Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 128
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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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Warning*****.*** T rated, However, there is some violence? ****. ****
"Each board contains two knights… The knight – with its strange and unpredictable jumps – is the trickiest of the chess pieces.…"
… White Knight, Black Knight… Unpredictable Jumps… Part IV
"Men are like sheep, of which a flock is more easily driven than a single one."
~ Richard Whately
Current Day
Current Time
Moriarty sat as he slowly sipped on his second cup of tea. He looked at the monitors. They each had several boxes with black and white pictures of different parts of the hospital. On one screen, a camera showed Holmes as he entered a medical area. There was a person who appeared to be a young nurse already there. She smiled a surprised smile at him. Holmes' lips moved as he appeared to speak to her. She looked surprised. Her smile left. Her lips moved as she started to back up.
Moriarty raised his eyebrows; he suddenly wished that he had popcorn. He leaned forward as he tried to see the black and white images of Holmes more clearly. Holmes advanced on the young nurse as his large hands covered her mouth. Her hands pushed at him. Within seconds, a syringe came out; he injected it into the struggling woman. Her struggles lessened, and then stopped completely.
Moriarty looked, as Holmes lifted the young nurse up and deposited her on a trolley. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. He put a hand on her head then hesitated again and withdrew it. A sheet was pulled over her head as she was wheeled out the room. Moriarty smiled.
Moriarty whispered to the room. "I told you that I knew who you are, Sherlock." He took another sip of tea.
Current Day
Current Time
John held his hands up, as he looked toward the hospital. He looked with the eyes of a soldier as he assessed possible threats and possible escapes. There were no possible escapes. He sighed. He was fatigued, sore, and tired. He noticed the flashing of lights behind his back. How embarrassing. He heaved another, more dramatic, sigh. He would never again tease Sherlock about his pride.
Sherlock.
John hoped that his friend was okay. He hoped that Moran did not have him. He did not think so, but who could be sure? John huffed now. What was he doing here? Moran had explained nothing to him. Of course, Sebastian was occupied. Striking a person who cannot defend himself must have been tiring for the man.
John looked in the reflection of the glass mirror. He noticed that they were still filming him. His eyes squinted. Two people were standing behind the glass door. He could not tell who they were, the glare from the lights made them appear as halo outlines.
Lovely.
Now someone was staring at him from behind the door. John rolled his eyes. A wave of nausea rolled through him as he swayed.
Great, that was all he needed. To be sick in front of the whole of London, brilliant.
At least they were filming his back and not his front. Moran had roughed him up a bit more than Moriarty approved. He wondered if Moriarty knew what a loose cannon he had in the man. One crazy was a risk, Moriarty and Moran together made two crazies. That was never good for anyone.
His mind returned to two repetitive questions. Where was Sherlock, and how was he. He hoped that he was okay.
Current Day
Current Time
Flashing lights from emergency vehicles littered the immediate area. There was still a small crowd, but most people thought it safer to watch from the comfort of their couches at their homes. The police had pushed the crowd back even further.
A BBC news reporter walked back, and forth, with nervous energy. She looked at the man who stood close to the glass doors, unmoving. There were several red dots on him. His hands were half way up, and in the air. She thought that she noticed him swaying slightly, but that was unimportant. The cameras were turned off currently. She gave regular reports at intervals. She looked intently toward the man. It was difficult to tell who the man was, even with the zoom lens of the news cameras. He appeared to be injured but from the distance, it was unsure.
"Two minutes until the next run." Someone told her, as someone else refreshed her makeup. She paid no attention. They were all unimportant. She rehearsed out loud what she was going to say. A wave from her assistant and she positioned herself in front of the hostage and building. She put on a practiced look of professionalism, yet, sympathy.
A man behind the camera counted backwards by ten.
Three.
Two.
He mouthed the word…
One.
She looked into the camera and spoke. "It appears that the drama began late yesterday evening and still continues into the early hours of the morning. It is four-thirty. It seems that there was a mass evacuation of most of the occupants of the hospital; however, there are, by all accounts, over fifty persons still in the building, including a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. One unconfirmed report, is that there is apparently some sort of hostage situation taking place, although, the demands are unclear."
The reporter turned, and extended a hand toward the body on the ground that lay close to the standing man.
"There are still a lot of confusion and conflicting eyewitness accounts. What is confirmed is that there has been one death. There was some sort of timed exodus, and apparently no one else is allowed to leave…" The reporter put her hand up to the transmitter in her ear, and listened for a moment.
"There appears to be something happening behind me." The reporter watched the double glass doors open.
"Someone is being wheeled out the door. Whoever it is seems to be lying on a stretcher." The reporter watched as the trolley was pushed out.
"It appears to be some sort of hostage exchange." The reporter watched as the red dots that were on the head and chest of the man disappeared. The injured man limped into the hospital. He entered. The glass doors closed.
Current Day
Current Time
Sherlock was alone in the lobby with the one agent that had helped him. That had been his plan. He stood still as he held the door open. When John realized that it was Sherlock in front of him, he exhaled with relief. He then locked eyes with Sherlock. Sherlock willed strength to John as he watched him walk toward him. Every step brought John closer. Holmes exhaled a breath that he did not realize that he was holding, when John stepped safely past the threshold of the double doors. Sherlock reached out a hand and half pulled him in. The glass door closed. Both friends looked at each other.
Sherlock's mind raced as he systematically looked at his friend. John sighed and allowed Sherlock to deduce and mentally examine him.
Pain, trying to hide it
Extensive bruising
Black eye, split lip
Cut to face, caused by a ring
Handcuffed behind the back, aggravated his shoulder
Superficial cuts
Minimal blood loss, half a pint
Limping - Injury to leg- Right
Right knee sore
Pushed to knees
Abdominal bruising
One, no two bruised ribs, not broken
Possible bruised kidney
Needs fluids
Sherlock noticed John's raised eyebrows and after a similar sigh, allowed John to do the same. John looked intently at Sherlock with a doctor's eye. When both men were satisfied that the other was not going to suddenly die, they both relaxed somewhat.
Sherlock took one-step closer as he invaded John's personal space. "Bit of a rough day?" Sherlock asked as he looked at the bruised man.
"A bit," John replied.
John attempted a smile. He licked his bruised lips. "Sherlock, you do realize that you look like shit."
Sherlock smiled his first real smile. It quickly turned into a pained look.
John noticed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing... Let's get you medical care." Sherlock looked at the agent.
"They'll be here soon," Agent Pearson commented as he talked into his mobile.
John swayed. Sherlock stepped even closer but did not touch.
John looked up as he blinked heavily, and smiled again. "I fully expect you to catch me. I'll be upset if I hit the floor and get another bruise."
Moments later, John's stop fighting the pull of gray. His body slumped. He heard a baritone voice say, "… I have you John." His eyes finally closed.
Sherlock sat on the floor. John lay in his arms, unconscious. Sherlock did not look when he heard several popping sounds just outside the glass door. He closed his eyes and opened them again. He ran a hand through John's hair.
"I've got you," he repeated to the air. Sherlock did not notice that he held John tighter.