Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 154
*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.
*****. *** Warning drug reference T rated ****. ****
… Drawing or almost drawing I…"
"A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother."
~ Homer
Current Day
Current Time
John exited the lift. Even Sherlock would have a difficult time sneaking out of the facility. The security was impressive. The badge that Mycroft had secured for him did not stop the eyes from glancing warily his way, but it did allow him limited access to most floors and units. It also allowed him to control Sherlock's medical care.
John stepped up to locked double doors. He swiped his ID card. The metallic strip glided easily through the electric slot that was attached to the door. The officer, who sat at a desk close to the door, glanced at the computer screen after John slid his security badge through it. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He pushed something and the door immediately opened.
"Sir," the man behind the desk said before returning to scrutinizing the monitors in front of him. He managed a salute in-between his activities. The return salute John gave, before stepping through the double doors, was as easy as breathing. It was a habit that came without thought. It was automatic and a part of him that could never be lost. He wondered curiously what information Mycroft had put with his security clearance. John's steps quickened slightly. He was almost there. He felt the stretch in his legs as he lengthened his stride.
The facility was semi-isolated, and relatively unknown. At a glance, it appeared to be a building, not a hospital. It was located not far outside of London. Mycroft had a sudden and urgent meeting that he had to attend. He left as soon as John was out the car door. He had arranged for an agent to take John home when ready.
John rounded another corner. He walked past staff. Some wore military uniforms, some civilian. He walked toward the room in the private military hospital. It was small with a clientele that was heavily military and special ops. Mycroft had arranged for his admission. The staff was not unfamiliar with victims of torture, physical, mental and otherwise.
John rolled his eyes as he rounded the corner. He heard voices. One was a deep baritone.
It was obvious that Sherlock was awake.
There was a crash. A medical worker ran from the room in a panic.
Yes, definitely awake.
Surprisingly, one medical worker was still in the room. John ignored the overturned table and food on the floor. He easily stepped over it and walked up to Sherlock. So, Sherlock was not strong enough to throw it on the walls yet.
Sherlock and the nurse were in full glare mode. This staff was tougher than most that he had encountered in the hospitals. Instead of being afraid as most of them would be, this nurse acted as if she needed to remember that it was impolite to slap a patient. John was impressed.
The moment they both noticed John, both expressions changed. The nurse cleared her throat and put on a slightly embarrassed, relieved look. Sherlock's classic, I dare you, expression changed. It was also one of relief.
Well that was new, John thought.
Within minutes, the medical staff was dismissed and apologies given as well as thanks. He swore he would not yell as he walked to stand next to Sherlock's bed.
Sherlock folded his arms. "I know what you're going to say. I need to play nicely with others. I shouldn't have refused the pain medication. I should be more cooperative. I should stay for observations for at least another thirty hours and …"
John interrupted Sherlock. "Actually, I spoke to Mycroft already. I was going to say that we could leave whenever you're up to it."
Sherlock uncrossed his arms and asked suspiciously, "I don't have to go to the manor?"
"221 B," John crossed his arms in a mock impression of Sherlock. He tried to hide the fact that he was slightly amused, "If that's alright."
"Acceptable." Sherlock said after clearing his throat.
John did not raise his voice this time when Sherlock immediately tried to take out his IV. This time he helped when needed and allowed his friend to complete the act. He knew Sherlock well enough to have already put supplies in his jacket pocket.
Forty minutes later, he helped Sherlock to sit in the wheelchair. John was surprised and slightly worried when Sherlock did not argue because he had to leave in the wheelchair. Despite his earlier outburst, he was being very impassive.
Sherlock did not make a sound, but grimaced from pain as he sat down. He then closed his eyes. John frowned as he unlocked the wheelchair. He was lost in thoughts as he started to push.
John considered the fact that Sherlock was an unstoppable force during a crisis. After the crisis was over was when Sherlock was the most vulnerable. The thing that made his mind great was what made it a threat to him. Every now and then, it would not shut down, but looped information and data continuously. And, if that data were negative or traumatic, it could be most unpleasant for his friend. John had once suspected that this was what led to Sherlock's drug use during his younger life. At the moment, he was not concerned about drugs, but Sherlock crashing emotionally.
The last time John remembered witnessing Sherlock crash, was after being kidnapped. After the crisis was over, he slept for two days, and followed John's orders without question for two more. On the fifth day, he woke to find his normally lovable flatmate drinking tea as if nothing had happened. Perhaps the word annoying would have been more accurate. He wondered if that was what was happening now, or if something darker was taking place, and he should be taking steps to stop the crises.
As he waited for the lift to open, John said as casually as possible, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."
"I'm not a child John." Sherlock tried to sound annoyed. He instead sounded tired.
The lift opened. John wheeled the younger man into the lift. His finger found the lift button. He pressed the desired number.
"You're here now," Sherlock had said the words with such a quiet sincerity, John had almost missed them.
John teased, "Where else would I be but with my favorite annoying mate?" He did not hesitate this time when he touched Sherlock's shoulder. The younger man flinched slightly beneath his touch. John did not let go but held on more firmly.
Sherlock rested his head against the back of the wheelchair, opened his eyes, and looked up at John. John looked down. Neither said a word. Sherlock was the first to look away but there was a difference. The tension in the way that Sherlock held his body drained away. His posture slumped in relaxation.
The lift opened. John gave one last squeeze before letting go. John pushed the wheelchair toward the two waiting agents.
Current Day
Current Time
The smooth cotton sheets slid easily over her skin. It had been a busy day. She had to be up early to write the news article. It would take her the three remaining days to pen the perfect story about the fall of Sherlock Holmes. She smiled. She would sleep well tonight.
Moments later, a sound interrupted her sleep. She had not noticed when she made the transition from wake to sleep. She turned her head to glance at the clock before exhaling deeply.
She turned in the bed. She pushed herself up onto one elbow, as the other hand pushed her wild hair out of her eyes. She had trained her body to awaken quickly. It could be a news story.
Her mobile rang again. She scooted her body to the edge of the bed and leaned over reaching for the phone. She frowned as she looked at her mobile. They agreed not to have any contact for four days.
She pushed the connect button forcefully.
"Yes," she said a little irritably.
Her mouth opened in slight confusion as her tired mind tried to process it all. "You've been arrested?"
Concern grew in her belly, but not for the man on the other end of her mobile line. The little care she had for him, and for the record, at one time she had cared, greatly. That emotion had long since evaporated, and in its place, a sort of lingering resentment, and irritation had taken root. She only cared about her lover and pleasing him. Lately, Robert had been nothing more than a necessary tool. There was no concern for the man who was weeping on the phone asking for help.
She was quiet as she thought. She ignored the embarrassing sounds that he was making. She rolled her eyes. How could she think when he was ranting like a blathering idiot.
Really!
An uncomfortable knot in her stomach started to take place.
Riley did not care that Anderson was arrested. She only wondered if he was able to get Holmes to the drug dealers. If Robert had not, that would mean that he had failed. If he had failed, she had failed. Her only concern was for the one she thought to be her lover. How could she face him and say that she had failed. How would she tell him?
Current Day
Current Time
He was arrested. Everything was so surreal.
He called Riley again for the second time. It must have been a bad mobile signal for her. The phone call suddenly disconnected. He had manipulated a coworker at the Yard to let him borrow his exercise trousers, and allow him to keep his mobile. But, Robert knew, it would have to be taken away soon. He was not even supposed to have it. Fear gripped him tightly.
The phonecall seemed to have disconnected. The line kept ringing, why was she not picking up?
"Kind words, kind looks, kind acts and warm handshakes, these are means of grace when men in trouble are fighting their unseen battles"
~ John Hall
Later that Day
Current Time
Sherlock had not volunteered two words all afternoon. He answered John's questions with short answers and retreated to his mind palace, when he was not staring at the walls. That is why it was a bit of a shock.
John was walking toward the kitchen after retrieving a book from his bedroom. The words were so unexpected and low that it seemed like a dream.
"If I had been found dirty, naked, used, and drugged out of my mind; if the whole of London witness my fall, would you be ashamed to be seen with me." Sherlock hesitated.
"All I have is my mind John, what if that was gone."
Sherlock paused. The volume of his voice was incredibly low now; it was a strain to hear. "Would you have rejected me as they would John?"
Sherlock knew John would not, But he could no longer fight the illogical need to hear it. It was a pitiful emotional need to hear John say that he would not reject him. Sherlock knew this and the logical part of him loathed himself for that pathetic need. This, however, could not diminish the strength of that need to hear it; or the fear he had as he waited for John's answer. Sherlock looked away from John.
"If you have drugged yourself up on purpose, if you even sold your body for those drugs, I would not reject you. I would curse you creatively, be mad as hell, maybe even punch you." John sighed before admitting, "Alright, I'd definitely punch you. Right before I force you into treatment, of course."
John held on to Sherlock's arm until he looked at him. "Even then, I would never turn my back on you or reject you. You're stuck with me mate." John paused to let his words sink in. "So, why would I reject you when you were obviously kidnapped and forced into the situation. I'm not stupid Sherlock. Heroin has never been your drug of choice in the past. The media, all of London might have been convinced that you relapsed, but not me, and certainly not Mycroft. He knows that part of your history better than anyone."
Sherlock risked a glance at John. John knew that something else was going on in his mind. He wondered what it was. He would normally push Sherlock to speak, but he sensed that this was one time; that he should give him space.
John allowed Sherlock to look unguarded. "You've been clean for so many years, I take it for granted that you know this but, I trust you mate. I know you well enough to know when there are dangers to you staying clean."
"If it ever got that bad again, I would tell you John." Sherlock looked unguardedly back at John.
John tilted his head and smiled almost shyly. "I know mate, I trust you." John smiled. "For the record, you do have an incredible mind, but I care for you as a person. You're more than a mind to me mate."
John wondered if Sherlock could deduce how difficult it was for him to admit his feelings out loud. John's history was similar to Sherlock, in the sense that feelings were never discussed in his strong military family.
Sherlock nodded and looked straight ahead. They were silent for a few minutes.
"Thank you John." Sherlock whispered quietly as his fingers played with the edge of his robe.
John ghosted a smile. "Crap telly?"
Sherlock shrugged. Within minutes, they were watching television. John noticed that even though he was quiet. Sherlock was watching as well. John noticed his friend's mouth twitch several times as if he wanted to say something insulting, but did not have the energy. At one point, John had discreetly placed a cup of soup and spoon by Sherlock without comment. By the end of the night, Sherlock contorted his body on a corner of the couch and fell asleep. John quietly rose and retrieved a blanket to cover Sherlock. He glanced at the bowl and was pleased that at least half the soup was gone.
When walking back from the kitchen, he stopped and looked at his sleeping friend. Sherlock, at least, looked peaceful now. There was no longer a pained expression when he slept. John hesitantly placed a hand on his friend's forehead. He was careful to avoid his bruises.
"You don't always have to be so strong, you git," he whispered.
John hand lingered there for a moment. He sighed and move tiredly toward the stairs that led to his bedroom. The last three days had been long, and exhausting.
Russia
Current Day
She walked briskly through the streets of Saint Petersburg. She breathed in the fresh morning air. She scanned the faces that passed her by. She was almost finished. She would meet with the last contact in less than two hours. A breeze from the ocean blew, caressing her face. The breeze seemed to wrap a chill around her body; yet, the slightly salty smell was familiar, and brought a comfort.
She knew that Mycroft's agents were following and had blended into the light crowd.
She felt the slight vibration in her right overcoat pocket. She smiled. She had not heard from him for a few days. She assumed that Mycroft had him on assignment as well. She would have worried if another day passed. She assumed that Mycroft would do the courtesy of informing her if anything was wrong with Sherlock, or William.
She pulled out her mobile and read the text without losing a step. Her smile left, confusion came. It was Sherlock's usual text about her staying out of trouble. But… Something was off. A word was misspelled and a period was missing.
Her steps slowed as she read the text again, for the second time, then a third. Her eyes narrowed as she thought. Her steps increased again as she made a phone call. Yards away, someone picked up his mobile phone. Neither of them looked at each other, but pretended to be talking to someone else.
"I need to be on an air flight later today." There was a moment of silence as she listened to the agent ask questions, and ask for a destination.
"London." She answered simply.