Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 140

*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.

** Thank you, for your latest reviews and PMs since the last post favorites and follows.

Thank you for your recent post: Nourss ( thank you for your comments.), cim902 (More twist and turns ahead), Rouge Singe (The next chapter. **Congratulations on the most canon characters named.), HC, (I need to form a, Everyone Hates Anderson Club. I hope that you are well.), Bookworm Gal (More, I hope that you like.), bruderlein (If The Noble Bachelor is the second episode, what is three?), e la mucca salto sulla luna (More turns plus one or two twist ahead), Puky2012 (Thank you for reviewing more than once. More antics of 'The Laudable Londoner.'), socalrose (Thank you for posting for each chapter read. Take a deep breath.), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. You are almost caught up.) Prothoe(Thank you for multiple reviews. You are not the only one who wants to choke Kitty Riley), Benfan ( Thanks for the multiple post. The, I hate Kitty Riley club seems to be growing.) Guest. (You are correct. Your brilliance shines.) and to all guests and PM, thanks.

Thanks, You make the hard work worth it.

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*The answer to last week's Fun Question was The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor

Congratulations! (A * is given for each character name that is mentioned) **cim902, *** Rouge Singe, **HC, **bruderlein, and Puky2012 (Very good!)

Congratulations to Guest. Chapter 102. Rat, Wedding, and Bow are correct. (It is never too late to answer) :)

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

Here is a something until I can update again. Update and post as soon as possible. Lots of Love.

Note: mon amie means my friend

"… 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 III…

"When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it."

~ Edgar Watson Howe

Current Day

Current Time

Mrs. Hudson stopped on the step that led into 221B. She paused unsure if she should carry on. There was yelling. It continued for about fifteen minutes. It was John. That happened from time-to-time. She ignored it at first. She assumed that Sherlock had put another head in the refrigerator, or used the last of the milk for an experiment. She did love the young man like her own son, but he could be trying.

A few minutes later, Sherlock's voice rose loud enough to be heard.

That was unusual.

Sherlock was normally oblivious to why John was angry, or he would ignore John's 'emotional outburst,' as he called them. Whatever they were arguing about seemed to be serious.

She decided to go in. They would stop arguing when she walked in. It usually gave them time to both 'cool off.' All would be forgiven, and they would be back to their usual self soon after.

"Yoo Hoo," Mrs. Hudson said as she walked into the flat. Something unusual happened. Her boys kept arguing.

"Would you at least admit that something is wrong!" John yelled.

Mrs. Hudson glanced from John to Sherlock. "Now boys."

"John is the one who is in a snit. I am simply trying to read." Sherlock glared at John as he spoke. John glared back.

John looked at Mrs. Hudson but his anger was directed at Sherlock. "It's because he's talking a lot, but saying nothing. He's hiding something."

"Something is going on Sherlock. You can't hide it from me. I am not paranoid and I am not imagining things." John burned with anger and frustration as he stood above Sherlock's chair. "I am not an idiot."

Sherlock appeared to be reading newspapers. A stack of them, several, in fact, were scattered around the flat, and on the floor surrounding his chair. His knuckles had a death grip on the newspaper he was currently holding.

"Are you quite sure about your last statement John." Sherlock wasn't quite shouting but his voice was raised and his face was beginning to have a red hue to it.

John folded his arms. "I know what you're trying to do. You taught me, remember? You're not going to distract me with your insults Sherlock."

Sherlock thinned his lips together and dropped the newspaper to the floor. He then folded his arms defiantly.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes at both of their stubbornness. She sighed and waited. There was a few minutes of tense silence.

Sherlock worried his lower lip as the anger faded. "John, I have it all under control."

"Rubbish!" John's voice was getting loud again.

"I've said all I'm going to say on the subject." Sherlock closed his eyes and put his hands in the prayer position.

Mrs. Hudson saw a shift in John's eyes, and determination come to his face.

John looked at him quietly for a few minutes. His voice suddenly became quiet. "Last chance Sherlock."

Sherlock said nothing, but frowned.

John sighed. "You've forced me into this." He looked at the door, then started to move.

"John?" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

John did not answer.

He marched over to his jacket and put it on. He moved in quick angry jerks. Mrs. Hudson looked from John, to Sherlock, back to John again. She put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder before walking over to John. She said nothing but her eyes held a question.

He slowed his movements and looked at Mrs. Hudson."I'll be back within two hours. Keep an eye on him." The second part was said in a whisper. He noticed that Sherlock's frowned deepened.

Within minutes, John disappeared out the door. A soft slam sounded.

Mrs. Hudson exhaled a breath as she walked back over to Sherlock .

"Hows bout a nice cuppa love." She said soothingly. She did not wait for an answer but walked toward the kettle.

Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Mrs. Hudson, you came in to tell me something."

"Right," She paused her step and turned. "Someone called to tell you that there was going to be a press conference today and he expected you there. It didn't sound like Greg. I am not sure how he got my number…"

Sherlock glanced at his mobile as Mrs. Hudson prattled on. He had silenced it. He had been so involved in the discussion with John, he had forgotten.

"Stupid. Distracted." Sherlock whispered to himself.

Mrs. Hudson fell into a familiar pattern as she prepared tea, and sandwiches. She talked continually as she prepared the light meal.

Mrs. Hudson walked toward the refrigerator hoping that she would not see a dead human head in it. She continued to talk as she decided what was safe and what was poisonous. She did not notice that she was speaking to an empty room.

Sherlock, was gone.

*References to chapter 114

Present Day

One Hour Earlier

Moscow, Russia

The Les Menus Restaurant in Russia was well reviewed. The inside was made up of half rounded leather bench seats, with scattered decorative pillows. The tables and trim of the leather chairs, were all made from deep, dark rich wood. Crystal glasses and fine china were set on the tables. An elegant large crystal-ceiling chandelier, added a soft glow to the illumination. Identical floor lamps, scattered throughout the room, added a classic and unique detailed touch to the room.

Pierre Godenot walked up to Adler, he gave her a kiss on both cheeks. His thick French accent greeted her. They knew her by one of her aliases. He was a world renowned, Three-star chef. His larger girth did not keep him from moving about quickly. He kept a smile on his face.

He looked down fondly at her. "I have not seen you for some time."

"Business has kept me away," she said with regret.

Pierre raised an eyebrow in understanding. "What will you have tonight madam."

Adler gave a disarming smile. "Surprise me, whatever you choose, I am sure that it will be innovative, artistic, and a feast for all the senses."

Pierre stood up straight and pushed his chest out in pride. "I will not disappoint, mon amie." Adler thanked him. He was gone with a slight nod of his head.

She exhaled quietly. Her back was to the wall. She was in the dimmest, and the most secluded corner of the building. That was not an accident. She made sure that she could see out of the windows; and could see who was coming in the door. The old familiar habits that Sherlock had taught her, came back easily. She thought of Sherlock, and John. She was relieved that they were both recovered. She thought of her William.

She sat crossed legged in the restaurant. Her hand smoothed down the thick fabric of her dress. She glanced out the windows at the light crowd of people who walked back, and forth at a leisurely pace. She glanced at the two agents that followed her. One was male, the other female. They sat in opposite corners of the room. She preferred Agent Myers, but the agent was off to the states on an assignment by Mycroft.

She saw what appeared to be a man, his wife, and three children walking by as the youngest smiled and gestured animatedly. He was apparently excited about something.

She smiled.

She wondered if she, if they, would ever have anything that would be considered normal. She wondered if she would want normal.

Her text alert sounded and she text back quickly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sherlock seemed to assume that she was prone to trouble. Even when Sherlock was supposed to have, memory lost, he would have one of the agents check on her. He seemed to know when she managed to elude one of Mycroft's men. In that event, a text would appear from Sherlock himself. His text had slowly gotten more frequent. It occurred every day now. It was almost as if his heart remembered what his mind could not. That's how she knew when he was in trouble, there was no text.

She could almost pretend that it was as it was before… She did not want to finish the thought. It did her no good to dwell in a past that did not exist any longer.

The corner of her eyes caught movement. Her face became impassive, she was instantly business. A tall man in his sixties walked in. He was Russian. He wore a patterned suit with a crew neck sweater underneath. His dark strands had a moderate amount of gray scattered in. His thin hair receded and was combed backwards. However, he had a full, thick mustache. They did not use each other's names. After a brief greeting, they both sat down.

Adler allowed the food to be ordered. In her experience, information flowed more freely on a full stomach. The meal was finished and the wine was flowing. Adler, out of politeness, held the wineglass in her hand to give the appearance of drinking. She would take occasional small sips.

The man lowered his voice. He spoke in English despite the fact that Adler both spoke and wrote the Russian language proficiently. "Do you like stories?" The man used the napkin that was on his lap to wipe his mouth. "I ask this because I have a story to tell."

He paused briefly as if thinking. "There were four Russian scientists, all brilliant. They were rumored to be working on a secret government project. Here is where the story gets darker. Less than two years ago, there was what was said to be a breakthrough. Something to revolutionize portable weaponry and something else. Something more guarded and hidden than the weaponry. Two days after the breakthrough, there was an unfortunate plane crash. All four scientists died, along with one computer programmer. The Russian government considered the accident a great tragedy. Four great minds were lost. Besides the lost of those great minds, was the lost of the technology. Apparently, all the data, electronics, and written documents were on the airplane along with those four men."

The man took up the wine glass and brought it close to his lips. He smelled the bouquet then took a sip. "This would be the end of the story but there is a twist. There is something that only I know about. One of those scientists was my friend. I went to see the mother. She is in a state-run hospital and ill. In fact, she died a few days ago. Before she died she told me a secret."

He smiled, "Her dead son had called her a week before."

He looked at Adler and shrugged. "Ah, I know what you're thinking. She spoke those words because of a delusional mind full of grief, because of the death of her only son. But it was not. Her son could not help himself. He phoned his mother. If anyone was to find out it would be his death, he told her. There was one more thing that he said, one word."

"And that would be?" Adler's mind was already putting pieces of the puzzle together.

"Lazarus." He raised his eyebrows and took the last sips of his wine. "Of course this is just a story."

Adler tried to look nonplussed, but her heart was racing. She took a few seconds of silence to phrase her words carefully. 'Lazarus' was what Sherlock had instructed her to tell Mycroft in the event of his death, or incapacitation.

"That is an interesting story. I only have one question." Irene picked up her wine and took a slow sip. She leaned back and locked eyes with him. "In this story, do these scientists have names?"

"Yes." The man smiled. "Yes, they do."

Current Day

Sherlock came into the room and remained in the back of the room. The members of the press sat in chairs, as Sergeant Ackland sat beside a team of four.

Robert Anderson was at the end, along with two other members of Scotland Yard. Lestrade had given the press conference over to Ackland in a silent protest, because Holmes was not given any credit for helping to solve the Carwin case. Lestrade stood in front of Holmes, some distance away. He leaned against the far wall with his arms folded.

Hands were raised and lowered as questions were answered one-by-one. Anderson was hailed as the one who found the critical link that solved the murder of a prominent family, and led to the recovery of several pieces of priceless art, which had been stolen in the last three months. The news conference finally ended with a few pictures of the big hero being taken.

Robert Anderson put on his professional face as camera lights flashed. Anderson had been careful to glance his eyes at Holmes frequently. He had a subtle smirk on his face.

Donovan walked in and leaned a few meters from Holmes. For the first time, a frown crossed Anderson's face. Within seconds, a fake smile took its place. Donovan subtly shifted until she was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Holmes.

Donovan whispered while still not looking at Holmes. "I need to talk with you."

Holmes glanced at Donovan before glancing ahead. "We don't," Sherlock frowned, "talk."

Sally raised her eyebrows, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him physically from the room. He was so shocked, he allowed her to lead him away.

Several raised eyebrows and curious stares went their way. As she pulled him into a small room that was used for those who needed a rest. It contained a sofa, two chairs, a microwave, electric kettle for tea, and coffee.

She stood in front of him to speak when an officer came into the room. He looked surprised at them both. A stare from Donovan, and the officer held up his hands and backed out of the room.

She walked over to the door and locked it. She then turned back to Holmes. "You're Sherlock Holmes; you are rude, obnoxious, and completely off your trolley at times," she hesitated slightly as if it pained her to admit it, "but, you are not incorrect. Since when do you stare at a crime scene and not know what's going on. Yet Anderson," she snorted at the thought, "can pick up deductions, almost the way that you used to." She looked intently into Holmes' face. She folded her arms.

Her voice lowered to one of compassion not annoyance. "What's that about."

"I'm fine," he said a little monotone.

"Right." She did not try to hide the sarcasm. "You're fine, I'm fine, since we're both doing fine, we can jolly well be on our way."

Holmes glared down at Donovan and said with sugary sweetness, "Excellent idea Sergeant." He walked the short distance to the door. His hand was on the door, the other was on the door lock, when a voice stopped him.

"There are people that care about you. When you're not annoying the hell out of them, of course. Then they are those who care about you even when you do annoy them. You need to tell Doctor Watson what is happening."

Sherlock turned around, curious. "I am not saying that anything is wrong. But if there were, why would you think that Watson does not know about it?"

"The way he looks at you when your back is to him. It is almost as if, he's trying to figure something out. Like he's trying to stand guard over you. Whenever you turn and look at him, the look is gone."

Holmes seemed deep in thought, but said nothing.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought.

She felt slightly uncomfortable, as if she had crossed some invisible line. "He's been trying to communicate with me. If he, I mean Anderson, is giving you a hard time, I could talk to…"

She did not notice that Holmes crossed the small space and had taken her arm in his hands. "Has he been aggressive with you lately?"

Sally did not answer directly but instead commented. "He's been a bit of an arse of late, but I can handle it. Underneath it all, he's harmless. I know him."

Sherlock laughed, it was a humorless sound. "No you don't. You really don't."

Donovan was stunned. Holmes always composed himself as if he had no emotions. She, on the odd occasion, had heard him laugh. Now he laughed, yet, this laugh contained no mirth, only warning and danger. As a rule, they would argue and contradict each other on principle alone. This time she just frowned.

"Stay out of it. And stay away from him." Sherlock looked in her questioning eyes for a few seconds. He then turned to leave. His text alert sounded as he headed for the door.

This time he did not pause or stop, his black coat twirled as he exited quickly.

Sally frowned. An idea came into her mind. She dismissed it as ridiculous. She moved toward the coffee when the exact same thought came again. This time it would not go away. It stained her thoughts like ink on white carpet.

She ignored the coffee and gave Lestrade a ring. She waited for the phone line to be answered. "Sir, do you have a minute? I need to speak to you about something." There was a pause. "Yes, Sir, I think it's important."

A/N: Thank you all for reading. This is something to get you by. I consider this a bonus posting. Fun Questions resume next posting. Thank you for your comments.

Lots of Love.