Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 138

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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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*****.*** T rated ****. ****

"… Should a pawn get all the way across the board to reach the opponent's edge of the table, it will be promoted. The pawn may now become any piece that the moving player desires, except a king or pawn..."

… The Promotion of the Pawn… Part II…

"To be normal is the ideal aim of the unsuccessful."~ Carl Gustav Jung

Five Weeks Later

Current day

Current Time

Eyes turned toward the tall figure as he entered the room. Most eyes discreetly glanced at the Consultant Detective. A few, however, looked openly. The newly laundered black Belstaff wool coat complimented the slender frame. A slight swishing sound followed close behind, as the back pleats of the opened coat danced left then right. His collar was turned up. His hands were deeply tucked into the generous side pockets. A black container was held firmly, trapped under one arm.

John glanced at Sherlock. The outward bruises, cuts, and scrapes had healed on his friend, on them both. However, he knew Sherlock well enough to know that something was bothering him. In a sense, some shadow washed over his face. They had spent the last six weeks, with a combination of healing, and helping Mycroft. The goal was to try to decipher what message Sherlock left for his brother, in the event of his death, or incapacitation. This was made more difficult because this was an area, in which, the younger Holmes was still experiencing memory lost. This was the first time that he was called to The Yard since the last run in with Moriarty.

They walked around a corner as they walked toward Lestrade's office. John kept step with Sherlock, despite Sherlock's longer legs. He purposely kept the frown from his face as he noticed the tension that seemed to coil increasingly in his friend's spine.

They had been called in to assist on a case of a bride who disappeared on her wedding night. They continued at a steady pace, until they reach the open area that was just before Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's private office.

As before, several pairs of eyes glanced at the Consultant Detective and a few eyes followed their movements. Sherlock glanced with a confused look at John. Holmes quickly masked his features but this caused John, who had been a step behind since rounding the corner, to double his steps and come along beside him.

Sherlock whispered just beneath his breath, "Why are they looking at me like that. John, what are they doing."

With some confusion, John glanced around. "Oh, it's called smiling Sherlock."

"Why are they s.m.i.l.i.n.g?" Sherlock said the word as if he was not used to saying it and had to work out his jaw muscles.

"They're glad that you're okay...we're okay. You're a hero Sherlock." John glanced at his friend's face. "But don't worry, when you open your mouth, the smiling will stop."

Sherlock's face relaxed. "Good. It's disconcerting!"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Someone's feeling better," John muttered to himself.

"Did you say something John?" Sherlock asked distractedly. John just looked but did not answer. They were at Lestrade's office door. Sherlock held out the small, black container and gave it to his roommate.

John opened the door for Sherlock and said with a false smile. "After you." John wordlessly took the box into his arms, and pulled the door open. "I wouldn't want 'The Laudable Londoner' to fall so low, that he would have to open a door for himself."

Sherlock mouth thinned, he huffed as he walked through the door. John's smile became real. He knew how much Sherlock hated the ridiculous names that the media was always giving him. John preferred the 'Modest Marvel' personally.

The noise in the room hushed as the two men entered. John wordlessly walked up next to Lestrade's desk, and place the black container on it, before sitting next to Sherlock. A young looking Constable smiled at the two before he took the document from Lestrade's hand, and exited.

John returned the smile. Sherlock looked annoyed.

Holmes had already taken a seat and was unusually quiet as he scanned the room. His eyes stopped as it fell upon a chair. His gaze then shifted to the coat rack. It lingered there for a few seconds before moving on to Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at Holmes silently. He then looked at John with questioning eyes.

John smiled. "Oh, it's from Mrs. Hudson. It's the chocolate biscuits that she promised you."

A smile came on Lestrade's face as he licked his lips. "I'll thank her later."

Lestrade's face became solemn. "This morning, I was contacted by a Mr. Lord Simon. He says that his bride went missing soon after the ceremony."

John leaned forward interested. "I read about it in the newspapers this morning. He himself has some position in the government. Isn't he an aristocrat?"

Lestrade interrupted. "One of the highest in England mates. His father is the Duke of Balmoral? I believe that he is an Earl, or something." Lestrade's eyebrows raised. "That's not all gentlemen, what the newspapers forgot to mention was that, his father's bloodline goes all the way back to the Plantagenets, and the mother's side, to the Tudors."

"His father is the Secretary of Foreign Affairs." Lestrade lips raised, "He reminded me when he came in. He thought it was important that I was aware of his greatness."

John raised his eyebrows. "He's that Simon?"

"He's that Simon." Lestrade telephone rang. He gave an apologetic stare as he picked it up.

"Yes." The DI was silent as he listened for a moment. He asked a few questions then disconnected.

Greg looked solemn. "As we've discussed earlier this morning, we suspect the worst. This might soon turn into a murder investigation, not a missing person. While you were on your way here, a wedding gown was found in the Thames. Forensics have not yet confirmed that wedding gown belonged to the bride." Greg sighed. "I got a call from high up early this morning. This case is to be given the highest priority." Lestrade looked at both men apologetically. "I'm sorry. I know that you've both been taken time off after… You know," Lestrade gestured with one hand, "but I need your expertise on this…"

A click interrupted Greg's words. John looked to his left. He saw a short, slightly round middle-aged man. He had red colored hair, freckled skin, and the greenest eyes that John had ever seen. John wondered to himself if he wore contacts.

Mr. Simon walked in with an air of importance. He quickly crossed the room. He remained still as he waited expectantly.

John raised himself and shook his hand as he exchanged the normal greetings. Lestrade stood as well; he was not sure why, except that he felt he should. Everyone looked at Sherlock. Except for saying 'good day,' he remained seated.

John considered Sherlock as he sat. He was not normally purposefully impolite, unless he felt that it was deserved. Most of his social lapses were because he was busy with more important things, such as thinking, or breathing. Sherlock seemed a little 'off' today. John did consider the fact that he might be seeing ghosts that were not there.

Mr. Simon gracefully lowered his slightly large girth into the chair closest to Lestrade. After prompting from the Detective Inspector, Mr. Simon told of his marriage to an American heiress named Harriet Doran. She was called Hatty to all who knew her. They were wed at St. George's Church in Hanover Square the day before. There were only a few family, and friends there. She seemed happy and content during the wedding. At the dinner following the wedding, her mood suddenly changed. She excused herself. Some of the guest thought that she appeared distracted, maybe even irritated. She was discovered to be missing soon after.

Sherlock only asked a few specific questions. He then pulled out his mobile and searched the internet quietly. A slight smirk flashed across his face, but then was gone. He put his mobile in his lap as he continued to listen to the men talk.

Sherlock's attention shifted. John noticed him as he glanced at his mobile. His friend's body seemed to stiffen then it was gone. John wondered if he had imagined it.

Lestrade, and Simon were talking. They stopped as Sherlock stood abruptly. Simon frowned. He appeared a little put off. John followed Sherlock with his eyes.

"Excuse me. Carry on, I'll be right back." Sherlock gave one of his fake apologetic smiles.

Sherlock walked toward the door. John stood up after giving an excuse and followed him.

John had to quicken his pace as he tried not to draw attention to himself. He sighed with relief when he noticed that everyone had gone back to their usual behavior. Except for a few glances, they were being ignored.

John entered the stairwell and hissed. "Sherlock." He took the stairs quickly and put his hand on Sherlock from behind. Sherlock flinched slightly, but tried to cover it.

Both men stopped walking. John looked about and spoke in a quiet voice when he did not notice anyone around. "Where are you off to? Who text you? Don't say no one, I saw you glance at your mobile."

"The loo. The tea has run right through me?" Sherlock put a hand on his stomach for effect.

John thinned his lips and folded his arms. "Cut the crap."

"There is no crap to cut, as you so elegantly put it." Sherlock smiled falsely as he leaned toward John.

John leaned close to Sherlock's face and said with sugary sweetness. "Would you prefer, cut the shite? You're distracted. You've passed up two opportunities to insult two of the Yarders. You jumped when I touched you, yes I did notice! And you still didn't tell me who text you."

"You've passed a loo. You, Sherlock Holmes, is up to something." John face became concerned. "Is it Moriarty? Tell me… No… Promise me you're not about to run right into his trap again."

Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder. John turned and looked at Sherlock's hand. "I admit that I have a lot on my mind. Moriarty is one. Nevertheless, I am not going to leave this building. I am going to the loo, and I would like to get there so that I can get back." He looked toward the door. "One of us should get back to Simon. Write down what you consider important, you know that you won't remember exactly. I especially want to know if he stutters or tries to smoke a cigarette. You know my methods."

John searched his eyes for a few seconds. He wondered if he had overreacted. He suddenly felt foolish. "Right. Well." He turned to leave, but a squeeze on his shoulder stopped him.

Sherlock smiled and looked at John. They wrote a paragraph in a glance. John saw no anger, mock, or judgement in the eyes of his friend, only gratitude and acceptance. John did not feel foolish any longer. He smiled. "Hurry up. I'm in danger of being overwhelmed by his importance. I might be tempted to kiss his hand, or bow, or something."

Sherlock turned away and resumed walking. John turned in the opposite direction and walked upward. Each step took the two friends further apart.

Sherlock voice floated upward. "I think Lestrade is in more danger than you are." Before the door closed, John heard the soft tapping sounds of Sherlock's shoes, as it met the hard surface of the stairs.

He continued to descend.