Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 160
*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: coolness10123 (You are correct, your brilliance shines.), Voldemort101, Bookworm Gal(Things are quiet for a moment, right?), goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. I agree, Jim is a complete nutter.), bruderlein (I think I give you the award for knowing the most about Frankenstein. :) ), kamelion( You wish is my command.), socalrose (Thank you for the multiple post. Is Moran under control now?), Prothoe(Thank you for your multiple post. More John and Sherlock. ), Kitiara88 (Thank you for your review and encouragement.), Lillkin (Thank you for posting more than once, Welcome.), . (More to come, love.), gemstone1234 (I hope you are well. He is more.) RawrxSushi (Hi. Yes, but there is more to come.), foxeeflame(Welcome, I am glad that you are enjoying it.), Benfan(Thank you for your multiple post. Also, thank you for encouragement.) Voldemort101(Thank you for eagle-like eyes.), hijohn (Thank you for the multiple post. I hope that you are well.), and to all guest and PMs, thanks.
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One post daily for the next three days.
I hope that you enjoy. Stay safe.
Last week's fun question was; does anyone know what the theme of Frankenstein's monster and Benedict Cumberbatch has in common. The answer is Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.
You all surprised me. I was not aware of how many of you followed Benedict's career so closely.
Congratulations: coolness10123 , goanago, bruderlein, socalrose, Kitiara88, Lillkin, Voldemort101 , gemstone1234, foxeeflame, Benfan.
"…Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"
Vieni Giocare means Come Play. Italian.
Control The Center of Your Board…Part I
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women, merely players." ~ William Shakespeare
Current Day
Current Time
He saw the outline of the motorcar in the dim light. It was a little more than a heavy shadowy silhouette. He approached cautiously as his tense body prepared for anything. The fog of his breath dissipated in the cool night's air. The sun had just set, giving birth to the night.
His eyes squinted in the alley. They had already adjusted to the darkness, but there were still details that were difficult to see. Details such as, if they had a gun, or a syringe in their hands. He was completely in their power; he knew that. He was not surprised when footsteps were heard behind his back. His eyes shifted to the left, of their own accord, in the direction of the sounds, before returning in front of him, again.
He observed cautiously as they advanced on him, five men and total. He did not resist when a cloth bag was placed over his head. He was positioned in the back car seat more gently than he had hoped. He assumed that the windows were tinted. A man being driven with his head covered with a cloth bag tended to attract attention. He tensed as he waited for the stick of a needle. It never came.
His bloodhound like nose picked up familiar scents, as he sniffed the air gently. His brilliant mind worked out immediately what they were. He noticed the smell of formaldehyde and lime cleaners. It was faint, but it was present.
So, he thought, they had been prepared to force him into the vehicle, if he did not voluntarily get in. He felt his body tense, but forced himself to relax. After a few long minutes, he relaxed enough to try to listen to the sounds from outside the now moving motorcar, there were none. The vehicle must have been insulated against noise. He sighed gently. A clock was running in his mind. The subtle shifts, as gravity forced his body, toward the left, or to the right were noted mentally. He would have an estimation of where they took him. Although, he was not sure that piece of information would benefit him in any way.
There was nothing to do now, but wait.
Current Day
Current Time
He was sitting cross-legged in the top, back of the room. His right hand came down without thought, and pressed the imaginary wrinkles from the jacket of his three-piece, tailored suit. That same hand finally came to rest on his crossed leg. His other hand rested firmly on the handle of his umbrella.
It was a late night, special session. There were no news cameras, or reporters in the room this time. The Prime Minister was speaking. The room contained all the members of Parliament. He usually avoided such gatherings, particularly in a reelection year. Nevertheless, it could not be avoided. He had private conversations with several senior ministers. A particularly critical piece of legislation was being presented to the Cabinet. He wanted to be present personally to witness the outcome. He knew what it would be, but left nothing to chance.
He sat quietly listening to the debates that were now flowing back and forth. His hands released his umbrella, and tucked it beside his chair. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, as he glanced at his watch. A slight vibration caught his attention. He frowned as he discreetly excused himself from the room.
He walked quietly to a private room, Anthea's dark, long hair bounced in time with her hasty steps. She was walking toward him in a hurried manner, along with several trusted agents.
"I'm sorry Sir. But I knew you would want to see this."
"I'm sure her Majesty's government can survive without me for a few minutes." Mycroft said distractedly.
Anthea nodded promptly. Her manicured fingers flew over the keys of her Smartphone. Within a few seconds, the information was transferred to Mycroft's mobile. He read the message quickly and raised an eyebrow. His teeth clenched together tightly.
"When did this happen?" He asked as he dialed a familiar number.
"Four minutes ago, Sir." Anthea said grimly. "For sixty seconds, two words flashed across every television screen, mobile phone, and electronic billboard in the greater London area. There were only two words Sir."
"What were they?" Mycroft said with frustration, as he now tried John's mobile.
"Vieni giocare," Anthea confirmed as she looked into Mycroft's eyes. "Come play," Mycroft said as he interpreted the saying.
"Keep an eye on them," Mycroft instructed Anthea as he motioned with a nod toward Parliament. She immediately walked toward the door to the room that he had just vacated.
Mycroft quickly followed the agents, as they sought the quickest way to exit the building.
Two Days Ago
221B Baker Street
John sighed as he walked from the bathroom. His short blonde hair was still wet from the morning shower. A few drops of water dripped on his bathrobe. He ignored it as he walked lazily toward the kitchen.
The last few months had been difficult, very difficult. Moriarty might have considered all of his activities and games fun, but it was not to those involved. At times, it had been life or death. The man did not see it as such. It had all been a game for his amusement.
John clenched his jaws as he thought about several different ways he would like to teach Moriarty about proper social behavior.
He automatically rinsed the tea towel. His short, but strong fingers reached for the coffee, bypassing his favorite tea. The cups clinked together as he placed them on a tray. Cream and sugar were hastily put on the tray as well. Within minutes, he was sitting at the kitchen table. A small, uncluttered space was provided as he gently moved Sherlock's papers, and random notes, to the left and to the right.
Sherlock's latest murder case had been disastrous. It wasn't that Sherlock did not solve the case, he did quickly and efficiently, and brilliantly as always. It was the shipwreck of egos, which he had left in his wake, which was John's concern. He had not been diplomatic in the least. He had been particularly irritable, and everyone was aware of that fact.
John shook his head.
A small, slightly guilty smile; left the corners of John's mouth as he sipped on the coffee. He thought about the past week and the antics of his flatmate, and best friend. It had started with the famous 'I am bored,' it then progressed when Sherlock had developed an unhealthy fondness for John's weapon. Mycroft had provided Sherlock with his own firearm, which John kept secured. However, Sherlock preferred to put holes in the wall with John's firearm. Although Sherlock would deny it, it was a bit sentimental.
John turned his eyes toward the wall. The yellow smiley face greeted him. "You were about to have a sister," he whispered.
John took another sip. He thought about the past several days, and Sherlock's unfortunate remarks to the Scotland Yard officers the day before. He tried not to have a headache.
2:17 AM
"But, John, I needed a living tissue sample for the experiment to be accurate."
10:31 AM
"Tell me; is it painful when your thoughts bounce around in that tiny little brain of yours? There's no room for them to breathe."
1:53 PM
"You are good aren't you."
"Um… thank you," Constable Riggins said slowly as everyone looked with surprise and some relief."
Sherlock looked up from his phone screen. "I was talking about myself." Sherlock snorted. "You could not possibly have thought that I was referring to you, did you?"
2:15 PM
"John," Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes in exasperation, "How can I possibly insult her, she is dead, she has no feelings anymore."
2:17 PM
"Um Sherlock," John cleared his throat as he leaned his head toward the family of the victim.
Sherlock looked at the family suddenly quiet. He then looked back to John. "Yes, so what did you want to tell me?"
4:12 PM
"I have what I need, feel free to blunder along," he said as he walked out the door.
"Sherlock!"
4:38 PM
"Dull! Boring! Predictable!"
7:03 PM
"Lestrade, you're threat is not legitimate. You can't actually fit your foot up my ars…"
"Sherlock!"
John's thoughts returned to the present. "I'm not going to survive this." John mumbled, before he took another sip. He heard the soft, cat– like footsteps of his flatmate, as his bare feet softly hit the dark, rich wood.
"Coffee is on the table," John said casually without looking. He saw the corners of his flatmate's robe, as it waved out of the corner of one eye. He heard rather than saw Sherlock as he sighed heavily, and sat down.
John took a large sip of coffee, before turning to look at Sherlock. Sherlock would normally have been fully dressed. He was not, he was in a pajama bottom and T-shirt. His robe was hanging half off one shoulder. His flatmate's hair was unruly. The dark circles under his eyes, and dullness, betrayed another sleepless night. He also knew that Sherlock was beginning to have nightmares again.
John looked away wearily. He knew what had to be done, that still did not take away the unpleasantness.
"Sherlock… You know what I am going to say don't you mate?"
Sherlock looked wearily at John and quickly glanced away.
"It's time we had that talk, don't you think?" John had put down his coffee, and was turned fully toward Sherlock now.
"Fine John. You start to talk and I'll listen." Sherlock's face was perfectly composed, his expression neutral.
"You know what I mean smartarse." John's voice held no anger. Despite his harsh words, there was a fondness there.
Sherlock took another sip of coffee. Both hands wrapped around the warm cup, as he stared off toward the window. He bit his lower lip briefly before releasing the abuse piece of flesh. He sighed, turned toward John slowly, and then opened his mouth. However, the mobile phone sounded.
John watched as Sherlock exhaled a relieved breath, released his grip on his coffee, and then moved barefoot to the mobile. He reached into his suit jacket, which hung on the back of the dining room chair. John was not sure if he looked more relieved or annoyed by the interruption.
Sherlock pulled the mobile, and then looked at the text.
One look from Sherlock, and John knew. "I'll get dressed," he said simply.