Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 106

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. ****. ****

… King or Queen part II…

"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?"~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock's Memory

Current Day

Over Two Hours Earlier (Continued)

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

Sherlock did and would not say another word. He felt a stab of pain in his head; this time sharp. He winced before attempting to control his facial features.

"Don't. Walk. Away!" Anderson voice was louder than before.

Sherlock ignored him and reached the stairs.

"Stop or I'll make you stop," Anderson's voice was low now and threatening.

"That would be a mistake," Sherlock commented evenly. Another shot of pain race through his temples.

Anderson reached out to grab Holmes, but Sherlock was on his guard due to Anderson's erratic behavior. Sherlock easily pivoted and grabbed Anderson's arm and slammed him into the wall, trapping him there.

"I think I warned you earlier not to touch me." Holmes twisted his arm slightly more before adding, "Behave." Anderson let out a high pitch yelp of pain.

"Let go of me, you freak," Anderson hissed.

"Are you ready to act like you are a member of Scotland Yard? Or, do I need to inform Lestrade of your little temper tantrum," he sniffed, "… and suggest that he randomly drug test a certain individual. Just to be clear, that would be you."

Anderson suddenly stopped fighting and became perfectly calm. "Did you scream, or were you a stoic robotic freak?"

Pain that had the strength of ten migraines; exploded in Holmes head. Sherlock stumbled, his hands released Anderson, who fell on his butt with an unexpected thump. Sherlock's hands reflectively came onto his head as his eyes slammed closed to shut out the suddenly painful light.

Sherlock stumbled against the walls as one foot slipped one stair down. Anderson saw his opportunity. He pushed forcefully into Sherlock's thigh with one foot. Despite slipping, Holmes had managed to balance his body's weight on one foot, but with Anderson's violent attack, he slipped tumbling down the remaining stairs. Luckily, they were almost to the bottom, so he tumbled down only five stairs and landed on his stomach and the side of his face. Sherlock could not breathe for a second; the fall seemed to have knocked all the air out of him. He might have noticed that his body was in pain; except the stabbing pain in his head was distracting him.

One thought filled his mind, John.

Sherlock moaned as he tried to reach into his back pocket for his mobile phone. He vaguely noticed his hands being moved and a hand that was not his own reaching into his back pocket. He vaguely felt the cool touch of metal. Next, Anderson rolled Sherlock onto his back. Sherlock tried to bring his hands to his head, but could not.

Holmes blinked as he tried to focus. Anderson's blurred face was above him. The look of shock on Sherlock's face was mirrored by the look of shock on Anderson's face. It was as if both men could not believe that Anderson was capable of taking his personal dislike so far. Sherlock closed his eyes as the pain flared up again. Moans escaped his lips.

Sherlock was not sure how long he was distracted by the pain, but when it finally began to subside, he noticed several things. He was vulnerable. His hands were handcuffed. He had been dragged to a spare bedroom and deposited on the floor. Anderson had closed the door, and he was sweating and breathing deeply as he paced back and forth. Anderson must be nervous, Holmes concluded.

Holmes tried to think with difficulty. He considered the fact that, however, embarrassing it might have been, he would have yelled, but the possibility that either Grifton or Mycroft's man would hear, was almost zero. Sherlock knew that he was weakened and needed to use his energy wisely. The men in the cars outside were guarding against the threats from outside, not from the danger that was within. Anderson was pacing in an obvious attempt to gain the courage to do something.

For the first time, Sherlock wondered if the man was so far gone that he would try to hurt or murder him. He realized with clarity that he was at that moment capable of almost anything.

Whatever episode he had, left him physically weak. He would have to distract Anderson until his strength returned. The last thing he noticed was Anderson's eyes. Whatever he was going to do, he had thought about for a very, long time. He was battling with himself; maybe he could exploit that weakness. Sherlock blinked away the pain or he tried, of course, it did not work. His body was literally shaking from a combination of ebbing pain and adrenaline. He looked at Anderson who had stopped pacing. He had made up his mind about something.

Anderson was more of a fool than he thought if he had not realized that someone would check on him, Holmes thought. Lestrade or John would call, Mycroft would be annoying and check on him, even Donovan would be back to drive him home. He was almost sure that she was not a part of this.

A muddled thought occurred… manipulation. Anderson already had anger issues, adding manipulation would be a volatile combination. Sherlock was aware that the Yarder did not like the attention that Lestrade gave him, but there was something more sinister this time. There was another incentive, jealousy. He was jealous of Lestrade's treatment. In addition, even though it was obvious, that Anderson had three sexual partners, he was jealous of Donovan's civil treatment of him of late. This, despite the fact that, he had a lover who he had an emotional attachment to, and two more with whom he had sex occasionally. Some unknown person was twisting the jealousy into something dark.

He looked Anderson up and down and frowned. Maybe the increase in heart rate and the sweat was due to a different reason he now realized. Despite the pain, he felt his strength returning.

His mottled mind started to reason again. Seemingly random events lined up in perfect order.

John's sister receiving news that started her on a drinking binge.

The remote location of the current murder.

The house design that made it difficult for noise to travel.

The location of the body in the back of the house.

Lestrade and Dononvan being called away suddenly on a press conference.

Increased threats that caused Mycroft to be out of the country.

Half their protective detail of agents reassigned due to increased threats to Britain.

Sherlock held his breath for a second.

The note on the Victims chest was written on paper.

The paper was a reproduction of the Victorian era.

Victorian.

The victim had yellow roses in his mouth.

Yellow roses in the Victorian era was a sign of dying love and...

Jealousy.

The pieces came together like a puzzle in his mind. The events formed a perfect pattern. It was the pattern of a master, not a moron. Someone had influenced Anderson, and the idiot did not realize it.

"The sign of four," Holmes whispered to himself, "A game."

Anderson looked at Holmes with an unidentified expression. Holmes made a point not to frown. "Anderson you don't know what your doing. Someone encouraged you to do this didn't they." Anderson did not answer but he notice the slight hesitation in his pacing and the tight line that his mouth was drawn into.

"It's not too late..." Sherlock voice was cut off by a gasp of pain. The throbbing in his body made him realize that Anderson had kicked him in the side. Anderson seemed fascinated with the sound that Holmes made and pulled back his feet to kick him again. Sherlock took his body and used the little energy he had to trap Anderson's foot against his body and twist. The off balance man fell against a nightstand and hit the left side of his face.

Anderson cursed Holmes as he rolled into a ball on the floor and put his hands to his face.

Holmes knew that the probability of reaching Anderson was low, but he had to try before he recovered.

"Come man, even you can't believe that you'll get away with this. Do you realize that you're a pawn in someone else's game?" Sherlock said in an annoyed voice, which, as usual lacked diplomacy.

A blow to his jaw was the only answer. His head was thrown to the side of the floor with the strength of it. This did nothing good for his headache. He blinked away the sparks, dots of light, and pain again. He noticed that Anderson was ranting and throwing insults at him. He did not feel the need to listen. The outcome would be the same.

He distracted himself by looking around the room and making deductions. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts as he hissed in pain. He felt two more blows to his abdomen. He took a moment to get himself under control, and then resumed looking around. Sherlock had lots of practice with distracting himself from pain. A part of him conceded that that was not normal. He squinted at the darkened floor under the bed and saw an ashtray. He smirked. So he was right about the victim smoking.

"… So you think I'm funny now or do you get off on pain … freak?" Anderson voice floated past his haze.

"You think you're so high and mighty that everyone is beneath you; that you're so high above us mortals that you're untouchable."

Anderson straddled Sherlock chest now and said. "The great Sherlock Holmes is trembling under me. I could do anything that I want to you, and you'd let me, and not say a word. He ran a slow finger down Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock became incensed. "If you belief that, you're delusional as well as an idiotic cretin, an ignoramus, a simpleton, an incompetent dimwit and sodden clot, a…" Thrash.

Anderson wrapped both hands on Holmes' throat and squeezed. Sherlock thrashed about weakly, in an attempt to throw him off. He gasp for air as the room started to swim in front of him; his ears were filled with a ringing sound. Sherlock's airless body had no more energy to fight, he stilled. The room was starting to fade. Anderson let go, and watched amused as Sherlock arched his back coughing and gulping violently, in an attempt to draw in more air. Every act of violence, made Anderson bolder.

"Don't be rude," Anderson, said in a low menacing voice. He was high off the power he imagined that he now had over Holmes.

"I have a few… shall we call them demands… think of them as suggestions for changes in your behavior… a few things that you're going to do for me since we're such good friends now."

Sherlock opened his mouth to first suck more air in as the coughs finally settled down, then to answer acidly. However, a voice that sounded like John's in the back of his mind, told him to shut up. Luckily, Sherlock listened to imaginary John and shut up.

He concentrated on breathing as he clenched his jaws together to resist the temptation to say something further. He felt slightly stronger and squirmed under Anderson. He was not strong enough to throw him off yet.

Anderson found his efforts amusing and simply watched for a few minutes. His face suddenly became serious as he glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that, in the real world, time moved forward. He smiled and bent his face toward Sherlock. Sherlock froze for a minute and then renewed his efforts to get Anderson off him.

"Get off of me...(Wheeze)... or I swear to everything sacred that I will murder you."

"Shush, it's okay, I just wanted to share a secret with you since we're such good friends now. Actually, the secret is yours not mine. Be still mate, I'll un-cuff you and let you go in a minute, I promise. My… Worthless… Little… Freak." Anderson's voice sounded soft and almost tender.

Anderson bent over further to brush his lips on Holmes left cheek dragging them to his left ear. Anderson started to whisper in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock suddenly stilled. He was as motionless as a rock. His eyes widened, before he closed them as if the act could block out the words. Sherlock shook, but this time it wasn't from the pain.

Current Day

Current Time

Sherlock blinked as sounds took on meaning. Through the haze, a voice reached him. "… Answer me, I asked if you were alright."

Sherlock blinked a few times and answered as the memories faded.

"I'm fine," his voice was rough, and still raspy from the earlier abuse. His voice sounded strained in his ears, and his breathing sounded harsh and unnaturally loud.

Sherlock looked around as if he had momentarily forgotten where he was. Donovan said nothing for a moment then added, "If you're fine, why did you faint?"

"I did not faint," he replied indignantly. "I simply closed my eyes," He lied to both her and himself.

The interior of the car was immersed in darkness. The darkness was broken up by beams of light, which followed shifts of shadows. Both invaded the cabin of the car in steady, rhythmic streams. Sherlock let the steady rhythm calm him as he tried to bring his mind, and racing heart under control. He observed his surroundings and reminded himself where he was.

After a moment, he looked at Sally. "Donovan, it was not just me that concerned you."

She hesitated for a brief moment then swallowed her pride and confessed. "I thought that I noticed a car following us."

"I have a car that follows me for protection," Holmes heard Donovan exhale in relief.

Sherlock looked back. He frowned when he noticed the car. He studied the driving patterns for a moment. That was a black car, but not Mycroft's men. He searched into the darkened light. He could no longer see Mycroft's car. He waited for the car that was following to drive under a lamppost. It did. His frown deepened. He took a calming breath.

"The day gets better and better," he quietly hissed to himself.

Donovan tensed again, and tilted her head so that she could look at Holmes in the rearview mirror.

"Donovan," Holmes said in a measured voice.

"Yes." Her frown returned, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Call for backup." It was a simple statement, but it sent a chill of fear through her.

"I thought you said…" Donovan started to say before being interrupted.

"You can say, I told you so later, and gloat when this is over… Call!"

Donovan got on the mobile.

"Maybe, a less lonely route would be a good idea," Sherlock again muttered as he moved his arms searching his pockets for his mobile, but not finding it.

"Yes." The fact that she did not argue would normally have raised his eyebrows.

Donovan was on her mobile calling for backup when Sherlock realized that his mobile must have fallen on the seat or the floor when he… closed his eyes. He looked and found it in the fold of the car seat. He quickly retrieved the mobile, turned on the device and call Mycroft; it was picked up almost immediately.

An angry voice hissed at the younger Holmes "Sherlock Macarius Holmes, do you have any idea…"

"Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted a little too quickly. His voice was hoarse. His normally stoic exterior was weakened by the night's earlier event.

"You're in trouble," Mycroft made a statement.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Two cars are on their way. Sergeant Donovan can concentrate on driving. I'll also notify the Yard and Lestrade. By the way, John is quite cross." Sherlock seemed to calm while he listened to his brother's voice. He closed his eyes and pushed all emotions that threatened to overwhelm him down. They were unwanted. Logic was what was needed now. When he opened his eyes, Holmes cool exterior was back, and his mind, not emotions dominated.

Sherlock quickly relayed the message to Donovan and confirmed their current street address.

"John, is your men guarding John?" Sherlock asked as his mind fought the residual headache to access the mental map of London and the surrounding areas.

"John is fine; I spoke to him moments ago. Last I heard, he demanded that my agent drive him to your flat so that he could start looking for you. Did I mention that he was rather cross?" Mycroft's voice was muffled.

"You might have." A ghost of a smile made its way to Sherlock's lips.

"Iren… Ms. Adler might be a target as well." Sherlock commented as he reached for the gun that he now realized that he did not bring. The plan was for there to be a quick trip to meet Lestrade at a crime scene full of law enforcement officers, and then back home before John knew the better. What could have gone wrong? Well, he thought, plans change.

"I have considered that Miss Adler could be targeted, Sherlock. She is safe." Mycroft commented. Sherlock was quiet.

"I promise Sherlock." Mycroft said sincerely.

Sherlock nodded even though his brother could not see him. They were in a particularly secluded area, as they made their way to a busier street now. The mysterious car was not seen anymore. This did not comfort Sherlock.

"Thomas, is he still with her?" Sherlock thought of his mother. Everyone seemed to believe that she was dead, but it was worth a consideration.

"Yes Thomas is with her and she's fine before you ask." Mycroft was heard talking briefly with someone. Sherlock assumed that it was Anthea.

There was silence as each listened to the other breathe. Sherlock knew that Mycroft would not disconnect until he was sure that backup had arrived.

Sherlock frowned and spoke, "Mycroft there is something that you should probably be made aware of," Sherlock hesitated, "Earlier tonight…"

A bright beam of light caught his attention.

Sherlock heard, before he saw the large darkened shadow out of the corner of one eye. It was approaching at an incredible speed. He was not sure which sound or sight gained his attention first. The roar of an engine, Donovan's gasp, and the screech of tires all competed equally for the attention of his senses.

Next, the world seemed to slow to a crawl, his breath hitched as his arms reflectively came to cover his face.

The crunch of metal, the shattering of glass and the popping sound of deploying airbags were the next sounds, while gravity pulled their bodies violently to the left causing the seatbelts to dig into their chest shoulders and thighs, as the car spun like a child's toy.

In the midst of the symphony of sight, sensation, and sound, one word that has always meant protection, forgiveness, and strength, unknowingly and breathlessly left Sherlock's lips like a whispered prayer.

"Mycroft."

TBC

A/N: I will not leave you in suspense; my fingers are typing as fast as they can.

Fun Question. This one might be a little hard. The name of a canon book is hidden somewhere in these chapters. It was also made into a movie.

If you do not want a hint stop reading now.

Still there?

The hint is; there are four words in the title of the book.

Second hint. There is a peg leg.

No stress have fun ;)