Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 146
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
*Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch for winning best actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. Sherlock and Parade's End.
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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Sherlock, series three, is currently being taped. There are shouts of joy all around the world.
*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference T rated ****. ****
You know what I am going to say… Read all at once or a chapter a day.
Make yourself happy.
More soon.
It is a day late. I wanted to give you two more chapters. Lots of Love. Enjoy.
I need a rest and tea. :]
"… Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."
… The Fall… Part III…
"...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too." ~ Stephen King
Current Day
Current Time
He was somewhere cold and hard. There was a rocking motion.
Sherlock open his eyes into slits. His eyes rolled slightly as if he could not make up his mind if he wanted to become fully alert or pass out again. He tried to speak but his lips felt too heavy to move. He realized that his entire body felt heavy. He moaned as he tried to move his body but could only shift in uncoordinated floppy movements. His limbs felt as if they were made of lead, not flesh and bone.
He tried to open his eyes a little wider. He raised his eyebrows as if that act could help keep his eyelids opened. He blinked, bewildered. He was fairly sure that he had opened his eyes, but it was still dark. Confusion crowded his mind. He needed to keep his eyes opened, he just could not remember why.
He fought to stay awake. It only worked for a few seconds before heavy eyelids shut again.
Current Day
Scotland Yard
Two Hours Earlier
This is the first time that it had worked. She watched as he walked out the door. The man almost seemed to be psychic, the fact that he did not notice that she was trying to follow him, surprised her.
In the past, she had tried to follow him twice with the same results. She remembered what he said the last time, with great detail. He had walked up to her with a smirk; and insulted her, while mentioning how Scotland Yard officers lacked the imagination to even follow a suspect without them knowing.
She almost missed his insults.
Almost.
The back of Holmes was turned to her. He stood for a moment still, and frozen, as humanity passed him by. His hands were in his pockets and his collar was turned up against the wind and weather. The black overcoat flapped sideways in none patterned waves. It had been raining on and off all day.
Sherlock turned his face sideways. Donovan could see his face again. He took out his mobile and looked at it. His normally stoic expression broke for a moment. Anger and something that looked like panic, flashed on his face. In a second, it was gone, and his normal bored expression returned. However, she had noticed.
He was texting now.
She frowned as she wondered. This was Holmes. She had seen him with guns pointed at him with a bored expression on his face. Holmes could not have panicked. That would have been entirely too… human. Still, an unpleasant sensation burrowed into her mind.
Holmes stopped and seemed to come to a decision. He turned away from her again. His long legs carried him to the edge of the curb. One hand swiftly rose. Donovan stayed hidden in a corner as she watched him hail a taxicab. Within a minute, a cab appeared. He climbed in and the cab blended into the heavy traffic.
Donovan felt that she needed to tell someone, but the press conference seemed to be lasting longer than expected.
Donovan thought about the facts and her options. Robert had left. He was not supposed to leave until later that evening. He did not sign-out. It was as if he wanted everyone to believe that he was still there in his office.
"Odd that." Donovan hummed quietly.
First, Anderson leaves then Sherlock follows close behind.
It could be unrelated.
It was none of her business.
She could wait for Lestrade and tell him what she noticed in a casual way that did not make her appear to be a stalker.
She took a moment and examined the facts with the eyes of a detective. She made a decision. She was about to cross a line that could not be uncrossed. She picked up her mobile and dialed a number.
"In for a penny… In for a pound," Sally whispered, as she walked back toward the lift.
From across the street, a homeless teenager leaned against an alley wall. A few of them were assigned to keep an eye on Mr. Sherlock. Doctor Watson had said that it was important.
Her hood was pulled over her head. She went unnoticed. Most people tended to walk by her without seeing her.
She had witnessed what had taken place. Mr. Sherlock did not look like himself when he climbed into the cab. Her face contorted into a look of concern. She ran down the damp alley to find Milty or Buzz.
Current Day
Current Time
Time had no meaning. After a few seconds, or a few hours, he was not sure which; he regained consciousness again. His eyes were still closed. His mouth partially opened. He licked his lips.
Water.
He needed water. He was incredibly thirsty.
John.
John would get him water.
He weakly tried to call out. It turned into a slur.
"Jo…" He could not manage to speak the rest of his friend's name.
Sherlock frowned. Something was odd. His mind started to clear slowly as he struggled to open his eyes. He sensed someone near, above him. Was it John? John never came into his bedroom at night unless he was ill.
Was he ill?
That would explain why he was cold, and felt shaky, and thirsty, and a little confused even though he would not admit the last part to John.
He finally opened his eyes.
The fragmented thoughts in his mind, started to make connections. As he blinked, an image came into focus. He frowned as he stared at Anderson.
What was Anderson doing in his bedroom? Where was John? Why was he feeling so disconnected?
Sherlock stared about in confusion. He now realized that he was not in his bedroom, he was somewhere unknown to him. He was on a bed, in a small room sparsely furnished. The place looked as if it was not fit for a human to live in. He looked about before his eyes came to rest on Anderson's face. He frowned as he searched the Yarder's face. Anderson waited with uncharacteristic patience. The last of the confusion left.
Sherlock was on his back. He inhaled shakily as he tried to roll onto his side. He finally succeeded. He then attempted to push himself up, but a firm hand roughly pushed him back down onto the bed.
Anderson kept his hand on Sherlock's chest.
"I know what you're thinking. I've narrowed it down to two possibilities," Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Damn or Shite?"
Anderson smile widened. "Do you like?"
Sherlock's voice was unsteady. "You don't have the imagination to think of this on your own."
"What is this?" The Consultant Detective looked around and blinked, as his eyes adjusted to the onslaught of the artificial light.
"Revenge," Anderson's voice was almost friendly. "I can do anything I want to you Mr. Holmes…"
"Where am I?" Sherlock fought against the growing panic.
"… Anything at all…," Anderson locked eyes.
"Release me!" Sherlock weakened struggles increased.
"… But don't worry. I'm only going to break your mind." Anderson's finger ran across the top button of his shirt.
"You won't get away with this…" Sherlock's words died in his throat when he saw the syringe on a table. He saw no one from the warehouse but Anderson. Moran's men were gone. The three men who were with Anderson now, seemed to be ordinary criminals. One of the three men were preparing some liquid to be put into a syringe. In the hand of the second man, was a gun. The last of the three men looked like a drug addict.
Sherlock stopped struggling and became like stone. After a short time, he became aware of his lungs burning. He inhaled a shuddering breath. He had forgotten to breathe.
"I wish I had more time freak, I had every detail of this night planned. I was looking forward to it. But, you've ruined it. I have to leave soon. But don't worry; I'll be back. You're going to have four days worth of fun. I have to be seen in public, but I have to shower before I destroy you. Busy, busy, busy."
Anderson bent close to Sherlock's ear and whispered, "I must confess freak that I was concerned about explaining my injuries. Don't worry; my friends have worked it all out."
"I need witnesses to see me being kidnapped." Anderson pat Sherlock chest comfortingly. "Why you say? I need an alibi. I'm afraid you've spread my DNA around several places."
Anderson turned his head as he studied Sherlock. "I'm afraid the stress of the past few weeks has led to your relapse and drug use. Did you know that you went looking for drugs today. There are witnesses. Unfortunately, you were high as a kite. That's why you did not notice that someone followed you after you purchased the drugs. Someone who had a grudge against you. You've put so many people's families in prison. Many people hate you. It was a crime of opportunity, your kidnapping, I mean." Anderson gave a false frown.
"Unfortunately, I was kidnapped when I followed a lead and tried to find you. But, unlike you, I will escape with only a few injuries that you were kind enough to supply. I had a bad turn today, but the media love me. I'm a hero." Anderson gave Sherlock time to process his words.
He smiled at Sherlock. "I know it's a bit of a stretch, but I had to improvise. Of course, the evidence will support my version of events. Don't worry freak, everyone will believe me. I'm a good actor; remember?"
Anderson harshly pat Holmes face, in a mock gesture of comfort. He heard Sherlock's harsh breaths. "I have to explain the bruised face. I don't mind telling you all this, you'll won't remember or care soon enough. If you're still in your right mind four days from now, no one will believe you. Especially when they drop you, a former junkie, in an alley close to Scotland Yard. The media will happen to be there to capture The Great Sherlock Holmes as you stumble down the alley, half naked and high as a kite, with both arms full of needle marks."
Sherlock came to himself and started to struggle again. Anderson looked at him struggle. He enjoyed the useless movements.
Anderson had developed a taste for all things evil. He smiled as he started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock's weakened struggles increased.
Two of the men walked toward Holmes. One smiled excitedly as he helped to remove Sherlock's shoes. The other man held a gun in his hand with a bored expression. He was not allowed to kill him, but he would shoot him in the arm if necessary. The third man was busy preparing the drug dosage.
Anderson finished unbuttoning Holmes shirt then stepped back to let the three men take over. He walked toward the bottom of the bed and looked, pleased. It was finally happening. He had the freak where he wanted him. A thrill ran through his body. He looked forward to the next four days.
Anderson looked at the struggling Consultant, and said almost tenderly. "Relax."