Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 117
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.
** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.
*****.*** T rated, ****. ****
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
**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…
"The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man be perfected without trials."
~Danish Proverb
Current Day
Current Time
Photographs of the seven out of the eight victims were on the back wall. The Consultant Detective had concluded that the first letter of the victim's first names spelled out his name. Sherlock spoke rapidly as he paced back and forth. John listened from the kitchen as he prepared some tea and coffee.
"He used their first names to spell out my name. First names are intimate, personal."
Holmes pointed to the pictures on the wall. "Salford, Henry, Eaton, Ronald, Lanford, Orren, Corey, and Ken."
"S.H.E.R.L.O.C.K."
"They were killed in that order. There is a message hidden in the murders. Something that I am not getting. I'm too slow today, what is it?"
"What is it?" Sherlock hissed with frustration.
"I'm missing something here. The sign of four. Data, I need more data! I need the photographs and evidence from the latest crime scene." Sherlock started to pace again. "Stevenson is on forensics tonight?" Sherlock did not address Lestrade directly, but everyone knew he was speaking to the DI.
"No, Anderson is, but Stevenson is taking over for him, Sherlock. She will be bringing the evidence here as soon as traffic allows." Lestrade said wearily.
Lestrade hesitated before speaking again, "You okay Sherlock. Your behavior is a little… odd tonight, even for you." Lestrade tried to sound as if he was joking, but he was serious. "You've asked me who is on Forensics twice now. Aren't you the one who always tells me how you hate repeating yourself."
Sherlock glared irritably at Lestrade before beginning his muttering again.
"Moriarty sent me a message tonight… The fact that all of the victims were my approximate build and height was suggestive." Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at the picture-filled wall again.
Lestrade was used to the way that Sherlock's mind worked. He listened. Asked questions and did make comments at times, but mostly, he allowed him to talk.
"The red roses were a clue. They had a double meaning. A red rose can represent many things, love, beauty, courage, respect, or romance. Moriarty has the idea that we are in some kind of partnership, some relationship, a romance."
"The victim's blood was drained thoroughly. He wants to remove, or drain everything that he considers negative from me. Their mouths were filled with red roses. He wants to fill me with himself in a sense."
"What does this Moriarty character consider negative?" Lestrade asked.
"Good, anything society considers good," Sherlock answered distractedly.
Sherlock glanced at John as he entered the room then looked back at the wall again. John was fighting his own irritation, and concern. Sherlock needed to take a break. He also knew that, at this point, it would do more harm than good to point out this fact. John conceded the fact that Sherlock did sleep briefly. It was best to wait before making further demands. With Sherlock, it was best to choose the battles.
John brought tea for the two officers and Lestrade into the room. He discreetly placed a cup of tea close to Sherlock. He was glad that Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister. He had a feeling that Moriarty was not finished playing. What Sherlock told him about Moriarty had him on edge. He spoke with Mycroft briefly. He was told that the elder Holmes would be heading back to England in a few days, instead of tomorrow, due to an unexpected complication. He handed the coffee to Lestrade.
"Thanks," Lestrade took a sip and smiled. The last thirty hours have been long. He was caffeine deprived. Because of Sherlock and Donovan's attempted kidnapping and the press conference, there had been hours filled with a lot of worry, and remarkably little sleep.
Lestrade heard Sherlock's impatient sigh. So, Greg thought, he is back to impatient and annoying.
"Can you take a slower sip?" Sherlock said irritably as he crossed his arms.
Lestrade purposely took an excruciatingly long sip and then spoke. "You know Sherlock, you can keep speaking. I can take sips and listen at the same time, I'm rather talented."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Doing more than one thing at a time decreases the concentration in most people by fifteen percent or more. Not me of course."
Sherlock looked pointedly at Lestrade, "We both know that Scotland Yard's finest does not need anything to interfere with their already diminish, deductive skills."
"Sherlock!" John hissed.
Sherlock ignored John and held Lestrade's gaze defiantly.
Lestrade clenched his jaws together. He had forgotten how irritable Sherlock was when he was not feeling well or hiding pain. With all the facial grimaces, he'd seen on Sherlock's face in the past hour, it was obvious that he was in pain. He was trying to ignore it in typical Sherlock fashion.
The DI's eyes narrowed as he looked at the smirk on Sherlock's face and the challenge in his eyes. When he first walked into the flat. Sherlock looked so poorly he felt sorry for the younger man. Now he resisted the urge to slap him.
The two officers had become quiet and were looking from Sherlock to Lestrade.
Lestrade took yet another sip and looked at Sherlock. "I think that we can mottle through, even with the eighty-five percent of our brain that's left to us."
John groaned inwardly when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. He watched Sherlock plaster a false smile on his face. He opened his mouth but thankfully, Lestrade's phone rang.
"Lestrade here," he said as he still stared at Sherlock. He immediately forgot about his irritation with Sherlock.
"When?" Lestrade was silent as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone line.
Sherlock moved closer. He noticed the slightly nauseated look on the face of the seasoned veteran police officer. His mind was already thinking of the different possibilities that it could be. None were pleasant.
After several minutes of silence, Lestrade disconnected the mobile and looked at the small group. He was silent for a few minutes more.
Lestrade looked at Sherlock strangely."They found that agent that was following you when they attempted to kidnap you."
"There is something different Lestrade. What is it?" Sherlock asked.
"There was a note on the body." Lestrade said simply. Sherlock knew that there was something else.
"That's Towson, right?" John asked concerned.
"Yes, Agent Robert Towson, I was told." Lestrade looked at Sherlock, frowning.
"Greg, is he dead?" John asked with a grim look on his face.
"No," Lestrade said with an expression of pity. "The poor bastard is alive."
There was a sound. Everyone turned and looked toward Sherlock's jacket. The sound came again.
Sherlock phone chimed to notify him that he had an email waiting.
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy holidays. Be safe everyone.
Let me know what you think.
Love and Peace.
Zacha