Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 129
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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
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."
~Clarence Darrow
Current Day
Eight Minutes Earlier
Scotland Yarders, and several recently arrived Tactical Agents, moved closer to the hospital. Medical workers guardedly moved beyond the medical tape.
News crews and reporters continued to watch the drama unfold. In various places, including, houses, flats, and pubs, many people gathered around the telly.
The BBC news reporter continued her live report. She lowered her voice to add to the drama. "It would appear that two rescue workers are trying to approach the person on the trolley." Two paramedics cautiously ducked under the bright yellow police tape. They looked around warily as they slowly approached the body.
Several popping sounds pierced the air. The body on the trolley jerked in time to the thudding sound of flesh being pierced. The reporter looked confused for a second, but then ducked down when several screams filled the air.
"Keep filming," She hissed quietly as she covered her microphone with her hand.
The news cameraman continued to film and pointed the camera at the stretcher. The white sheets gradually changed color, as red spread slowly. It was almost as if someone was painting the sheets and covers. The red paint spread to the ground.
The reporter slowly stood with the carnage of two dead bodies in the background. "Stop filming the bodies," She made a show of saying. Her cameraman raised an eyebrow at her hypocrisy, but said nothing. The camera slowly zoomed onto her face and zoomed away from the dead bodies.
"We would like to extend our sincere apologies, on behalf of BBC and its affiliates…" The reporter hoped that she looked sincere.
Current Day
Current Time
Sherlock cradled John in his arms. He heard Lestrade's heavy footsteps. He could tell by the pattern that he was quite upset. A mixture of officers, agents, and medical workers followed him. Lestrade held his mobile up to his ears as he walked toward Sherlock. Whomever he was speaking to was quite upset as well. The DI was trying to reassure and calm that person down.
Greg Lestrade came to stand in front of Sherlock, and John. He looked at John concerned. "Fainted," Sherlock said simply.
Lestrade then looked at the bodies outside the door. Two now, he noted to himself. He looked at Sherlock. He noticed the way that Sherlock was avoiding his eyes. The man never avoided anyone's eyes. Holmes was normally not one for social niceties, or politeness.
Two of the medical workers had to tell Sherlock twice to let go. Sherlock looked at his hands as if they were foreign objects. He blinked twice and reluctantly let go. He watched as they lifted John onto the trolley then started an IV. One of the workers took John's vital signs. Sherlock watched them closely. Sherlock relaxed when he realized that John's vital signs were stable. The medical worker gave a smile before wheeling him away. Everyone that had arrived with Lestrade followed except for two agents, one was Agent Pearson.
Greg looked again at the body on the trolley. The body that is now where John was minutes before. He looked at Sherlock who looked at him for the first time. He studied the man for several seconds before a curse left his lips. He watched as Holmes slowly got to his feet and started to walk toward the corridor that led to the nearest lift. Lestrade followed Holmes and had to run slightly to catch up to the man.
"You have to trust me, Lestrade." Holmes said without stopping or looking at him.
"Tell me you did not do what I think you did, Sherlock. Tell me I'm wrong." Lestrade hissed a whisper for Holmes ears only.
Sherlock said without expression. "It's not difficult for me to tell you that you are wrong, it happens so frequently."
"Cut the crap!" Lestrade grabbed an arm. He looked at the agents that followed behind, he then lowered his voice to a whisper again. "I understand that you're under pressure but…"
Sherlock stopped talking and stepped into Lestrade's personal space. "You understand nothing…" They were both silent for a few seconds, as their temper flared.
"What was I to do, let him die," Sherlock dared Lestrade to say yes.
Lestrade's voice rose again. "Of course not but…"
"Hard decisions had to be made. Who was going to make them..," Sherlock looked condescendingly at Lestrade, "… you?"
Lestrade looked past Sherlock's defenses. He suddenly became calm. He saw the hidden look of pain that flashed in his eyes, and then suddenly was covered again. "You're not God, to decide who lives, and dies."
Sherlock's face became expressionless, "Someone has to try to keep us alive."
He walked up to Lestrade. Lestrade did not notice that he took a step back. The look in Sherlock's eyes was intense, almost primal. "You never answered me, what decision would you have made, Detective Inspector?"
An odd sort of a smile came to Holmes face. "Or, would you rather that the fifty-three persons who are still alive in this building, die. What am I now, Lestrade? Did you make a mistake about me; am I evil now, a freak? Here is the beautiful part, quite lovely in an evil sort of way; since that is what I have to be to save as many lives as I can. That is what I will be. I know that this is difficult, but, do try to keep up. If they die, their deaths will be multiplied. Their deaths will somehow cause the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands more. I have several theories, but I do not know yet how. That's what those bodies that were drained of blood gave a clue to."
Sherlock's body language was defensive and superior, but Lestrade had known Sherlock longer than anyone, and better than anyone except John, and his brother. Sherlock was walking on the edge. It was up to him, in John's absence, to keep him from falling off that edge.
Lestrade had had enough. He pulled both mobiles from Sherlock's hands. He gave both to an agent and said, "Hold these for him," he walked back to Sherlock before the agents could protest. The two agents tensed when Lestrade manhandled Sherlock into a room. Sherlock shook 'no' with his head to the agents before Lestrade closed the door. The door slammed loudly.
Sherlock looked beyond Lestrade, to a spot on the wall, to the right of his face.
"Cut the shite." Lestrade poked his friend in the chest. He ignored the guilt he felt when Sherlock grimaced. "Don't you let this Moriarty get into your head. You're not him, no matter how many times he tells you. You're not God, you're human. You make mistakes, just like the rest of us, even with that massive brain of yours. You're the only one who won't forgive yourself for that fact."
Lestrade sighed, but tentatively put his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "When this is over, there will be legal consequences for what happened today." Lestrade's voice lowered, it took on a fondness. "I don't agree with what you did today, but the truth is, I don't know what I would have done, and that's the truth. Whatever happens, I will stand beside you. Mrs. Hudson, John, and many more will too. You're not alone, not anymore."
The first hint of emotion cracked through. It was so reserved that none but those that truly knew the Consultant would have recognized it. Sherlock risked a look at Lestrade, instead of the disgust he thought that he would see, he saw a strength, forgiveness, and determination.
"No more, making decisions on your own. I think that you need to be the one to tell John when this is over. I don't envy you the task. I heard that he punches a lot harder than you'd think." The DI squeezed the shoulder of the younger man.
"You're Sherlock bloody Holmes, don't play Moriarty's games, do what you do best, out think the arrogant bastard."
There was a hint of a sad smile from Sherlock. He gave the tiniest of nods to Lestrade.
"Ready?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded before he cleared his throat. "Yes."
Lestrade smiled. "It's time for you to use that massive brain of yours and save our arse."
Lestrade squeezed Sherlock's shoulders again. Sherlock tentatively held out his hand and squeezed Lestrade's shoulder back. They both rushed out the door and headed for the injured agent. Sherlock was convinced that the agent held the key. They made a quick stop to get John.