Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 148

*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.

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

*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference T rated ****. ****

"… Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."

… The Fall… Part III…

"Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN!"~ Calvin & Hobbes

Current Day

Current Time

Anderson watched slightly away. He did not want to be hit again and Sherlock was still fighting. Worse, he was becoming slightly stronger . Anderson smirked. Maybe that fact would make things more interesting.

Sherlock was stripped of his shirt, shoes and socks. Only his trousers were still on. The trousers were pushed up to Sherlock's knees. One man was starting to have trouble holding him. He ordered the man with the gun to help him.

One of the men frowned. "I've examined his body. I don't see any needle scars anywhere, not on his arms or anywhere I looked. Not even in-between his toes. It is supposed to look like he injected himself. What do we do? Are you sure this is the drug he used to use?"

"No one would talk. It doesn't matter mate, does it? Just inject him already, he's starting to get stronger. There'll be plenty of needle puncture marks on his arms and in-between his toes soon enough."

The other man shrugged. "Hold his arm still."

The man had put his gun by the foot of Holmes, before he held Sherlock's left arm firmly. Another man tied a tourniquet to his left arm as the last man walked toward him.

One man held the syringe over a dilated vein. "Hold him still." He said with frustration.

After a brief struggle, the needle started to pierce Sherlock's skin. A small bead of blood rose. The man prepared to push the plunger down but was distracted by a noise.

Sherlock took advantage. He surged with adrenaline. He ripped his right arm free from its captor's hand, ripped the needle out of his left arm, and plunged it into the closes man's thigh. That took the last of his energy. He fell into semi-consciousness.

There were screams, gunfire, and a flash of bright light as the world around him exploded.

Time had no meaning.

Anderson lay on the floor disoriented. He never noticed the popping sounds that preceded the sound of flesh and bone being struck by a bullet.

One minute they were about to inject Holmes with the heroin, the next, there was a flash of light and a loud blast of sound. All he remembered, was coming back to his senses and flashes of colored lights dancing in front of his eyes.

Pain shot through Anderson's head like an arrow. He winced. He slammed his eyes shut as the blinding light overwhelmed his senses. Another sharp pain shot through his arms, as his body was tugged upright. He felt his body being dragged. It was only minutes before his brain was clear enough to process the shouting, and loud commands.

Anderson had been roughly deposited in a chair. An angry looking man in a suit was to his left, another to his right. They both looked at him. He noticed two things. The first was that they were not from Scotland Yard. The second was that, they did not look pleased.

Two of the three men who had been in the room, were on the floor dead. He could not see the third. One of them fell onto Holmes. The body was roughly pushed off him, and onto the floor. The last few moments were still a blur. One thought was on Anderson's mind. He hoped that the man had managed to inject the freak before he was shot.

Robert frowned, blinking as he looked around. His eyes found Holmes. He seemed unconscious. A tall man in a suit was walking toward the bed that Holmes lay on.

Mycroft slowly moved toward Sherlock with an undetermined look on his face. He looked down at his brother as he pulled his coat off. Before he covered him, Mycroft's eyes scanned him. He started at his head and traveled down to his toes. He stopped several times at different areas of his body.

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second as he exhaled relieved. Finally satisfied, he pulled his overcoat over his little brother.

Mycroft looked for his brother's light, black Belstaff wool overcoat. He spotted it in the corner of the room. It was crumpled on the floor next to his brother's shoes and other clothing. He would have someone clean it for his brother. He looked back at Sherlock. At that moment, Sherlock opened his mouth. He was fighting to regain consciousness.

Sherlock was a fighter. Mycroft almost smiled.

Almost.

Mycroft glanced at Anderson with murderous rage. He normally calculated, without emotions. He knew he had to be careful. It was a dangerous game that they played. The wager was high. Sherlock understood this. He would not void Sherlock's sacrifice by acting rashly.

Mycroft took a deep breath and , with difficulty, pushed the unfamiliar emotions back down, and locked them away. To anyone who was watching, it appeared as if Mycroft simply blinked. They would never know that he almost rammed his umbrella through Anderson's skull.

A weak moan drew Mycroft's attention back to his brother. Sherlock blinked several times as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"M… Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered a slur. He blinked a few more times.

His lips came up to lick his dry lips. "W…Water."

With barely a nod, someone was running. Within minutes, Mycroft was cradling his brother's head in his arms, and assisting his shaking hands to hold the bottled water to his lips.

"Just a little," Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock locked eyes with his brother. He took one last sip and nodded. The bottle of water was taken away. Sherlock closed then opened his eyes, as he sighed contently. He had been so thirsty.

Sherlock resumed looking at his brother as he concentrated. There was something important that he had to say.

What was it?

Oh yes.

"The name of the third man is the Deputy Commissioner, Mike McKinley," Sherlock's words were slow but deliberate, in an effort to be clear.

Mycroft's voice was uncharacteristically gentle and soothing. He was careful to maintain eye contact. "Very good brother. You've saved us at least two weeks worth of surveillance. We'll discuss the fact that you were almost attacked in the most brutal ways for this admittedly important piece of information later."

Mycroft briefly looked away from his brother. He looked at an agent that was standing next to Holmes. The agent nodded and walked off as he pulled out his mobile.

The angry voice of John Watson was heard in the background. Mycroft sighed without losing eye contact with his brother. He briefly wondered if he should bother to argue or simply give John a gun.

Mycroft had not noticed that one hand had been rubbing soothingly on his younger brother's forehead. Sherlock was not aware that he had leaned into his brother's touch.

Sherlock's eyes had started to close again but opened when he heard John's voice. He attempted to lift his head in the direction of John's voice but could not find the energy. His eyes blinked wearily in the direction of John's voice before looking at Mycroft again.

"You said you would not get involved for four days." Sherlock's slurring was getting worse.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a ghost of a smile and said, "I lied."

Sherlock tried to return the smile, but lost consciousness before his lips turn upwards.

Mycroft continued to look at Sherlock when John came up beside him. He gently pressed two fingers to the side of the unconscious man's neck as he felt the carotid pulse. After several long seconds, John exhaled relieved.

"Do we know what he was given yet?" John asked as he examined his friend. "Please tell me it's not what I think."

"We do not know yet," Mycroft frowned. "I don't think it was heroin. The plunger is up and the syringe half full."

"Half?" John repeated. He looked with concern at the drying trail of blood from Sherlock punctured vein.

"I believe him to be unharmed, at least in that matter. He was clear of mind when he spoke. I think that Sherlock injected one of the men before they could inject him. This seemed to happen directly before the flash grenade was thrown into the room." He nodded toward the moaning ball of mess that laid still half-conscious on the floor, with pinpoint pupils.

They were both quiet for a minute as John further examined and assured himself that Sherlock would not go into cardiac, or respiratory arrest.

"You suspected that they might try to give him drugs, earlier." Mycroft looked at John with unusual respect.

"Sherlock gave me a ring. He told me generally, what was going on. Nothing specific. He said we would talk later. I have investigated on my own for a week now. I knew something was bothering Sherlock." John's face was deceptively calm, so was his voice. John's hand came to rest on Sherlock's forehead. He ground his teeth together. "His homeless network helped greatly. They trust, and respect him."

"You as well, apparently." Mycroft said.

John looked at Mycroft with an expression that said that he had never considered that point.

Their looks and expressions changed.

Mycroft and John locked eyes with each other. Mycroft allowed his guard to completely lower for John. Mycroft could almost see John's thoughts and John, Mycroft's intentions. They both ignored the two men that hovered. The men removed Mycroft's overcoat before they started to cut Sherlock's trousers. They covered him with a warming blanket. Medical supplies were being pulled out. Both men ignored all of this. Blood was taken, an IV started. Still, both men ignored everyone. Finally, Mycroft gave a slight nod. He noted to himself that he did not see Doctor Watson any longer, He saw Captain John Watson.

Both men, simultaneously, looked at Anderson.