Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 115
A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the 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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Thank you for your response concerning Moriarty's job. Tea and cookies for all.
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Warning*****.*** M rated, Moriarty's back. Need I say more? ****. ****
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**Happy Holidays.
"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.…"
… White Knight, Black Knight…
"I never wonder to see men wicked, but I often wonder to see them not ashamed"
~Jonathan Swift
Current Day
Current Time
Remote Area of London
Close to the river, in an old industrial part of London, two laughing youths stumbled along as they took turns pushing one another playfully. They both knew it was much too late to be still outside, but they were not willing to head home yet.
The older of the two felt an abrupt yank on his shirt hem that caused him to stumble again. He turned to look at his mate as he heard his name called.
"Andrew."
His laughter died down when he turned around and looked at the younger, yet braver, youth. He followed his friend's eyes toward an abandoned warehouse. It was just one of many such buildings, which were in the rundown part of town. Some buildings were in the process of renovation; most were left at nature's mercy to deteriorate and decay slowly.
They came to a set of two gigantic warehouses that were set a good distance apart from the rest.
"What are you thinking Dylan, I know that look in yah eyes mate." His friend did not answer. Andrew huffed impatiently as he watched his friend. The young man started to walk toward the side of the large building wordlessly. He watched as Dylan soon broke into a slow, quiet run.
"Dylan!" Andrew hissed as he watched him disappear toward the back of the building. The older friend cursed under his breath for several minutes before following behind nervously. He quietly entered the darkened building. He gave his eyes time to adjust. He turned on his mini torch that he carried along for such adventures. He moved his head around as his eyes squinted. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he was not sure why. This was not the first time that he had followed his friend and done questionable things. It probably would not be the last. He had to admit that as much as he complained, Dylan was exciting.
Andrew wandered around for a short time as he whispered his friend's name. An unexpected hand on the back of his shoulders startled him. He turned to notice Dylan's toothy grin.
"I should be sectioned for coming in here after yah," Andrew hissed angrily.
Dylan said distractedly, "Stop crying on. You always say that, but you always follow." He led the way along an extended corridor, which approached an opened area.
"Be quiet," He warned as he slowed his steps and stayed in the shadows. Andrew noticed filtered light coming from ahead. The clicking sound, as Andrew turned his mini torch off, sounded much too loud in his anxious mind. The further they walked along, the easier it was to make out shapes in the dim light. They came to a rail that overlooked an opened area. The open area's floor was one level lower than they were.
"Look." The younger of the two whispered.
Andrew squinted as he looked down over the rail. There was a small amount of light that filtered through the long, but narrow windows close to the roof of the opened area. His eyes widened, and he let out an involuntary gasp as he quickly slammed his body back against the wall. He seemed determined to disappear deeper into the shadows.
"Quiet!" His friend hissed urgently.
"T…That looks like a… a…body." Andrew whispered as he tried to ignore the sudden urge to vomit.
"Yeah," Dylan said as he half smiled, "Chill mate." The young man's smile widened. "I notice some people coming in and out late at night sometimes, maybe the mob. Now and then I'd find… stuff. This is the first time I've seen a body."
"Mob?" Andrew felt the nausea come back.
"Do you think he's still alive?" Dylan moved a little closer.
"The mob?" Andrew whispered back frozen.
"I think I saw it move," Dylan sounded excited. He felt a hand grab him and pull him backwards. "What are you doing?"
"We're getting outta here before we're laying beside that man." Andrew had the advantage of size and was manhandling his smaller friend.
"Piss off," Dylan twisted his arm out of his friend hands angrily. "Stop being such a wanker. I've never seen a dead body before; I'm getting a closer look."
"No you're not! Even you can't be that insane." He poked his friend in the chest angrily. "We're leaving now…"
They both were suddenly still as they heard movement coming from the area that they just left. It took Andrew a few seconds to be able to move. And, several more to realize that Dylan was gone.
Andrew whispered several curses before he moved as quietly as possible to find him. When he did, Dylan was hidden in the shadows shaking. Andrew looked in horror as several men stood over the man on the table. A well-dressed man in a suit took out a scalpel and positioned it above a now bare chest. The scalpel started to descend and move. The man's gloves quickly became colored. The light that filtered through the windows, cast eerie shadows on the men, equipment, and body. The scene mimicked some dark Machiavellian play.
Andrew's shaking arm was on Dylan. He felt the younger man tremble. They carefully and quietly back away from the gruesome scene in front of them.
Dylan was as white as a sheet. He did not argue or resist this time, when his friend urgently, quietly led him away. The last sounds that the terrified young men heard were muffled and weakened groans.
Current Day
Current Time
Mrs. Miranda Holmes sat on the chair as she sipped another cup of coffee. Mycroft's call had been short, cryptic, and at an odd hour. She insisted on sitting up to wait for him. She had only seen him twice since the treatment for her illness proved to be successful.
The first time it was to tell her that her youngest son was dead. The second time was to tell her that her youngest son was alive.
It was Sherlock that convinced her to go into hiding for her protection. Both of her sons had powerful enemies. It was her older son, however, that convinced the world that he buried his mother, a few weeks after burying his younger brother, Sherlock.
Mycroft came up with the idea to hide her away under her maiden name. She trusted Mycroft completely and followed his request to the letter.
She glanced around and noticed the several new agents that arrived within hours of each other. Thomas was busy. He even put on his suit. She had not seen him in a suit in months. He glanced at her strangely as he listened, and spoke into his headset. She resisted the frown that wanted to express itself on her face. She instead took another sip. Her mind wandered as her fingers played with the cup's rim.
Her attention, along with everyone in the room, turned toward the opening door. Anthea, several agents, a man and a woman walked into the room. She noticed Mycroft walking next to a beautiful dark-haired woman who was holding a sleeping child.
It was the way that her oldest son walked closer to the woman, and invaded her personal space that made her take a closer look at the child. Mycroft had one hand on the back of the child that the woman was holding.
It was something about the young child.
Miranda did not notice that she lost the battle. A frown was properly placed on her face.
A few agents came in afterward.
She glanced at Thomas. His eyes traveled over the small group. He then openly stared at the child for several seconds. Mrs. Holmes noticed Thomas looking at her. He then turned his attention to assigning the other agents.
Miranda did not notice that her feet carried her to the child. She looked at the woman. She looked at her eldest son.
Mycroft sighed tiredly before saying quietly. "I think it best if we sit down."
Current Day
Current Time
John walked into the larger room; he stopped to look at Sherlock. His friend was standing by the window, looking out, quietly. He had stood frozen there since they entered their flat ten minutes ago. John noticed that Sherlock swayed slightly. It was obvious that the strong pain medications that he was given in the hospital were wearing off.
John frowned and exhaled. His frown deepened, and he walked up to Sherlock and wordlessly held a cup of tea toward Sherlock. Without looking, he reached for the tea that John offered. Instead of taking a sip, he held the cup cradled in both hands. It was as if he was trying to draw the warmth from it. John looked out the window for a few minutes quietly. John opened his mouth as he prepared himself for an argument.
"No," Sherlock said before his friend could speak.
"You just got out the hospital, you should be lying down."
"I seem to find myself in hospitals quite frequently of late. I would sleep all of the time if I laid down each time I came home from one."
John frowned.
Sherlock took his first sip. "I don't understand all the intricacies of a joke, but I thought that my comment was amusing."
"Keep working at it mate," John lips turned up into a smile before he took another sip.
Sherlock looked at John for the first time since arriving. They seemed to search each other and carried on an entire conversation at the same time.
Sherlock frowned. "I'm fine John."
John looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock turned away from John's scrutiny and looked back out the window.
Sherlock swayed slightly, and John's hand came up quickly to steady him. After a few seconds, Sherlock opened his eyes apologetically. He noticed both teacups spilled on the floor and the wetness to John's jumper sleeve.
"I see you're fine," John commented dryly. "Why do you refuse to at least sit down?"
"I have to think John. Moriarty has left me a … message. It's almost over, his test. The sign of four. One test has already begun. I can not afford to lose. The stake in his games are always high."
"Sit Sherlock, tell me about it. I'll get more tea and something for pain." John held up his hand to stop Sherlock's protest. "Lestrade is on his way over. Shut your eyes until he gets here. I won't lie and say that I'll keep you awake. But, I won't let you sleep long."
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it when he noticed John's face. He looked at John for a few seconds. He took off his jacket and draped it over the chair as he walked past it. He gracelessly collapsed on the couch. One hand dragged on the floor.
John walked over to Sherlock and looked down. Sherlock's eyes were closed. John placed his hand on the couch arm, right above, Sherlock's head.
"We still need to talk." John did not receive an answer. He sighed then turned to get his friend something to drink.
As he put two sugars in Sherlock's tea, a voice traveled from the other room.
"I know," Sherlock's baritone voice was barely above a whisper.
Sherlock was already asleep when, moments later, John returned to the other room.