Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 139
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
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 ****. ****Mild violence
I have written a few chapters so… Read all at once...or ...Read one chapter a day. The choice is yours. Make yourself happy. Another chapter Monday.
"… 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…
"Boredom is the deadliest poison." William F. Buckley, JR., Milestones
Current Day
Current Time
Two agents had driven Miranda to her villa. Thomas had volunteered to stay late, grade the exams, and take the exams to the mailroom, so that the scores could be inputted into the University computer system. This was done so that Miranda could spend time with William before he was put to bed. Adler was off with two agents as an escort. She was meeting with a contact so that she could provide Mycroft with some critical information. Myers was off to America, after a quick trip to England to see Doctor Watson. He was doing important things as well. He was grading exams.
Agent Blake Thomas smiled to himself as he gathered the last of his papers and put them in his briefcase. His long limbs cracked slightly, as he stood then stretched his arms toward the ceiling. He glanced at his watch as he slowly made his way toward the mailroom. The passageways were darkened because of the late hour. His eyes quickly adjusted. Within several minutes, he entered the cubicle filled room. The university was abandoned because of the late hours. Most of the students were back in their rooms asleep, or huddled in scattered study groups, desperately trying to prepare for the next day.
Blake looked for the cubicle with the appropriate department title. He looked down to attach the correct requisition forms to the stack of exams, when he had the sensation of a threat behind him. He had the sensed that a hand was coming toward him. Agent Thomas' training kicked in. Within a second, he had maneuvered his body so that a body firmly pressed against the wall. One arm was pinned so firmly that if the person moved, the arm would break.
A frightened gasp escaped.
Agent Blake Thomas, or as he was known at the University, Blake Smith, instantly loosened his grip. "Abigail? Dear God, are you alright."
Abigail gave a nervous laugh as she waved off his concerns.
Thomas gently took her arm in his hands as he examined it. Abigail had been employed by the University for a little over three weeks. She had taken the place of a graduate student assistant that had suddenly become ill.
Blake frowned.
He usually had good instincts. He was unsure why he had reacted so strongly.
"It's nothing," she reassured him again. "I had no mother, but I did have four huge brothers, I was the only girl. I can take a little rough handling. By the time I left for Uni, they all had a healthy respect for me." She pulled her arm away. She put a hand on his muscular arms and squeezed gently. "I won't break." She whispered with a disarming smile.
Thomas found himself grinning back without even realizing that he was smiling.
After a moment, he asked. "Why are you here so late?"
"Same as you." Her eyes traveled to the floor. Thomas followed it and saw the exam papers. He picked them up. When he gave it to her, she did not hide the fact that she appreciated his fit body.
Abigail had been very open about her attraction to him since she first arrived. It was not that she was not attractive. It was against protocol to get personally involved while on assignment. It was also his private opinion that it was a bad idea. Thomas had never broken protocol once. Despite this, they locked eyes a little longer than was necessary.
Thomas decided that it was wise to leave. "Well, if you're sure that you're uninjured, I'd better be off."
A voice floated from behind. "I'm not sure how to do this. I grew up around a house filled with men. I might not be feminine or have enough female tack, but I like you Blake."
Thomas stopped and turned toward her. He glanced over her. She had waist long, naturally curly hair. Her build was athletic and she had impossibly long, toned legs. She wore a knit sweater and slightly too short skirt and flat shoes. Despite what she thought of herself, in Thomas' opinion, she was definitely getting the feminine part right. He considered the fact that she looked, cute. He quickly dismissed the idea.
"It's not you," he smiled before he turned to leave again. He took a few steps before he heard a voice.
"You're bored." Abigail said as a matter of fact.
Thomas eyes narrowed as he turned slowly. He just looked at her oddly.
She came close and put one hand on his wrist. "I recognized the look. I saw it on my brothers' faces more than a few times." She looked in his eyes and smiled. "I can help."
He looked back as he said. "How?"
Her smile widened as she raised an eyebrow. Her hand reached behind him and there was a click sound. The room suddenly became dark. There was only a dim safety light in the far corner. Warm breath tickled his face as his head was pulled down. He felt the sensation of soft lips on his own. He heard a contented sigh in his ears. Thomas' hand reached blindly to his right.
The door closed.
"The soul that has conceived one wickedness can nurse no good thereafter." SOPHOCLES, Philoctetes
Current Day
Current Time
He reached out and pushed open the door. Even his fingers were tense as he held the door open for a few seconds as his eyes scanned the dim room for threats, and dangers. He glanced up at the light fixtures. Two were out. Only one in the far corner of the long but narrow room was lit.
Almost no one came down here. Many did not even know of its existence. Most of The New Scotland Yard, was located in the more modern areas. Holmes had taken a tunnel that connected to the older building. This building had many modern renovations done to most of the floors, except this one. The basement level held nothing urgent. There were antiquated dim passageways that one could become lost in. There was one unattended room that only the Detective Inspectors or above had access to. They contain Homicides forty-one years, or older. They were the ones that had the unofficial title of, unsolvable. Even Lestrade would venture down to, 'The Pit,' at his own pain, when he was truly desperate and Sherlock was balmy, bored, and about to drive everyone to suicide, or plot murder.
His murder.
Sherlock feet stepped cautiously. He walked further into the neglected space. He looked under the loo stalls. He saw no one's feet. It was empty as expected. A hissing electrical sound buzzed quietly, as the only working light alternated between dimming, becoming suddenly bright, then flickering off and back on again.
Sherlock noticed his own breathing and frowned. When he was halfway to the flickering lights. He heard the sound of footsteps and the click of a door.
"You took your time." A voice traveled behind him. It sounded like a snake.
Holmes turned around but said nothing. He watched the man as his face emerged from the darkness and shadows played across his features.
Sherlock eyes traveled to the locked door.
Robert Anderson followed Holmes eyes; and he smiled. "I wouldn't want us to be interrupted."
Sherlock tensed as Anderson walked closer. The shadows on Anderson's face suddenly disappeared as the light brightened in illumination. There was a crescendo of buzzing electrical sound; it diminished taking its light with it.
"I see you're trying to perfect your evil villain persona. How's it coming along, then?" Sherlock made his face blank of emotion.
Anderson raised an eyebrow. Despite Holmes bravado, he noticed an uncharacteristic tremor to the Consultants Detective's voice. This increased Anderson's confidence tremendously. "That mouth is usually full of those posh words of yours. Maybe we can find something else to fill it." The leer was unmistakable.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and said in an annoyed tone. "I'm busy, and you're boring. You summoned me here; get to the point. With lines like that, it's no wonder that Donovan found you tedious and left you. Good for her." Sherlock had a contemplative look on his face. "I suppose there was the matter of you being married. How many children do you have?" He now looked at Anderson, "Do you think that Sally knew about your other lover, I mean lovers?"
Anderson let out a growl. He moved faster than Sherlock would have thought him capable. Sherlock's face was slammed against a wall. One hand had been twisted behind his back. Anderson was pressed against Holmes. He spoke in breathy angry burst. His face was red; spit flew out of his mouth and landed on Holmes neck.
"You don't get to say her name, ever. She's mine." Anderson took pleasure in twisting his wrist more. Sherlock bit his lip and grimaced, but he refused to say a word. "A bloody FREAK like you wouldn't understand true love." He hissed. He twisted Sherlock's wrist more. Sherlock gasped as he felt the bones in his wrist being pulled to the limit. Hearing Sherlock's gasp of pain first excited then calmed the Yarder.
Holmes bloodhound like nose picked up the faint scent of alcohol. Sherlock fought to retain control. His mind categorized different points of Anderson's body that he could strike. A shift of his leg here - an elbow to his ribs - then a palm to his nose. It took all of his will not to follow through. His body shook from the effort not to strike back. He did not try to control it. He allowed his body to shake.
"A bit violent lately." Sherlock was careful to keep his voice level.
Anderson kept a dangerous smile on his face. He put his face next to Sherlock and whispered in his ear. "You should know." He took pleasure in the fact that Holmes body stiffened. He added with a hiss. "You stay away from Donovan. She belongs to me. If you try to get… near her in any way. I will kill you. I have friends now. That was not an idle threat."
"Before you kill me, would you please have another breath mint? Just one is not working." Sherlock could not seem to stop himself from fighting back in some way.
Anderson violently hit him in the back, to the side, twice. Sherlock instinctively tried to double over from the pain, but could not. Anderson pressed against him, keeping him in place. It took a few minutes before the pain ebbed enough for him to be able to speak.
"How do I know that you can do what you say?" Sherlock looked at the wall.
"That shiver in your body, and stiffness in your spine, tells you that I am telling the truth." Anderson smiled. "You're always deducing people. Deduce me… freak."
Holmes did not hide the frown on his face. He slowly turned toward Anderson. He looked in his face for a few seconds before looking away and saying, "What are you asking me to do?"
"Lestrade will call me in soon on the Simon case. He will need to know about the forensic evidence. I have to give a report, he will ask me for my opinion. He will then ask you for your opinion. On every case of mine that you consult, either you contradict me, or you add something that I have, shall we say, overlooked." Anderson paused. "Since we're mates now, you will assist me. I'll give you a ring whenever I need you."
"And if I decline to…assist you?" Holmes asked simply.
Anderson's voice was low and menacing. He was enjoying telling the pompous freak what to do, moreover, having the confidence to know that Holmes had no choice, but to listen. "I've already told you in detail what I would do."
Anderson suddenly let go. Since Holmes body was kept slightly off balance, he had to adjust his body so that he would not fall. He stretched his wrist and fingers. Sherlock's face appeared emotionless. John would have seen through his mask.
Holmes fixed his eyes just left of Anderson's face. "I'll need my mobile."
For the first time, Anderson looked unsure.
"I have… people… who are investigating leads for me." Holmes explained with impatience in his voice.
Anderson nodded.
Holmes text back and forth for several minutes. Anderson took out a small flask and took a sip. He then sprayed breath mint into his mouth. His eyes never left Holmes.
Sherlock glanced at the alcohol flask, then at him. Anderson winked. He then smiled as he held out the flask toward the Consultant Detective. Sherlock ignored him; his eyes dropped back down to his mobile as he continued to text.
Anderson started to grow impatient.
Holmes finished his text then opened his mouth and started to tell Anderson in an impassive voice about the Simon case. Anderson asked a few questions. Holmes answered.
Both Anderson and Holmes' mobile buzzed. Lestrade was ready for the team to gather. Sherlock started to walk out the door when Anderson's hand, firmly grabbed his sore wrist. Anderson was enjoying the power that he had over Holmes.
"I'm sure that you know that you should keep this quiet, don't you." Anderson chuckled. "But then if you were going to tell anyone, you would have already, wouldn't you now." Anderson's hand came up to caress Holmes cheek, but Sherlock jerked away. His eyes narrowed in warning, as he looked at Anderson for the first time in minutes. Anderson looked unsure for a moment, but then he relaxed into his new found confidence.
Anderson stepped aside. "We could take the lift up together." His voice deepened. "I do enjoy our alone time."
Sherlock eyed him warily until he was safely to the door. "To avoid suspicion, it would be better if you waited a few minutes before coming up." Sherlock was finally far enough away from Anderson to turn toward the door.
Anderson's voice floated from behind. "You belong to me now. Mind – Soul," there was a pause, "and Body."
Sherlock forced himself not to look back. "Better men than you have said those exact words to me. They were wrong. So are you." Sherlock received another text. He picked up his mobile and sent a text as he walked. His pace was quickened. He did not want John to worry.
Anderson frowned slightly as he watched Holmes hastily make his way to the staircase, and then disappear.
Anderson pushed any doubt away as a smile lit his face.
He was starting to enjoy himself now that the annoying voice on the inside, which was always telling him that he was doing wrong, was silenced. He quickly moved over to his briefcase, and opened it. He took out his laptop. His long fingers rapidly moved across the keys as he amended his report. He quickly closed the laptop and returned it to his briefcase. He would need to find a printer. He jogged through the tunnel. Within minutes, he was at the lift.
Almost immediately, the lift opened. Anderson's smiled broadened as he stepped inside the lift. He hummed as he pushed the numbered key. Enjoyable thoughts filled his mind. Everyone would finally appreciate his brilliance. Things would go back to the way they were before Holmes came along. Only two things were left. Completing Holmes humiliation, and winning Sally Donovan back.
Things were finally looking up for him.
Anderson's smile broadened. Even better, things were finally looking down for the freak.
The doors to the lift closed.
TBC
A/N: Love and peace. Thank you all for reading. Stay safe.
** Optional Fun Question:
I have made a strong reference to canon. Which Sherlock Holmes story did I use bits, and parts of? Extra credit if you repeat one of the book character names.
Have fun. :)