside his right hand. He closed his eyes as he tried to control the disjointed images that were floating around.

As Mycroft's agent followed at a distance behind the patrol car, Sherlock lost the fight to control the pain. His body surrendered. His mind remembered.

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell." ~ Oscar Wilde

Sherlock's Memory

Current Day

Over Two Hours Earlier

Hell.

He was in hell. That is what Holmes decided when he crossed the threshold into the home. Heat enveloped him immediately. It radiated in waves in the large elegant open space. He looked and saw Anderson's coat, jacket, and gloves resting over a chair in the victim's dining room to the left.

Usually the crime scenes were cold, sometimes freezing. It was unlike Lestrade not to mention a problem.

His irritation increased when he realized that it was probably wise to remove his wool coat, and dress jacket. The soft black Belstaff wool coat was like an appendage, a part of him. He felt almost naked without it. Holmes sighed and folded the coat in an almost reverent fashion.

It was still criminally warm but more tolerable in only his dress shirt and trousers. He smoothly removed his mobile and slid it into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a pair of gloves and pulled them on, after depositing an extra pair in his pocket. He looked more carefully at the elegant space now that his gloves were on. His eyes took in the details as his mind slipped into that familiar place of deduction and logic.

He effortlessly and slowly ascended the stairs. Sherlock was careful where he stepped as his mind scanned the carpet, walls, and elegant handrail for any signs of struggle.

Data streamed into his mind, and was categorized as the useless data was almost immediately deleted. The house was large with two levels. He glanced in but ignored the library, office, and guess bedrooms as he made his way to the last bedroom.

He walked though the opened door to the room with the body. It struck Holmes instantly as odd. Not the body, he had seen many bodies displayed in many different ways before. It was the other man in the room. Anderson was not wearing the familiar blue cloth body suit. He was also only in his dress shirt and trousers. He was casually leaning against a wall by the window that overlooked the grounds. Anderson was many things, but he had never before known him not to follow protocol. Despite the two years of memory loss, he instinctively knew that there was something different, and darker about this man compare to the Anderson he knew two years ago.

He clinched his jaws together and thought of Lestrade before saying between gritted teeth. "Anderson, did you notice anything unusual, for example, that odd sort of smell that's starting to emanate from the body? As you know… Well, maybe not…, heat affects the rate of decomposition. It's rather hot in here don't you think?"

"Quite." Anderson said as he continued to examine his nails. "Boiler is broken." He had a strange sort of satisfied expression.

Holmes stiffened. He was being deceitful and apparently did not care if Holmes knew it. If Anderson were trying to annoy him, he would not allow it. He needed to examine the body quickly. Plan A, Holmes thought, ignore the idiot. His mind quickly calculated the temperature by the time the body was discovered. He came up with an altered plan of attack.

Everything melted into irrelevant background as his attention focused again on the crime scene. Sherlock looked at the windows. Lower the temperature as quickly as possible, he thought. Holmes briskly walked up to one of two sets of windows. A good, hard push and the first window was opened and then the other window surrendered with an equally hard push. The victim apparently did not open the windows much. The sudden rush of fresh, cool air was as much a relief as it was necessary

He walked to the second set of windows as his distracted mind took over and considered the victim's body. He pushed at the windows. It resisted then suddenly gave way. Holmes was so distracted that he did not notice when Anderson came physically behind, and helped push open the window. Anderson's arms were on the left and right of Holmes, trapping Sherlock against the wall. Sherlock realized that he could feel the breath of the slightly shorter man on his neck as he exhaled. Holmes bloodhound like nose identified several odors, two hung strongly on the annoying man.

"Just trying to be helpful," Anderson said as he backed away.

Holmes turned around slowly and cautiously looked at Anderson, studying him silently. He had categorized one hundred and twenty-five expressions on the human face. Many he did not understand on an emotional level, but instead on an intellectual one. He was even able to mimic these emotions when necessary. The Consultant Detective used the information to manipulate suspects and obtain information from people. He, however, could not completely interpret the emotion that Anderson was displaying currently. He wished John was there. He would have never admitted it out loud, but John was more skilled in interpreting the intricacies of human emotions.

There was a change in Anderson, a shift of some kind. He had mischief of some sort planned.

Anderson was a coward; he would not attack unless he thought his target was weakened in some way. Sherlock was sure of one fact, he was the target.

Holmes had never been afraid of much in his life and certainly not an idiot like Anderson. Because of this, he had been told by more than one source that he was not a particularly cautious person when he should be. But, alarm bells were going off in his mind. Something was wrong, something that was just outside of his memory and grasp of understanding.

When Holmes looked into Anderson's eyes, he saw the eyes of a predator. Holmes realized that he could not show emotional or physical weakness in front of him.

Sherlock did have memory loss, perhaps he underestimated the level of hate the man had for him. He had sensed a change in Anderson from the man he remembered of two years ago, but never thought it noteworthy enough to consider seriously. He admitted to himself that this decision might have been an error.

He decided that perhaps it would be wise to get back to an examination of the body and finished as soon as possible, and then leave Anderson's presence. Whatever game that Anderson was playing at, Holmes decided that he would not play along.

Holmes turned to the Forensic Scientist and said evenly. "I'll need a scalpel and evidence bags." Anderson looked at him curiously. He appeared to be deciding something. He then walked over to his forensic equipment; he quickly returned with the needed items and turned them over to Sherlock without his normal huffing or arguments.

Holmes hid the fact that he was surprised by the lack of Anderson's usual rant. He made his face impassive as he put on a fresh pair of gloves, and walked to the body examining the room and carpet as he went along. He tuned out everything but the scene.

The body was displayed on the bed fully dressed in an expensive designer suit jacket and trousers. Holmes noticed that the victim's hands were presented with the palms face up. Both arms were spread ninety-degrees from the body as if the victim was nailed to a cross. The hands held something. The groom's mouth was closed.

Like all the other victims, the blood was drained and both wrist slit. It was a tall, slender male with dark curly hair. His skin was pale, but his pallor was a result of the blood lost not natural coloring. He was killed like the rest of the victims. He started to bleed to death while still alive. Barts would confirm, but Holmes was sure that despite remarkably little blood remaining at the crime scene, the body appeared to be thoroughly drained of blood.

To Sherlock, nothing existed now, but the examination, the clues, and the puzzle.

He did a comprehensive examination of the body, then eyes. Holmes bent over with his back to Anderson as he picked up the victims nails and examined them with his retractable, rectangular shaped magnifying glass. He then used a sterile spatula to clean under the victim's nail. He smelled it and frowned before putting the organic material into an evidence bag.

The differences with his victims were numbered. This body had no shoes or socks on the feet. The eyes were opened not closed like the other victims. In the victim's right and left hand were brass chess pieces, a king and a queen. Like the other victims, there were rose petals in his mouth, and the lips were sewn shut, but unlike the other victims, the color of these petals were yellow.

The most dramatic difference was the note. It lay on the chest of the victim's body; the words, The Sign of Four, were written on the paper in black lettering, with the Arabic symbol for the number Four centrally positioned under the words. The fact that the words were written on paper that was made to look as if it was from the Victorian era was not lost on the Consultant Detective. He needed to speak with Lestrade as soon as he was finished with the press conference.

As his mind put the last piece in place, the room came back into focus. He again noticed Anderson. He heard a strange sort of breathy sound coming from the man. He straightened his body and turned around. He noticed Anderson looking intently at him, more accurately, parts of him. Anderson was not even trying to hide it. Sherlock vaguely wondered if Anderson was trying to intimidate him, or provoke him in some way. The only thing that the man was accomplishing was making him angry.

Lestrade, he reminded himself, think of Lestrade.

He spoke as calmly as possible but through gritted teeth. "Well, I'll be off, I have everything I need. I'll call Lestrade directly."

Anderson watched in silence as the Consultant Detective disposed of the gloves. He then walked up to the Forensic Scientist, to turn in the evidence bags. He wished that there was someone else there to take the evidence. He briefly considered walking out with the bags and giving them to Lestrade directly, but quickly dismissed the idea.

Anderson leaned against the doorway. Holmes heard him speak as he prepared to walk away.

"How bad is that scar on your chest?"

Sherlock's body stilled, his steps slowed, then stopped; he turned to Anderson, studying him. He did not think that it was wise to have his back turned to the man.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked almost warily.

Anderson moved closer.

"You know," Anderson paused as he looked Holmes up and down before looking pointedly at his chest area, "You used to be so skinny, you're still lean but muscular now. It looks good on you mate." Anderson looked at the right side of Holmes chest. "It would be ashamed for a scar to mar your skin."

Holmes was almost certain the hideous man, had never before today seen him with anything less than his suit jacket on. How did he know about something as personal as a scar, especially when that scar had been removed?

He was unable to stop his inquisitive nature so asked. "How do you know this? Do you expect me to be clairvoyant and read your mind?" Sherlock voice spoke evenly. He was a curious as he was weary. Only John would have been able to detect the edge to his voice.

Anderson came close and whispered, "Make a deduction."

Sherlock stiffened his body. His eyes became narrow, he resisted the desire to hit the man. "Personal space," Sherlock said with a false smile.

Doubt entered Anderson's mind for a moment, and he stepped back. He remembered the last time that he challenged Holmes physically, and the lump on his head that resulted. Almost instantly, that doubt left, and a drug induced courage and boldness remained.

"What about the scar on your abdomen," Anderson looked dramatically at where the scar should have been, and continued, "… very, very low on your abdomen. Ow. That musta hurt."

"What are you going on about," Sherlock said with the first real sign of irritation. Anderson noticed the break in the normally unflappable man's continence. Robert Anderson felt a shudder of excitement go through him. He pierced Holmes emotional armor.

"You know, you should be nicer… Sher…lock." Anderson almost sang his name.

"I'll try to be nicer if you try not to be an idiot." Holmes smiled falsely, he was not trying to hide his anger anymore.

"Does it bother you? What they did to you?" Anderson smirked. Holmes tried not to betray his confusion.

"Nothing bothers me. You say I'm a sociopath remember, nothing bothers a sociopath". He gave Anderson a scathing glare as he looked him up and down refusing to be intimidated. "Sorry to disappoint."

This time, Sherlock did not stop but started to walk toward the stairs. He felt like the air was being sucked from the room, and he had the beginnings of a headache.

Anderson stood with his mouth open and eyes blinking. He had a puzzled look on his face. The man walking away did not fit the image of the broken and begging Holmes of his fantasies. It was as if he could not believe that Holmes had not only kept fairly controlled, but he was actually walking away from him. He wanted to at least see a tear. His fantasies about an intimidated, trembling, submissive, weeping, and emotionally broken Holmes faded quickly. Anderson did not handle the possibility of failure well.

He ran after Sherlock in a rage.

"Don't you walk away from me, you sodden freak," Anderson hissed dangerously behind him.