Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 156
*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.
Thank you for your recent post: bruderlein (some of your questions will be answered.), Prothoe (Thanks for the multiple post. The only thing better than more sentiment, is sentiment with hot tea. ;) ), Bookworm Gal (Good guess, you were correct.), Natalia (You are correct. It is The Empty Hears… Clears throat… I mean House. :] ), kassandwich ( Correct on the empty House, here is more.), lizzie1250 (Correct. More to come. ), Rouge Singer (Thank you for your comments on character dynamics and the story lines.), Kitiara88 ( Thanks for your comments. More twist and turns ahead.), e la mucca salto sulla luna (Thanks for the comments and insight. More ahead,), Guest (Good guest on the answer. That was the murder with "RACHE" written in blood.), gemstone1234 (Saying that there was something Sherlock-esque about me was a compliment. Thanks for pointing out it was not psychopathic.) RawrxSushi (Thank you for the multiple post. That was a lot of reading. You did great.), Trevor (Thank you for the multiple comments. Welcome.), eohippus (Thanks for the multiple post. We do love to be descriptive, do we not?), Socalrose (Thank you for the multiple comments. Sherlock's family comes together.), Warelock (Thank you so much. :) ), Guest (Thank you so much for being the 1000th reviewer!)To all other guests, new readers, and PM's, thank.
Thank you ; kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singe, Nourss, goanago, Lillkin, It's-Somebody, lizzie1250, Dawnfire11, RiverSong11, georgiporgiepuddingandpie, . , e la mucca salto sulla luna, kassandwich, T're Urvawi, lizzie1250, Kelllie, Sdale05, jack63kids, kassandwich ,macgyvershe, cim902, HC, Hanging in there, SWBloodwolf, BlueSkies23, kassandwich, Benfan, bruderlein, eohippus, gemstone1234, Dark magical Sorcres, mvignal, Bookworm Gal, Danishprince,Voldemort101, idlewild1, hJohn302, Socalrose, Prothoe, SAS , gemstone1234, eohippu , sevenpercent , Catie501, Suzy, cim902, Esstell, Natalia, Lunita28, MapleleafCameo, hanging in there, ShiverandShamy, macgyvershe, Puky2012, Anya Deanna Winchester, Kitiara88, Esstell , EscapedRabbitBlueBell, bruderlein, Lunita28 , Burning Phoenix , Jenna Yemowa, Kassandwich , bruderlein , Puky2012, Flounder65, BritLitChick , Kitiara88, Jenna Yemowa, hollowgirl15, madscientistsuz , Nietzsches, Flounder65, Warm-Glow ,Lanna- Nailo and Guest, Miriza, Guest #3, Warm Glow, Guest #1, Guest #2 , hanging in there, hJohn302, briongloid fiodoir, leyapearl, hJohn302, Pencilx, BritLitChick, Lanna-Nailo, drpaz, dbz27, Lunita28, Guest, Isaldaria, Tammy, April29Roses, christistina, waterbaby, 84, and Peacefreakx3 for your reviews and PMs. Thank you to all Guests. Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate you all.
Warning*****. *** T rated ****. ****Violence. Talk of blood.
More as soon as possible
Stay safe.
Note: Scire quis sit Magister will be explained where it is written. is Know who is (the) Master (Latin)
The answer to last week's fun question is, # 4. The Adventure of the Empty House
Congratulations: bruderlein, Bookworm Gal, Natalia, kassandwich, lizzie1250, Rouge Singer, Kitiara88, e la mucca salto sulla luna, gemstone1234, eohippus, RawrxSushi, and Socalrose . You really know your canon!
"… One trick is to put your king between the enemy's king and pawn-that's often enough for a draw. But do calculate a few moves ahead, because there's a big difference between drawing and almost drawing…"
… Drawing or almost drawing III…"
"Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions."
~ Augustus Caesar
One Day Ago
Southern France
He rounded the corner at a high speed. One hand held the steering wheel as the other hand adjusted the rearview mirror. His lips parted so that he could examine his clenched teeth for food. There was none. His tongue, never-the-less, ran slowly across the perfectly even surface of his teeth, to wipe the none existent food particles away.
He was slightly OCD, but embraced it.
The sleeves of his light-colored, silken shirt, was rolled up in a casual way that he rarely allowed himself. His suit jacket was off, and folded neatly on top of the empty back seat of the Cobalt – Blue, Ferrari Enzo. At a cool million pounds each, most people would be careful not to get a scratch on it, but Jim was not most people. Even though Mycroft Holmes had slowly seized two –third of his finances, he had slowly built it back up. The pure fact was that, even at his lowest financially, he could still have afforded a small country. Money had not been his motivation for years.
Mycroft had been an interesting challenge. However, it was Mycroft's younger brother and that younger brother's mind, which was his obsession. A very interesting obsession he had turned out to be.
He readjusted the rearview mirror as he glanced behind. He smirked and looked forward again. Classical music played at a slightly too high volume. The high-speed car rounded a corner much too fast. Moriarty's sunglass clad eyes glanced to his left. This part of the country was quite beautiful, if one liked that sort of thing.
Too bad.
The music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart filled the enclosed space as the notes of his concert ascended, then descended, in quick, then slow shifts. The dark hairs on his arms seemed to pulsate, as the cords of the spirited musical piece, vibrated the small space. Moriarty tapped one finger on the steering wheel in time to the rhythmic flows. Moriarty admitted to himself that the works of Bach were his favorite, but he could relate to Mozart. Ordinary people would listen and admire things such as the natural flow and irresistible charm of the composer's music. They would say things such as, Mozart express humor, joy or sorrow with both conviction, and mastery, his brilliant examples of high art, blah, blah, blah.
For the Consultant Criminal, it was more than the man's piano concertos that attracted him. Mozart was considered a brilliant child protégé, much like himself. He would have been considered… unconventional. Jim smirked; he loved anyone with a wild side. He could relate.
He glanced in his rear view mirror and smiled.
If they were supposed to be pursuing him, they would have to do better. One hand came down to shift gears, as the other hand firmly controlled the vehicle. Even at these speeds, he noticed how smooth the motorcar rode. There was not even much of a tremor.
Jim gave a quick look in his rear view mirror again. The vehicles that were already distant from him, now appeared as dark spots, and then disappeared completely many kilometers behind, as he rounded a bend in the lonely mountain road.
He slowed down slightly now and enjoyed the drive. The bluish-gray, rocky mountainside, was scattered heavily with bushes and trees that grew defiantly out of the rocks. In some locations, there were small areas of greenery with thick vegetation, and trees. Moments later, there would be only the scattered greenery again. The sky was a vivid, bright blue, with almost no clouds. There were guardrails on selected sections of the mountain road. They were made mostly of wood with metal braces. A few sections had portions of the backing made from hued mountain rock. The rails were low. Moriarty scoffed in humor. If a motorcar was truly out of control, he doubted the rails would do much to stop the vehicle, and its occupancies, from plummeting below. There would be no survivors.
Moriarty smiled. He sped up again. He looked to tempt fate, providence, destiny, whatever, whoever, there was.
He gave a fleeting look, in the rear view mirror, and still could not see anyone behind him. His attention was turned back to the music. His dark hair spread as it touched the leather seat; his head finally resting. The tension completely drained away.
He drove without another thought for several minutes.
The ringtone of his mobile Smartphone, alerted him to the fact that an incoming call was trying to reach him. He let it ring for a second time. His free hand reached for his earpiece and firmly pressed the button, which was held down for two seconds; this connected the incoming call.
"Yes?" He said simply.
He knew who it was. Moriarty's eyes narrowed as he listened to the information that he had one of his employees to inquire about. He listened to her voice as she confirmed his suspicions, and then explained the reasons for her conclusions.
"Have everything ready for me when I arrive. When you find out who helped in this matter, except for the two people that we spoke of before, leave no witnesses." His mood darkened as he listened further.
The motorcar's tires squealed slightly. He rounded a corner much quicker than it was safe to do; the anger fueled him on. He listened for her to assure him that everything would be, as he required before disconnecting the mobile call. He drove for several kilometers before he slowed down greatly.
He guarded these times alone. It was fewer now. Soon everything would change. He would enjoy these little things while he could.
Within fifteen minutes, he noticed three cars quickly approaching. It was obvious that they were pursuing him. Moriarty had only witnessed two cars driving in the opposite direction in three hours. He continued to drive at a speed that would allow the pursuing cars to overtake his motorcar within minutes.
He had given them enough time. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that he was not alone. Three motor cars came within a close distance of his Ferrari, and closed quickly.
The second time in the hour, Moriarty's free hand reached for his earpiece and firmly punched the button. The mobile phone line connected an incoming phone call.
The voice of his bodyguard spoke. "Sir, the underground facility that we've just visited, is this the one that you have chosen?" Moriarty had visited several in the last six months.
"Yes, it's acceptable. Make sure that there is no paper trail of its existence." Moriarty rolled the car window down slightly, it had been a long drive and the cool air would refresh him.
"Yes Sir, I understand. The local men will be arriving at the facility in less than an hour," there was the sound of shuffling. "Sir, we can protect you better if you're not kilometers ahead of us."
Moriarty said in a bored tone. "Then I suggest that you drive faster." Moriarty smiled again as the cool breeze blew in his face. His mood lightened once more, as his foot pressed on the gas accelerator. His hand simultaneously shifted the speed gear.
"Yes Sir," his bodyguard said.
Moriarty wore a dark smile; "By the way," he said the same words he had used repeatedly, for the past two months, "leave no witnesses."
Current Day
Current Time
He walked up to the last one. There were eleven in total. Gray eyes looked unseeing toward the floor. He shifted his eyes from the current victim to the rest, then back again. A look of shock, surprise, and horror were twisted, frozen on the faces. The eyes and lips were the only recognizable parts of the bodies.
The seasoned Sergeant, after a few minutes of examination, gladly looked away.
The Sergeant was well groomed. He had a deep frown on his slightly wrinkled face, as he ran distracted hands through his short, coarse graying hair. He had a weary continence, one that was born of a soul who had witnessed the very worst of humanity. What kept him going was the fact that as an ex-military, he had also seen how brave and heroic man could be, even under the darkest of conditions.
Yellow, nicotine stained fingers played with his pen as he held it like a cigarette. His trained eyes picked up more details of the rundown warehouse.
His gaze caught the eye of a younger police officer. The young man quickly, and carefully, made his way over to him. The Sergeant's breath, as he spoke, was stale from too many cigarettes, and coffees; but not enough real food or breath mints.
"Keep everyone out of here. Try to keep the press away. Get forensics in here, in fact, get a team, one person will not do."
"Yes Sir." The younger officer prepared to run off, but was stopped.
"And coffee. Large. Black." It was almost an afterthought.
The officer nodded then was gone.
The Sergeant glanced around then walked away. He took out his mobile then made an urgent call. The other line was connected quickly.
The Sergeant spoke quietly. "Three days ago, you said to give you a ring if anything unusual happened." He looked grimly in front of him. "I have something for you. It looks like his work."
Current Day
One Hour Earlier
Sebastian dismissed the last of the men as he walked toward the lift. His pace was leisurely, his mood better. The evening news on the telly; was to show Holmes being witnessed as he staggered out of an alley in a drug induced high. The news crews would happen to be there covering an automobile accident. It had all been arranged.
Moran smiled.
His pace did not quicken, but his stride became long as he took advantage of his long legs. Economy, not energy, he thought. He rounded the last corner that would lead to the lift. Reaching it, a finger firmly pressed the numbered key.
Something nagged at the back of his mind; he pushed it away. He would allow nothing to spoil his good mood.
The lift opened.
Moran entered the lift, put his key into the elevator lock, which unlock the upper floors, and then pushed the button to the top floors. One of Moriarty corporations owned the luxury, high-rise building. Moran had stood tall and elegantly as the doors to the lift closed. However, now that no one could see him, he leaned against the lift walls tiredly. He almost did not notice the pull of his body downwards, when the lift started to move upwards.
Moran sighed heavily as he allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment. The last few days appeared as a blur in his mind. He had been moving non-stop. Moriarty always had him to reserve the top four floors of his luxury buildings, as well as the penthouse. It was convenient to have several places to hide in any given large city of the world. They hid in plain site. Moran gave an exhausted smirk.
His thoughts returned to the fall of The Great Sherlock Holmes. He had given Riley what he promised. She did good work. It would be her first time in front of a camera as a newswoman, instead of a once disgraced newspaper reporter. The news story would launch her new career as a television newscaster. Riley was obedient, and he loved to own people. With all the evidence he had on her, he owned her now. She just did not know it yet.
The door opened to the second top floor. The only thing higher was the penthouse and that was Moriarty's private space. No one but his top men dared to enter. Only he and Moriarty's secretary could enter without invitation, he noted with pride.
He easily stepped out.
Only his top men and women had suites on the current floor. He stepped strongly despite his exhaustion. It would never do to show weakness, he was a proud man after all. He was exhausted; however, no one needed to know that. Moriarty had left a specific list of things that he wanted him to do personally.
Moran nodded to several people as he walked down one of the long corridors. He was unsure when his boss would be back. Days earlier, When He woke to see Moriarty staring at him, he had sat in the chair for hours thinking until the alcohol in his system won, and he had fallen asleep again.
If it were not for Jim's lingering cologne, he would have thought that seeing him sitting in the chair, when he had awakened, was a dream. He could still see the outline of his eyes in the dark.
Since then, he had been on his best behavior. He could not afford for his boss to become suspicious.
Sebastian rounded the corner and looked at the door to his suite. He was looking forward to the news broadcast today. A lazy half-smile graced his face. His mobile rang. His hand brushed against the silky fabric of his shirt as he reached the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID, and frowned. His steps slowed then stopped. The smile left his face.
Current Day
Current Time
It had been late in the day. Mycroft had come for a visit. He had not seemed surprised to find Irene Adler quietly talking to Mrs. Hudson on the sofa. They had shared lingering looks. John noticed but kept his expression neutral. The brothers had spoken quietly for an hour before the elder Holmes had left again.
John removed himself to make more tea. He insisted that Mrs. Hudson rest her hip.
John became lost in the automatic motions. The kettle boiled as a fresh pot of tea, and coffee was made. He listened as Sherlock started to tune his violin. There was one long moan of the violin before all sound ended abruptly. The tray was picked up, in preparation to be carried into the other room, when the music had ended abruptly. The stress that had begun to melt away, returned instantly. Since Sherlock gave no indications of distress, John added another cup on the tray, before walking into the room.
Lestrade was talking quietly to Sherlock. Both men turned their eyes toward John. Lestrade's eyes were apologetic. Sherlock's face was unreadable. To all but John, that is.