Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 151
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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…
"It's choice-not chance-that determines your destiny."
~ Jean Nidetch
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Lestrade rubbed his head. Anderson was full of accusations and excuses. He would not admit to any attack on Holmes. The entire situation was unbelievable. He looked at Anderson. He suspected a little bullying of Holmes, but would he go as far as attacking him? This had to be handle with care. John did not want most of the facts to be known beyond the people in the room. He was not sure why but he trusted John. He would do everything in his power to honor the request.
Greg looked into the eyes of Robert Anderson and saw the face of the insecure young officer he was when he first joined the Yard. He felt out of body slightly. This was a bloody mess.
"…You have no proof. I was kidnapped, I told you. Look at my face. I have never touched Holmes no matter what you say. Produce some kind of evidence right now or write a reprimand for my appearance and the false accusations that I am drunk and let me go!"
Anderson knew that Watson could not say that he rescued Sherlock from a house without revealing the fact that two men were shot, and he threatened his life with a weapon. He would go to prison but so would Watson.
Watson is a fool. He should have killed him. If the situation was reverse, he would have.
"I have something to add Sir," Donovan's voice was low and quite, yet there was a determination to it.
Everyone was suddenly quiet. Anderson looked hopefully to Donovan. He had confided in her yesterday in an attempt to rekindle their relationship. He knew deep in his heart that Sally would never side with the freak against him. He smiled a small smile, as he glance triumphantly at Watson. Watson was expressionless.
"I have firsthand knowledge that everything that Doctor Watson accused him of is accurate. Yesterday, he confessed that he had possession of key evidence, and kept it for his personal use. He invited me to view it with him in an…intimate setting. He has also used it as a tool for the extortion of Mr. Holmes, who is the victim of abuse. I also have personal knowledge of a suspicious event the night that I dropped and retrieved Mr. Holmes from a crime scene. When I dropped him off, there were no physical injuries, when I came back later, he was bruised and disheveled. He also moved as if he was injured. There was no one present except Rober… I mean Mr. Anderson." She was proud of herself. Her voice did not break once. Donovan knew that she had to continue.
"Sir, I've let my own feelings cloud my judgment. I once thought Mr. Anderson incapable of harming another person. I have since changed my opinion."
Lestrade looked grim. "I see, thank you Sergeant Donovan."
Anderson was dumbfounded for a second before he spoke. Anger, confusion, hurt, and betray wrestle in his mind for attention and priority.
"Everyone is against me!" Anderson whined. He stopped and suddenly looked at Watson. If he was going down. Watson would be his cellmate in prison. "He attacked me!"
Greg cursed in his mind. That would explain a lot. He had to find a way to downplay John's involvement. "Robert, are you saying that a civilian overcame a trained member of Scotland Yard, and thrashed you? Are you sure you want to make that official."
"Are you saying that John Watson not only beat you up, but he somehow, spirited you away from your home. Force alcohol down your throat to frame you. Then, Robert…, then he magically deposited you in the middle of Scotland bloody Yards, somehow escaping the notice of the security camera?" Lestrade voice rose at the end. "Should we ignore the security camera image of you staggering in drunk?"
"YES!" Anderson said passionately. His face turned a shade of red, his body was starting to become covered in droplets of sweat.
John sat quietly in the corner. He was a perfect picture of innocence.
Anderson was starting to rant. His mouth ran ahead of his brain. His body started to shake with a growing panic.
A manic laugh came from Anderson. "I know what you're thinking. I used to think the same thing." He paced the floor as his body movements became increasingly animated. "Innocent face. All manners. Don't be deceived. Don't let the fluffy jumpers fool you."
Anderson pointed an accusing finger at John. "That man is a menace!"
Everyone was quiet. The tension in the office could almost be physically felt. Anderson seemed to be disintegrating before everyone's eyes. John had been quiet throughout. He sat back with crossed legs and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He tilted his head as he looked at Anderson. Anderson stared back with hate filled eyes.
John's voice broke the silence. He never broke eye contact with Anderson. "As a doctor, might I recommend a full psychological evaluation, for possible sectioning?"
Anderson took two steps toward Watson before abruptly stopping. It was not Lestrade voice of warning. The truth was, he did not even hear Greg; it was the look in the eyes of John Watson that gave him pause.
He suddenly felt like he had to strike back in some way. He had to wipe the satisfied look off Watson's face. It was suddenly more important than breathing. An evil smile came on his face. In the back of his mind, he wondered why it was so hot. His body seemed to be dripping with sweat.
"He moaned." Anderson watched satisfied as John's faced broke. The calm facade that he wore on his face disappear. He looked grimly at Anderson. He clinched his jaws tightly shut. Anderson's smile widened.
"The great Sherlock Holmes. I manage to wipe that satisfied look off his face." Anderson sat down opposite Watson as he looked him in the eyes. He acted as if he was having a private conversation with him. Everyone and thing but Watson seemed to fade away.
"You asked me what I did? I'm ready to tell you. I hurt him. He tried to fight, you would have been proud of him. It's too bad about those headaches he has, are they migraines? It was easy to subdue him when it came on. My cousin had migraines, nasty business. I'm not ashamed to admit that he's stronger than me. I was worried for a moment, but then the headache came like a blessing." Anderson laughed. "All I had to do after that was," Anderson flexed his leg in demonstration, "kick him down the stairs."
Anderson leaned toward John. John was like a statue except for his rapid breathing. "You should have seen him Doctor, laying there moaning trying to reach his mobile when he could barely move. I couldn't have him ringing you up now could I, it would spoil my fun. I handcuffed him and dragged him to the other room. We had fun, well, if might be more accurate to say that I had fun."
Anderson lowered his voice. "He was disoriented with pain. He was saying something. I couldn't understand what it was, so I lowered myself to the floor. Do you want to know what it was?"
Watson said nothing. He refused to lose eye contact. "He was calling for you. John… John... John…, just that one word over-and-over in a weakened moan." He looked at Watson with a mock look of pity.
John chest stopped rising and falling for a few seconds as he closed his eyes. The grinding of his teeth was audible. A thrill raced through Anderson's body.
"He kept calling for you. I don't even think he realized that he was repeating your name, such a proud fellow, isn't he. But you never came, did you. You didn't care enough. You let me hurt him, it's your fault really, isn't it then."
"I kicked him, punched him, beat him but my favorite part doctor was when I sat on his body and strangle him. You should have seen the panic on his face. He thought that I was going to rape him," Robert laughed manically, "I would have, that's quite a body he has," Anderson whistled, "I should know, I peeked. But, unfortunately, there was no time. I had to be satisfied with his weaken body trying to fight me off. I whispered sweet words in his ears while I strangled him over, and over, and over. Sorry, I can't tell you what I said, a gentleman never tells." He winked at John.
John rose so quickly his chair fell to the ground. Anderson was so busy laughing; he just now noticed that Lestrade was holding Watson back. He did not even notice that Lestrade had moved.
Anderson's laughter died an instant death.
Anderson blinked a few times. His rational mind returned. Lestrade, Sally. What had he done?
For the first time in minutes, he noticed that he was not alone with Watson. Worst, the door to Lestrade's office was open. Several officers were in the room, and standing just outside the door. The normally voice-filled office, was eerily quiet. the only sounds were the voices of Lestrade who was giving orders, and Watson who was demanding to be released. Officers were helping to hold Watson back. When did they come in? Did they hear what he said, if so, how much?
Time seemed to jump.
Watson was no longer trying to advance on him, but he was gesturing toward him with demands that he be arrested.
Arrested?
Arrested?
His mind seemed to not be able to process that thought. He was the one who arrested people. He was not the one to be arrested.
Ridiculous. They would never just arrest a senior officer. Not without proof… Anderson inhaled sharply. His stomach twisted. The videotape.
He broke out into a cold sweat.
They would not actually search his house, would they? Even if they did? They would never find it. The audiotape was not a concern, but, the videotape? Why had he kept it? He knew why he kept it, he admitted to himself angrily, so that he could watch it. He enjoyed watching it. He had each scene memorized.
Several small groups of Yarders huddled together and whispered.
If anything, the room just outside of Lestrade's office was even more crowded with people. Gossip at the Yard traveled fast.
Lestrade's office seemed increasingly hot, and where was the air?
Sweat was soaking into his wrinkled clothing. Robert reeked of old sweat, alcohol, and something else that he could not quite identify. For the first time in minutes, he remembered the stench.
He swallowed.
He was a member of Scotland Yard. They would not arrest him over the freak, would they. Half the members must have wanted to wipe the smug smile off of Holmes face at one time or another. He looked for sympathy.
Some eyes turned away from him when he looked. Others stared straight at him, but they communicated disgust, shock, anger, and one or two, pity.
He looked at Watson.
Watson's arms were folded as he watched him quietly. He did not try to hide the anger or the disgust.
Anderson blinked. One corner of his mouth came up into a humorless smile. It left quickly as he swallowed the lump that seemed to not want to leave from his throat. He did not look at Sally.
Lestrade was telling him his rights robotically.
His rights?
He knew them already. He is an officer.
Was he still an officer?
Lestrade did not look please or happy, but a bit sad and shocked. Greg had considered him a friend. He took care of him when he was a new, young, and scared officer. He was more than a boss; he had befriended him. What would he have thought of him, if he knew that he had agreed to betray him, frame him, have him hurt, have him arrested; all in exchange for Holmes. Holmes, who never claimed to be Lestrade's friend, had put himself in danger to save Lestrade, and Greg did not even know it.
A memory of them laughing together in a pub, after work, invaded his mind. He glanced into the eyes of a man he once called a friend. He turned away quickly for the first time, ashamed.
Why was it so bloody hot?
He did not notice that his body started to shake.
He let out a gasp as something bit one wrist. He was saying something, but he couldn't understand his own words. His arm was put behind him and something cold wrapped around his other wrist.
Handcuff?
Dear God. This was real. This was real.
He felt a little nauseated.
"Sally," he whispered in shock. For the first time defeat laced his voice. He looked at her now. She looked back. Her arms were wrapped around her defensively. Her eyes held tears that she refused to let fall.
She looked into Robert's eyes. Those eyes that she had gazed into with love and affection so many times before. It was like a train wreck with broken bodies laid about. She did not want to look, yet her mind would not obey when she willed herself to turn, look away.
Her heart was breaking for the man she knew, used to know, maybe never knew.
"Take him away," Lestrade said in a steady, emotionless voice.
Robert stiffened. He hoped that he was sweating profusely all over his body.
Robert Anderson felt the moisture again. He realized that the wetness felt the greatest in his crouch area. A twinge of embarrassment blossomed into shock as the growing realization of what was happening hit his fragile mind full force.
Anderson seemed unable to stop himself as the wetness, turned into a stream, then a river. He felt it running down his legs, soaking into his socks, then shoes, dripping on the floor.
His light colored trouser soaked in the yellow liquid, becoming stained with his shame.
As he was being lead away, Robert wondered where the loud, broken sort of sound, was coming from.
The young officer stood in the corner.
A group of herself, and five of her coworkers, were suddenly quiet. She was still shocked from the gossip that she heard about Doctor Anderson. He had apparently stolen evidence, falsified documents, and used drugs on Scotland Yard property. There was even talk that he physically attacked someone. Most people thought that it was Sergeant Donovan, because she rejected his advances. Everyone noticed the way he seemed to not be able to take his eyes off of her.
All eyes suddenly turned toward the DI's office. Three men emerged. Robert Anderson normally dressed professionally. He had been known to turn the heads of a few female Scotland Yarders. That is why the spectacle of Anderson's clothing and wet trousers were a shock to most.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been fascinating to watch the deconstruction of a mind. To watch reason and logic tumble like pieces of a building that was falling. The crash of it could almost be felt by all.
But this held no joy.
The young officer stood silently. The image of Doctor Anderson being lead away, while weeping like a baby, was burned into her mind.