Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 150
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*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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*****. *** Warning for violence, drug reference T rated ****. ****
"… Always think twice before the pawn move, pawns do not go back."
… The Fall… Part III…
"There are always two choices. Two paths to take. One is wrong." Grace Freeman
Current Day
Current Time
The large auditorium was empty now. The last lecture of the day had taken place. The students' seating elevated gently from the podium, and the professor's desk, which remained at the lowest level. The projector screen was still down, and exam papers were scattered on the large desk. Thomas and Miranda sat at opposite ends of the long desk. Each was lost in the task of grading and giving a mark to the students' work.
Thomas smiled without noticing that he was smiling. That gained Miranda's attention. She looked at him with a knowing expression. She stopped her work for a moment.
She tried to gain Agent Blake Thomas' attention. "Mr. Smith is all well?" She tried to hide her smile at the ridiculous names that they had to call each other.
Agent Thomas stopped working and looked at Mrs. Holmes with questioning eyes. He spoke in a conspiratorial voice as he leaned toward her. "I believe so Professor Colville."
Mrs. Holmes was in a mood to tease the younger agent. "I only mention this because a certain young lady has walked past the door to the lecture hall three times now."
"Did she?" Thomas tried to ignore the obvious implication in her voice. He resumed reading the exams but they both knew that his attention was now divided.
"Oh yes, Blake." Miranda played along. She resumed reading the students' exams as well. She let a minute pass in silence before speaking again. "I've also noticed that you have that look on your face. That look that you get when you've solved a complicated case; or you've just apprehended a criminal that you've been chasing for quite some time."
Agent Thomas stopped altogether and looked at Mrs. Holmes with eyes that pleaded for her to please behave.
She smiled back with mischief, before her eyes traveled to the door to the room. A young woman walked by again. Her long curly hair fell in her face as she turned to give a quick glance in the room. The young woman noticed the professor, and Blake looking at her. She smiled at the professor, before smiling at Blake. She soon disappeared behind the door.
Miranda's eyes travel back to Thomas. Her eyes were amused. "Well, there she goes again. She's very health conscious. Getting exercise I suppose."
Thomas stared at the door a little longer than necessary before looking back at the exams.
He felt the touch of a hand on his. Miranda's touch was soft yet determined. He looked into Mrs. Holmes eyes. Her eyes had a gentleness to them. But if one looked beyond that gentleness, there was an intelligence and steel like strength, which only came when a life that had seem times of joy and times of great pain, was lived. He was fond of her.
Miranda smiled. "I'll finish up. You have an hour before we have to leave. William is looking forward to pretending that you're a pony again."
Thomas gave a slight chuckle at the notion. Thomas remembered how painfully shy the young child had been when he first came. The youngest Holmes would quietly make his way around the villa. Back then, he had seemed to constantly examine everyone. He had a stare that was frightening. It was almost as if he was looking into the soul. But now, he was the master of the house. William was definitely a hand full. He preferred running to walking. He explored every area. He had a laugh and a smile that was infectious. William was liked by all the agents, and staff. Thomas smiled. He was definitely a happy child. Thomas wondered if that was how a much younger Sherlock Holmes was.
Thomas' thoughts returned to the present. He looked at Mrs. Holmes with affection.
"Off with you then," She said as she gestured toward the door. She thought it best if Mycroft did not know about Thomas' attraction. She loved her eldest son, but anything beyond duty was difficult for him to comprehend.
Agent Thomas sighed as he raised his body. He held out his hand. Mrs. Holmes gave her mobile to him. He pushed in a code and activated a tracker. He wordlessly gave it back before speaking. "Do not leave this building. Text me if you're going to leave this room and tell me where you're going to be."
"Thomas," he raised an eyebrow at her slip of using his real last name, "I mean Blake, don't you think that you're being slightly over vigilant? I've been perfectly safe here for quite a while."
Thomas folded both arms and looked at her as his expression was easily read.
Miranda exhaled dramatically and nodded her head in agreement.
Thomas studied her eyes for a few minutes before he put his mobile phone in his back pocket. He started to walk. He nodded a greeting to the middle-aged secretary as he walked out the door.
The secretary smiled and walked over to Miranda and sat down. She wordlessly put two coffees down before speaking. "Finishing up?" She glanced at the number of exams that Professor Colville still had in a neat pile.
Miranda pushed the exams aside and picked up the coffee. "Close to," she commented contently as her hands closed around the warmed paper cup. Swirls of steam dissipated gently in the air. She closed her eyes, as she smelled the pleasant aroma.
Miranda took the coffee and took a sip. She smiled her thanks at the woman she considered a friend, a friend that did not even know about her true past. At least, as close to a friend as she could have under the circumstances. Miranda sighed and took another sip. "What about you?"
The secretary adjusted her large frame into the chair before answering. "Yeah, all done." She turned toward the door, motioning with her head. "I know where he's off to."
Miranda raised her eyes but said nothing. She knew when her friend was in a mood for gossip.
The secretary adjusted her body again, before crossing her legs and leaning back slightly. "Not that you heard it from me, but those two are quite an item."
Miranda pretended not to know what her friend was referring to. She refused to gossip about Thomas.
The secretary rolled her eyes at Miranda as if she was a slow child. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Abigail and your assistant." Her eyes wrinkled with impatience. "You couldn't have missed the way they look at each other." She sat back now. "I knew it mind. It was just a matter of time. They're both smart, and that Abigail is pretty enough, and that boy of yours is certainly easy on the eyes. If I was younger…" The secretary took a sip without finishing her thought.
The silence did not last long. "I am surprised that he left you alone. You two almost seemed to be joined at the hips…"
Miranda half listened to her friend as she prattled on. She did not know why her friend's words bothered her. She knew Thomas for years now; he was like family. She wanted him to have a relationship, to find someone to love, and be loved back. She thought there was nothing greater. She also knew the wrong person could ruin one's life.
Abigail was smart, friendly, and seemed to care about Thomas a great deal. The timing was not the best, but everything else seemed perfect. Miranda glanced at the door and frowned. Abigail appeared to be the perfect young woman.
That is why Miranda could not explain why, when she thought of Thomas being with Abigail, she could not find peace.
Current Day
Current Time
He opened his eyes slowly. He ran his tongue across his teeth and frown. His mouth tasted as if something had died in it. Twice. He sat up moaning before leaning back on the lounge sofa. He sniffed. There was a pungent odor; the scent was so offensive that it seemed to be a living thing. He sniffed again before looking down. For the third time he sniffed, this time, his clothing. He realized with horror that the odor was coming from him.
He cursed with a small smile. What happened? He must have been on a real bender. He searched his mind as he looked around. Horror came to him when he realized where he was.
He cursed again. This time there was no amusement on his face but something different.
Panic!
How did he get there? He would be ruined if he could not get out without being seen, but how could he do that? Anyone who saw him would think that he had been in some drunken, bloody brawl at a pub.
Anderson stood too quickly and staggered slightly. His hands reached for the wall. He thought of a solution but could find none. The panic rose steadily.
"Damn it to the bloody, bleeding depths of hell!" He hissed as he touched his sore jaw and swollen nose.
"Think!" Anderson hissed as he started a staggered pace.
"Think!"
Anderson froze mid-stride as he heard the door open. He could not try to hide the look of horror, which his face held, when he heard the same door close. The laughter that came from behind him, died down instantly.
He swallowed the lump that seemed determined to stay in his throat. He slowly turned around. In the room was the shocked and angry face of Greg Lestrade. His body language and folded arms relayed his disappointment.
Behind him was John Watson. He had a subtle smile on his face. Only Anderson could see the smile because he stood slightly behind Lestrade.
Yesterday evening came back to Anderson in full clarity and detail. The last thing that Anderson remembered was the sound of a gunshot.
He must have... Oh God... He fainted.
Roberts face flushed with horror, embarrassment, and anger. The soldier bastard did not kill him after all. When Robert had looked into Watson's eyes, he had been so sure that the man was capable of anything. Watson apparently thought that humiliation was a more fitting punishment.
He glared at Watson with hate. Lestrade noticed and turned toward John. The self, satisfied look, that he gave to Anderson disappear instantly when Lestrade looked at Watson. He now looked at Lestrade with surprise.
So, thought Anderson, he was not the only one who was a good actor.
The way Anderson and Watson had looked at each other. If looks could have killed. Both men would have been dead.