Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 163
*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: goanago (Thank you for the multiple post. I am glad that you liked.), Voldemort101 (Thank you love. Big smile.), Benfan (Thank you for the multiple post. Yellow smiley face ahead?), sherdocwho (Welcome :) ), bruderlein (Thank you for the multiple post. Here is to Sherlock and Sally. More Moriarty ahead.), Bookworm Gal (Thank you for the multiple post. More love for Sally and Sherlock, and hate for Moriarty.), eohippus (Thank you for the multiple post. Evil foreboding indeed.), Puky2012 (Thank you for the multiple post. Get some tea and a blanket.), Guest #1 (Thank you for commenting. I hope you enjoy.), Guest #2 (Thank you for the multiple post. Welcome.), gemstone1234 (Let us see if you were right about John's reaction.), Prothoe (Thank you for the multiple post. I will not keep you. Jim is waiting.), and to all guest and PMs, thanks.
Thank you ; Warelock, lizzie1250, Natalia Trevor, RawrxSushi, kamelion, Kelllie, nourss, Me And The Time Vortex, deaka, goanago, Whosawesome, Rouge Singer, 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 Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?
This is the last of the daily post. More soon.
Apologies to all. I meant to have this posted very early on Tuesday but I had an emergency at work. I had to be there, ridiculously early on Tuesday into the night. In spite of my best intentions, I collapsed into a semi coma after. Even though the chapters were written, I did not feel comfortable posting, until I had a chance to read through at least once for typos.
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
"Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words."
~ Calvin & Hobbes
Fifteen Hours Earlier
221 B Baker Street
It was past three in the morning. No one was asleep. How could they be? John and Mrs. Hudson were still awake. Mrs. Hudson had left, to get some refreshments. John also knew that she had left because, his constant pacing back and forth, had made her nervous.
Mycroft had been in and out, and Lestrade had stopped by twice, despite the fact that he had to be at Scotland Yard in a few hours. He had looked even more exhausted than the day before.
John's eyes glanced down and to the right, without losing a step. The screen of his mobile phone was irritatingly unchanged.
John had sent a quick, angry text, to Mycroft. He had just left fifteen minutes ago, to follow a lead on his wayward brother. Ten minutes after that, the elder Holmes had called to notify John that Sherlock was, "…on his way to the flat." He could tell by the tightness of Mycroft's voice, that he was also not pleased with his brother.
He would kill him! Not literally of course. John ground his teeth together in anger. Well, maybe literally.
"Don't be ridiculous Watson, not literally," John muttered, correcting his thoughts., "You'd miss the annoying sod."
He glanced at the door that led to the stairs. He stilled for a moment, huffed noisily, tried to calm himself, but then resumed pacing. Several officers and agents were in 221 B, or at Mrs. Hudson's flat. They thought it wise to stay physically out of the angry man's way.
John heard him before he saw him. There was a slight commotion that floated in from the lower level. Mrs. Hudson's voice was heard, as she greeted the Consultant Detective. He said nothing; he simply waited. Several police officers, and agents, abruptly became silent. The volume seemed to have suddenly been dialed down.
John closed his eyes and tried to even out his too fast breathing. He counted from ten backwards, slowly, as he listened to his flatmate' s slow ascent. He listened as the sounds of retreating feet floated around them. The sound of the door opening and closing was heard in the distance.
One tentative pair of footsteps came to rest directly in front of John. John slowly opened his eyes. Sherlock's eyes were piercing into his.
"I had to, John." The fact that they were now alone was lost on both men.
"You're an idiot," John hissed angrily, with folded arms.
"I had it all under control John," Sherlock said more quietly than he normally would have. He would not purposely provoke the already angry man.
John looked up at Sherlock without saying a word.
"I had to, John," Sherlock repeated uncharacteristically. Sherlock normally loath repeating himself.
"You can't rescue the world," John's voice was barely above a whisper.
"He showed me a picture of a Café, John. He threatened to blow it up. He gave me a choice, a chat, or an explosion. He said no harm would come to me."
John was silent. He had a murderous look in his eyes.
Sherlock cleared his throat before he began to speak again. "There was a sixty percent chance that he just wanted to see me in person and talk."
"Oh," John said as he tried to get his anger under control. He clenched his jaws for a second before speaking. His voice was rough with emotion, "I see."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Despite his best efforts, he was starting to be annoyed. "There was only a forty percent chance that he would poison me, but out of that, there was only a five percent chance that he wanted to seriously hurt me in some way that would require hospitalization."
John paused again as he locked eyes with Sherlock. "That makes it alright then. That there was only forty percent chance that he would kill you, torture you, or make you scream in some unpleasant way that I'd rather not think of." He huffed, "Right."
Sherlock pouted. "Forty percent for poison, only five percent for torture, John," Sherlock muttered almost childishly.
John had had enough. "I don't want to hear statistics now Sherlock. I want to know why you feel that your life is worth less than everyone else's life. I want to know why you would injure yourself jumping off a building. Fake your own death. And then, and then Sherlock; go to the ends of the earth to save me, and those who you care about."
John had to take a moment to gather his thoughts, and get his emotions under control. He lowered his voice. "Yet, you take such drastic steps with your own safety."
John looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Logic is wonderful Sherlock. You have the most interesting personality and greatest mind if anyone I know, except for your brother. But, I want to hear from your heart. Speak from your heart not your head Sherlock."
Sherlock frowned. "Logic is what I have John."
"You have made emotional decisions to save me, even when it was not logical."
"You're projecting John. I always use logic…" Sherlock was interrupted.
"Bullocks!" John hissed.
Sherlock thinned his lips and looked away.
John shook his head and sighed. His anger suddenly left, he was instead tired. "Logic is what you have, you say? Alright Sherlock, let's go with that."
"You used logic, not emotions you claim. Alright. Explain something then. A few months ago, when we were playing one of Moriarty's games. How did you use logic, why was it better for you to take the poison, and not me?"
Sherlock frowned more. His fingers played with the edge of his sleeve cuff. John recognized this as a nervous gesture, just like the biting of his lower lips. The younger Holmes would deny such things, of course. He seemed to be thinking of a logical explanation for an emotional decision. Sherlock eyes suddenly lit up. He had thought of something. It would be good. John folded his arms and waited for it.
Sherlock eyes lifted from the floor to John's eyes now. He looked at John with a blank face and said.
"I'm bigger than you John. It would take the poison longer to affect me than you. I had the entire thing under control." Sherlock waved a hand in the air signaling his desire to end the conversation. He tried to hide the grimace that the small movement caused. Even though it was over a week. Sherlock abdomen was still sore from fighting off so many men at the warehouse.
John noticed.
"Sherlock, I AM a medical doctor or did you forget? It goes by body weight, not height. Despite your being taller, I think we weigh about the same. In fact, I have weighed more than you until recently."
Sherlock opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. John interrupted him with an outstretched hand.
"Even If that was the case. Was it logical for you to have a grab for the keys in the container with the snake? If the snake's bite plus the poison did not kill you, the antivenin plus the poison would have. Still you said nothing to protect me, and my sister, and to get Lestrade back. Yes, you did use your wit. Still, those were emotional decisions. I am not an idiot."
"Best to stay off that subject." Sherlock said frostily as he tried to walk away.
John moved in front of him and blocked his way. Sherlock had forgotten how quick John could be.
"Do you mind?" Sherlock said with irritation.
Sherlock pushed his lips together impatiently, and looked down at the smaller man. Despite his smaller size, Sherlock was well aware that if the soldier in John came out, he could be formidable.
"Answer a question Sherlock, and I'll get out of your way."
"You would do anything to protect me."
Sherlock smirked. "That's not a question John."
"Sherlock!" John glared.
"Perhaps," Sherlock said warily, looking away.
John's voice softened. "I would do the same. We are in a relationship Sherlock. A weird, bizarre one perhaps but a relationship nonetheless. In a relationship, people do not lie to each other."
"Technically, I did not lie…" Sherlock said defensively.
"… Or," he interrupted, "keep things from one another." John interrupted with irritation.
"You're asking a lot John. You know who I am."
"All I am asking is that, even if I get angry, or curse, or throw a wobbly," he looked at Sherlock, "or disagree; don't keep anything from me. Not when it comes to your health or safety."
"I'll think about it John."
"For you, that's a lot," John conceded. He moved out of Sherlock's way.
Sherlock did not move, but instead, looked into John's eyes. John smiled as he saw the Consultant Detective wrestle with himself, then surrender.
Sherlock looked annoyed, "Don't look smug John."
John smiled more.
"If your life is in danger, this agreement is void." Sherlock looked self-satisfied.
John was happy for the compromise and quickly agreed, nodding once. "I assume that goes both ways Sherlock."
Sherlock's satisfied look left. He frowned, and looked concerned for the first time.
John looked smugly at his friend. "Doesn't feel that good when the shoes on the other foot, does it mate."
Sherlock's frown deepened, as he looked at John.
"Boys," they heard Mrs. Hudson's voice. She looked relieved to find them both standing with no blood on her rugs. She took a look at both men's faces. "Did I miss something dears?"
Both men looked from her face to each other, wordlessly.
Everyone had left the flat quickly. Within twenty minutes, even the agents had been gone. Everyone knew they had not actually left; they had just positioned themselves outside the flat, in their motorcars.
Mrs. Hudson was downstairs. She was trying to get her much needed sleep. John was in the kitchen. John thought that except for coffee and tea, Sherlock had not eaten for over thirty hours. John was unaware, of Moriarty's bizarre dinner.
"Sherlock what kind of sandwiches do you want?" John placed the tea on the tray. Cream and sugar quickly followed. He looked in the refrigerator, as he wondered what his flatmate would eat.
John raised the volume of his voice, "Sherlock! What kind the sandwiches do you want?" He looked at the two choices that Mrs. Hudson had prepared.
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed two wrapped sandwiches from the refrigerator. He would give him his choice. He piled everything onto the tray. He hoped that nothing would slip off before he reached the table. While balancing the tray, he walked carefully but quickly into the room. He cautiously lower the tray to the table next to the sofa.
"Sherlock," John looked over to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.
Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch, with his lips partially separated. One hand was dragged on the floor, while the other hand was resting on his stomach. His feet were partially off the sofa, dangling.
John heaved a sigh. He disappeared from the room for a few minutes. He returned carrying a thick blanket. The fact that he removed Sherlock shoes and jacket without him stirring, was telling. He had finally crashed. He would be asleep for at least three hours now.
John looked at him for a few, long, seconds. John closed his eyes and allowed the stress to drain away. He was unharmed. Thank God. He swallowed the lump that was in his throat, before opening his eyes. John covered Sherlock with the blanket, and then pulled it up to his chin. A small smile graced the corner of his lips. He turned his eyes toward the tray. He tried not to make any noise when he carried it back to the kitchen.
Vienna, Austria
Current Day
Current Time
The bank executive rose from his expensive leather chair, as quickly as his large frame would allow. Years of business transactions had developed automatic reactions in the man. He mechanically buttoned close his tailored suit jacket. Adler smiled disarmingly as she thanked the man in front of her. The flush on his face started on his cheeks, and then ran outwards disappearing at his precision cut beard.
Adler's hair was swept up into an elegant style. Her clothing choice was monochromatic and classical elegant. Mary Myers stood beside her in a similar dressed style. It was not her personal preference, she preferred trousers, a suit jacket, with a firearm, but it was necessary.
Myers' hair was normally put up in a ponytail, but today it was down to hide the hidden ear microphone that was in her right ear. She followed slightly behind Adler, as she played the role of the dedicated assistant.
The bank executive spoke with a thick accent. "It was a pleasure Mrs. Smith," the man did not hide the slight flirtation in his voice. "Here is my business card so that you can contact me," he added hastily, "if you should ever need my assistance in business matters."
"Thank you Alexander." Adler said soothingly before she discreetly pried her fingers out of the man's grasp.
The two women turned and walked toward the exit. Myers discreetly scanned the open space for threats and potential dangers. Myers' hand appeared to move a curl of hair out the way.
"We're on our way out." Myers whispered into the microphone.
"Yes Agent Myers," the disembodied voice answered.
The building was completely modern. They felt the warmth of the natural sunlight on their faces, as they walked through the massive open, vaulted area. The sea of tinted, floor to ceiling glass filtered the light.
The click of their dress shoes seemed loud and slightly obscene in the relatively quiet space.
Within minutes, they exited the building. Myers opened the door for Adler. Adler slid into the back seat of the jade colored Jaguar motorcar that waited outside the building. She felt the pull of the motor vehicle, as it turned onto the busy road. Two other motorcars discreetly followed at an appropriate distance.
Adler exhaled relieved. Now that she was in the safety of the motor vehicle, She melted into the soft leather, as she closed her eyes for a few seconds. Sherlock's latest memories had provided the location of several safety deposit boxes in three countries. He also provided the identification needed to withdraw the contents.
Her eyelids rose. She blinked away the fatigue. Her eyes moved down, as she clicked her purse open. She held the tiny USB drive between her fingers. She had known Sherlock to take precautions, but this was on an entirely different level. She returned the USB drive to her purse. She was certain that his agents had already informed Mycroft of their progress; however, She picked up her mobile to contact him directly. Before she could ring the number that had now been memorized, her mobile sounded. She looked at the caller ID with surprise.
"Yes," Adler said simply.
"I need to speak with you," The voice on the mobile spoke in Russian. There was a slight hesitation as if the man was moving, "it is urgent."
She responded in Russian. "Where," Adler sat up straight, suddenly alert and determined.
Current Day
One Hour Earlier
John was on the couch. They were both watching crap television. More accurately, John was watching crap telly, and Sherlock had been conducting some simple experiment. They had both decided to get back to some sense of normality. Moriarty was unpredictable. It could have been a minute, a month, or a year until they heard from the man again. He had always been that way. Even though, with his growing obsession with Sherlock Holmes, most doubted that it would be very long. Still, the ring was unexpected.
Both men suddenly stilled. Sherlock's mobile danced on the wood as it vibrated gently, stopped, and then vibrated again, and again.
"It could be Lestrade," John all most whispered.
Sherlock said nothing. He slowly stood up from his stool. He did not notice that a dubiously colored liquid splashed from a beaker onto the wood, when the detective's thighs bounced the table. He walked toward the phone, picked it up, and stared.
There were three missed messages. John, or more likely, Mrs. Hudson must have silenced the ringer earlier, so that his sleep would not be interrupted. More than a bit not good, he thought.
One look at Sherlock's face, and John speed walked toward his mobile.
"No," Sherlock said softly.
John was about to ignore him, and keep dialing, but could he. Was not he the one, who ask for trust? He knew Sherlock would consider the act a betrayal. It might even encourage him to go back to his old behaviors of simply disappearing. At least Sherlock was not hiding the fact of who the caller was from him this time.
If John wrote a book about his life, the title of that moment would have been, The hardest thing that I've ever done.
John put his mobile in his pocket. The words were not unexpected.
"I'm leaving John. Moriarty is requesting my presence." Sherlock looked at John concerned.
"There has to be another way." John said softly.
Sherlock grabbed a few things. He punched in a code on his mobile phone, and then he hit the send button.
"Keep your phone close to you John." He walked toward his bedroom. John ran in front of him and physically blocked his way. He did not say a word, but he looked intently into the eyes of his friend.
Sherlock looked back intently. John's face held a silent plea.
Sherlock attempted a smile. "Do you plan to thump me? I get worried when you're so quiet. That's when you tend to throw a punch. Normally, it is not directed at me. Should I be worried?" Sherlock tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. At least that was his intention. He was not good it jokes, yet still made the attempt for John's benefit.
"Can I talk you out of this?" He asked simply
"No." Sherlock replied simply.
John thought quickly. "I could follow."
Sherlock smiled sadly, "He'd know."
"Mycroft's men?" John tried.
"Thomas is not here, the rest of them," he scoffed, "he would know."
"Trackers?" John was growing desperate.
"Activated, but he can find ways around it." Sherlock's eyes never left John's.
"I can't just stay here; I have to at least look for you." John confessed.
"I'd be disappointed if you did not." Sherlock smiled again. "Give me fifteen minutes first before you start to look, twenty minutes before you tell Mycroft, and make sure that Molly is secured first. He seems to have a fascination with her lately. "
A thought abruptly occur to John. "That café that he showed you an email picture of yesterday, it was Molly… Molly was sitting in that café that he threatened to blow up; wasn't she?"
Sherlock smiled at John's growing deductive skills. "Yes. Unfortunately he's aware of how…," he hesitated.
"… Fond you are of her." John finished helpfully.
"Yes," Sherlock confessed begrudgingly.
John nodded, looked down, and then up again. "Thank you for telling me."
Sherlock said nothing but continued to look. After a moment, he walked away.
"Do you want a light supper later?" John asked.
Sherlock looked back, "Yes John, soup would be nice. Tell Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled at John, one corner of his lips turned up more than the other did. John smiled back until he heard the window open. The smile left instantly, as a frown replaced it. He shut his eyes. Cool air flooded the room. Instead of closing the window, he stood there with his eyes closed, still counting.
Fourteen minutes, and thirty seconds left, he thought.
"Fourteen minutes," he repeatedly whispered to himself.
To be continued.